All hail the return of TV Watch...

...back with stuff about last night's Justice. No spoilers except where clearly labeled, so Mickey will be quite safe reading it. Enjoy!!!

How did you hurt your back? Running away from good taste?

Another day, another update. What would you do without my mordant wit and incisive social commentary? I know, I know, I get you through the day. No need to thank me. Well, comments are appreciated.

So yesterday after I updated, I was struck with a burst of industriousness, and decided to take care of some of the crap from my side of the attic. As you may recall, a few weeks ago my father suffered from a similar burst and decided to clean the main part. Although cleaning the main part mostly entailed yelling at me about how big of a slob I was. Not untrue, but not terribly kind either. Humph. Well, anyway, Daddy Dearest decided that I shall clean out a bin every week or be thrown out the house and how are you going to pay for school if you're living on the street missy? Well, okay, maybe it wasn't that harsh. Still.

I had some extra time (I really, REALLY didn't want to clean the bathroom) yesterday, and decided to go through a couple bins so I'd have a place to put my old school books when I clean out my room downstairs (Friday's project) for the *gasping sob* beginning of the school year.

So I go into the attic, and realize that while my father is threatening me with financial independece, he has also managed to COMPLETELY WALL IN my whole side. There is no way to get the bins out without moving stuff, which I have also been told Never To Do Or We Will Not Be Your Parents Anymore. (Yeah, they get a little crazy about the attic. It's like a sickness with them.)

I am not stopping now. I have the energy and thirteen episodes of Arrested Development to watch and so screw them all and their little dog too.

(Arrested Development---OMG, so funny! Even the incestuous bits. Which is usually just gross.)

Yeah, I'm never teaching my children to read. And if they pick up this nasty little habit somewhere else, I will disown them and they will have to figure out how to live on the street. Because it will be easier than having to deal with the sheer magnitude of childrens and young adult books that I have to find someplace to put. And God help them if they get emotionally attached to their four binders full of art history notes, because they will have to rent them an apartment, because no way are they keeping them in my house (huh. I just realized why my parents are so crazy.)

But I managed to clean a bunch of shit out, too, so it all fit back in where it came from. And then I threw my back out dragging them all back in.

Only two more though. I'm going to deal with those later.

Then the dust bothered my allergies so much that I took way more Benadryl than I should and fell asleep at six thirty for half an hour and then was all crabby the rest of the evening. Lovely.

Speaking of books, I totally have to read Bleak House now, and watch the movie. I don't know why, except that it's old and British and won an Emmy and yes I realize that sounds like a lot of men I like, but I'll read anythign that won an Emmy.

Also I will buy anything. I bought Elizabeth I from amazon.com (free prime trial, free two-day shipping---whee!!!) yesterday, and am now obsessively checking that little "Track Your Orders".

I have to stop buying so many DVDs. It's a sickness, really.

Did Clean-Up-Loose-Ends Day at school today, when I got my UPass and books that weren't in last week, and figured out where all my classes are. It's really too bad that when God formed me in my mother's womb he left out a sense of direction (and cheekbones, but that's a whole different post). Because Mary, while being a simpering mess about everything else relating to school was like Sacagawea this morning, and I was just kind of getting dizzy because the map is flat and the real roads aren't and I don' care what anybody says that makes a big difference!!! *ahem*

Also, I think maybe I'll be able to cut the treadmill out of my daily routine, because that is one big ass campus.

New shows tonight---whee!!! Going to try to convince the fam that Justice would be appropriate family viewing. I think I'll use the "But I have off so few nights! Do you really want me in the other room???" Or maybe another annoyingly pretty legal drama will help me with my ongoing educational crisis. That will work for sure.

We're carnivores. The first thing we did when we arrived in this country was eat a couple of Indians.

Oh, Denny. Only three and a half more weeks until new episdoes come back. Woot woot.


The TV season has kinda sorta started, with FOX airing new programming this week and next. You have to love the loser networks---you get everything sooner because they know they can't compete once real shows come back! Tomorrow there are two shows I want to see---Bones and Justice. Bones I got into late last year and cannot wait for another episode, and Justice looks unbelievably awesome. First, it's Bruckheimer, which means it has my undying devotion and love, and Spy Daddy stars in it, which means that it would have my undying devotion and love even if Bruckheimer wasn't attached. But he is, so you know it's going to rock. Probably my favorite part? At the end of every episode they show you what really happened, so you know if they got off a killer (*cough*OJ*cough*). Oh snap. Cannot wait.

This also hails the return of my TV blog, which has been MIA for the past four months. I know, you missed it. But really folks, what was I going to write about? Last summer we at least had Chaotic and Hooking Up, which were just too awesomely bad *not* to write about. This year? America's Got Talent. Funny, the Rapping Granny and Saggy Stripper didn't inspire any creative outbursts like a well-crafted dramedy does. Hmmm. So look for that on either Wednesday night or Thursday morning.

Also in TV-related news, the *tear* last season *sob* of Arrest Developement *gulping tears* was released today, and of course I was at Target bright and early to pick up my copy. And I think I shall spend most of the afternoon watching all of it's quirky goodness because I really, really don't feel like cleaning the bathroom. Especially since I ate like half a pan of brownies and now I feel bloated. It's really hard to clean when you're bloated. (FYI, never make brownies because you're hungry. Go and buy a brownie. If you make them, you will eat the whole damn thing. This has been Kathleen looking out for your health.)

Also have to clean my room, because you could build a person from the hair on my floor, and everything is covered in a fine layer of dust/baby powder/hairspray/other shit and I really should get on that. Must rearrange DVD shelf, too, as I have no place to put Arrested Developement.

Or The Sentinel, which I also bought this morning because of the excellent writing, insightful character development, and OMG, take me NOW hotness good acting. *ahem*

What? I can be intelligent when I want to be. *sniff*

My real life is no where near as fun as my shows. Had a very long discussion with some guy at work last night about Anthony Quinn, Gary Sinise, and porn. Now, I had remarkably little to contribute on the subjects of Anthony Quinn and porn, but, dammit, I know my CSI's!!! I wanted to ask him if he shipped Smacked, too, but he didn't really seem the CSI type. *sigh*

Also, Crazy Bitch Lady, who is a completely different from Crazy Book Lady, was there with her little knitting group. Last week she made sure I knew that she preferred our old punch-card system to the new rewards system. Yeah. Sure, ma'am. I'll bring that up in the next board meeting, which of course the cafe sellers are invited to. Then last night sehe made sure that I knew that our food was too expensive (well, it kind of is, but still), and how she only ate the feta pretzal, which is discontinued, and now maybe she'll have to settle for the grilled cheese, although is tha chedder? I don't like cheddar? I was really do throw the damn pretzel at her. Grrr.

This morning I changed my tip change into real money, and realized two things. 1.) I look like I am a stripper/frequent strip clubs, because I carry around so many singles, and 2.) A month of smiling until your cheeks hurt and false enthusiasm looks very tiny when it's in a plastic baggie (really, I listened to myself last night. My voice goes up like three octaves). *sigh*

Okay, Harry Potter is now officially getting more action than I am right now. *huge, unnatural sigh* I've heard tell of Starbucks ice cream. I think some may be in order.

I'd just like to point out that my generation disgusts me. While the concept is cute, and it was interesting to read, I regret that they make sweeping generalizations about freshman. Because I know perfectly well what "a third-rate burglery" means, and yeah, I understand the phrase "Can we all get along." Sheesh. And you'd be surprised at how many eighteen-year-olds don't know what the little blue dress is. I did, but that's because I was a scandal monger, even at the age of ten. I'm so proud.

And, btw, Google has not always been a verb.

(Icky gross JonBenet stuff ahead---not awful, because it's from people.com, but Boy probably shouldn't read it.) I'm trying to figure out who is sicker, the man who raped and strangled a six-year-old little girl, or the guy who tried really, REALLY hard to convince everybody that he raped and strangled a six-year-old little girl. Yeah, hon, there's probably going to be a movie, but it'll be on Lifetime, and Johnny Depp will be nowhere in sight. He may be weird, but I'm pretty sure he has some standards. Even Matt Dillon turned down a pedophile role, and he's been trying desperately to recapture fame since The Outsiders.

Imladris is now threatening the lives of my unborn children if I don't get off the computor, so I guess this post is over.

Good evening, godless sodomites.

Am I the only person who thinks that sodomites is a funny word? It makes one think of bugs or something. Really? Just me? Okay, moving on...

I had planned to do a general long-winded post about a bunch of crap, but frankly, the Emmy's provided too much crap themselves for me to talk about anything else!!! Of course, things would be much, much better if there was booze involved, like there was in our living room (Arbor Mist: mmm mmm good!!!), but alas, it was not a dinner show like the Golden Globes (officially My Favorite Awards Show Ever).

Not to worry, though, because the little pre-thingys on E!, TvGuide, and NBC more than made up for it. Because we have Ryan Seacrest and his faux-butchness (please do not try to tell us you don't know who Zac Posen is. Give us a little credit), Joan Rivers and her special brand of crazy, and Billy Bush and his, well, I gues it's just stupidity AT THE SAME TIME. It's like a hug from Jesus.

And they don't disappoint! Ryan Seacrest introduces the Glam-Cam, which supposedly shows all the women in all their glory, but it really just is a regular camera, but they pan up. And spend way too much time on the feet. The Glam Cam sucks. And then Joan is getting all revved up for her 1000th interview, which I'm really excited to see, because I can totally see her handlers bodyslamming ugly, uninteresting people while waiting for someone worthy of the 100oth interview. Like "Leah Remini! NOOO!!! Can I get Keifer up here NOW!?!?!?!"

BTW, Leah Remini scored the biggest laugh of the preshow by correcting Ryan Seacrest when he referred to Suri Cruise as "it", by saying, "Um. Yeah, I actually like to refer to the baby as "her", not "it", but that's okay."

Then Joan asked Mariska Hargitay if her first or second pregnancy was harder...and Mariska informed her that she's only had one kid. Oh burn.

But the best was when some NBC loser asked Annette Benning if she wanted an Emmy to keep her Oscar company, and Annette had to remind said loser that her husband has the Oscar, and she's only been nominated.

I was laughing tears into my margarita.

So they all hustle their pretty little asses into the show, and it startes with what has got to be the. funniest. show. opening. EVER. OMG, my margarita is now half tequila and half tears.

And it was all my shows!!!! Lost ("We actually weren't invited."), The Office ("No, I did not make Conan fall through the ceiling."), and House. Oh, and 24! I loved it. When Conan did the Jack thing from the Lost pilot---I almost fell out of the chair. Loved the Music Man thing too---Gee we're screwed!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

The actual awards, while being awesome because they are, in fact, awards and we all know I'll do anything for awards shows, are very disappointing because they completely disregard my wishes by passing over Sean Hayes, Debra Messing, and Steve Carrell. All of whom would have given AWESOME acceptance speeches. Unlike those loser producers who thank lists and lists of people who nobody knows. Please.

There were, however, a couple of good acceptance speeches. Like when the censors fell asleep and let Helen Mirren say "ass over tit", which makes me giggle until I remember that she went out with Liam Neeson, which is almost too much old person saggy sex to handle (GAH!!! MAKE THE RABBITS STOP CRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!), and the funny guy from My Name is Earl who listed the people he didn't want to thank. Hehe.

Presenters, also, were Quite Awesome. Grissom, House, and Spy Daddy!!! Especially House, who was freaking hilarous presenting with Helen Mirren (more crying rabbits).

The tributes were good, too, except I was convinced halfway through that Dick Clark had actually died and I just hadn't heard about it. Oh, and Aaron Spelling couldn't protect that Angels from the most dangerous foe they would ever have to face- gravity. (Thank you folks, I'll be here all week!) Farrah looked stoned.

And this TV movie that I'd never heard of with Kelly McDonald and Bill Nighy swept like everything. Which means I had to see clips of Kelly McDonald making out with Davy Jones WAY more often than I ever wanted to. Eh. She got to kiss Clive Owen in Gosford Park. She can take one for the team.

I actually think that the writing award was slightly misrespresented, because I'm fairly certain that Charles Dickens wrote Bleak House, and not some random guy nobody has ever heard of. I think Chuck should have been recongized. *sniff*

And finally, they redeemed themselves by giving the best comedy show to The Office, and they all traipsed up on stage and accepted and it was so sweet!!!!!!! GAH, LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whew. I'm emotionally exhausted just thinking about it. I need to go try to get the image of Qui-Gon Jin and Elizbeth I/II making out out of my mind.

ETA: And Barry won!!! Watch as my mother goes from midwestern matron to fangirl in five seconds flat.

And I'm such a slut for authority.

Again, that is a Boston Legal quote, not part of my outlook on life. Except I do have a strange

OMGYAY---blogger.com decided that it would let me post pictures and icons again!!! Well, okay, it would decide for about three minutes and then stop working and then occasionally quit out of AOL automatically, but I would. not. give. up. Even though it took me forty-five minutes. But I won. Hahahahaha.

As a result, enjoy some lovely Star Wars icons...



See how much prettier that looks? Yeah, I thought so.

Was in such a picture-changing mood that I updated my profile pic as well. I decided to stick with my artwork- inspired ones in honor of my academic crisis (yes, it's still going on), but that left me with a quandary. See, I don't really like modern, abstract Dada movement art, but I also don't like overly obvious pieces like anything they'll put on an umbrella. I need pretty, but not sickeningly sweet.

Except still lives. Those bug the hell out me. Who looks at an apple and thinks, "Wow. The world would be so much better if there were a BILLION paintings of this stinking' apple." Sheesh.

The last one was perfect, but now I'm getting a poster of it for my birthday, and if I have to look at it every day on my wall I don't want it on my blog, too, because it is possible to OD on van Gogh. Or just get really dizzy, what with all the swirling...

So I went with an early Picasso (before is both breasts on one side of the body period...what???), mostly because I love the little girl in it. I think if I ever have a little girl I'm going to dress her up like that, even though it was the fashion a hundred years ago. And maybe make her stand at a table like that. I just think it's adorable.

But looking through my old notes to get ideas made me very reminiscent of art history, and now I'm very confused again. Why can't I want to be a teacher or something where your life is so planned out? You major in education, you get out and you teach and then you retire. You don't worry about what city you're in, you don't worry about what language to take, you kind of know what's going to happen to you. *sigh*

It also reminded me of an exercise we did when we were studying Kandinsky about synaesthesia, which means that certain colors and shapes have sounds or smells or genders or words associated with them. One of the shapes below is named Booba, and one is named Kiki. Which one is which?



Did you guess??? I'll wait.

Done yet???

98% of people think that the figure on the left (the pointy one) is named Kiki, and the other one is named Booba. Every single person in our class answered the same way. Weird, huh???



Because I decided that I couldn't live with the guilt of buying House yesterday (I swear to God, I must be Jewish somewhere...), I bought the first season of The Office instead. OMG, SOOOO sweet!!!!

I've seen the whole British series now, and while I absolutely adore Dawn and Tim, I actually love Jim and Pam more. (BTW, on John Krasinski's imdb page is says under trivia, "Is Polish". No shit.)

I cannot wait for it to come back so I can get some closure on the whole who-will-she-choose thing. Because while I think that if they do get together it will be really awkward, if they don't I will be emotionally devastated and probably unable to leave the house to attend school or go to work for several weeks. I'm not proud of it, but it probably will happen.

So I will take awkward, if only to save my ship.

Unlike my other favorite ship, which is having holes poked in it's hull ruthlessly and systematically by Anthony Zuiker. *Mild spoilers for the beginning of the first episode* You have to scroll WAY down until after he stops rambling about some video game.

I'm devastated. You know, I was way happier when Stella was the whore, because I'm way better at being mad at women. You just call them sluts and move on. Although I am slightly mollified by the fact that Gary Sinise didn't want to do it because he clearly has half a brain and realizes that Mac should be with Stella. Humph.



A smattering (Is that aword? It's fun to say. Kind of like spatter, but doesn't make you think of blood.) of my Smacked icons.

Back in the real world, which is significantly less interesting, I could not sleep last night. There was this damn cricket (I determined that it was, in fact, a cricket after Wikipedia'ing crickets vs. cicadas this morning.) chirping it's little ass off right outside my window all blessed night. I watched SNL, I watched Without a Trace, I watched half of Conan. I was so exhausted this morning.

But then Imladris and I got Panera for lunch. Panera is Straight From Heaven. I'll bet it's delivered every morning. I really want some of their coffee.




Yay for Pirates!!! I have to see it again. Can you believe it's only been three times??? I'm shocked at myself!!! I was up in double digits by this time three years ago. Again, not proud of it, but I was.

Okay. I'm freaked out by this. Like shower-and-Xanax freaked out. I think it's photoshopped, personally. Excuse me while I go gouge out my minds eye.

Really? I ask for juice and this is the best you can do??? Pretty little girls getting married??? Gah. Somebody go do something bad---NOW!!!




Shall we close today with a couple random acts of Norrington prettiness? I think that's appropriate. Also, I don't know why I find that middle one so freaking hilarious, but I know I'm laughing very hard right now just looking at it.

After he saw you in Apollo 13 he went to every video store in Manhattan trying to find Apollo's 1 through 12.

Actually watched part of Apollo 13 on Saturday night while we were arguing about what to really watch and when to start watching it (movie night is never an easy endeavor in our house). I love that movie. We should watch it properly some night, as I think it might even be appropriate for the boy. Although I'm still trying to get the mental image of Kevin Bacon in the shower with some poor woman out of my mind... Oh, and the real crew? Not as pretty.

Anyhoodles, haven't had a proper, long-winded appropos of nothing update in quite some time. Been rather busy with working and cleaning and such. And Daddy Dearest was off last week, which made me feel like doing nothing. Including updating. I'm such a lazy bitch. *sigh*

What the hell is blogger's problem with posting pictures??? They are not the work of the devil, blogger.com. Why won't you let me?!?!?!?!

Some pictures, however, are Not So Good, much like those filling the Erotic Photograph's book that some guy at work bought on Saturday. And I had to check it out. It's really hard to do an entire transaction and not make eye contact, let me tell you. *shivers* Made over ten dollars in tips, though. Yay!!!


Bought books this morning---obscenely scary high price tag. Actually wasn't too bad, because my parents apparently decided that my savings account was a good place to get some extra cash and emptied it when we were building the house. Which was slightly off-putting until I realized that this meant they'd be paying for most of my books. Couldn't get all of them, though, because stupid geography professor didn't order it in time. And one of my Russian books wasn't in yet. Ironcially, not the one named after the Marxist newspaper. Somewhere, there is an out of work editor.

Also figured out scary complicated bus schedule thingy. Ugh. Parking at Concordia was so damn easy.

I'm kind of having major separation anxiety from there too. I wasn't too upset when I left, because I was more focussed on starting something new. And now that I actually have to start something new, I'm a teensy bit depressed about it. *sigh*

Okay, NOTHING is going on in the world of the pretty people. Somebody needs to get knocked up in a hideously inappropriate manner SOON. Gah.

I have nothing else to say, and goodness knows no cute little icons to put up. *sigh*

Damn it. Now I have to come up with another Spawn of the Rich and Powerful to marry.

Because now that the Blair kid is channelling Lance Bass, it's not going to be him anymore. *sigh*

ETA: Things aren't going too well for the guy who I want Colleen to marry (only so I can see how cute their kids are going to be), either. Meanwhile, I think it's slightly more upsetting that he's driving a '95 Saturn. I See Dead People money run out??? Damn. Puberty's tough.

If I advance any higher, this would be my career. And if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train.

Not feeling terribly creative today. Mostly rushed. Having to work at night and g0 to Mass in the middle of the day is very time consuming, and leaves little time for cleaning, laundry folding, and eating, which you will know from countless other rants is rather screwed up on days that I work. *sigh* Oh well. Maybe I'll get lots of tips. *snickers* And I'm feeling terribly guilty because I have to ask off for like bunches of days coming up, and even though I sincerely doubt anyone cares because everybody else who works there I think would like me to die so they can get my hours, I feel guilty.

Daddy is off this week, which is completely throwing me off because I feel like we're still on vacation and therefore I don't have to do anything terribly productive, like work out or read. So I'm kind of coasting. Which should make having to go book shopping on Monday terribly depressing and Oh-my-God-it-cannot-be-September-already.

Spent most of yesterday afternoon with the paternal relatives, and finally met Ojava, who is quite adorable and cute and is amazingly good at commanding the attention of the room. It did, however, confirm my theory that I could come home and tell my mother I was pregnant and she'd be overjoyed. Immortal soul in peril or not. :P

Planning on taking the boat out tomorrow. Snaps for boating. Except my parents turn into Nazis when we take the boat out. They get all stressed and snappish and really, really annoyed when you innocently say that having a speed boat would be fun. Sheesh.

Okay, no. This is NOT acceptable. I'm sorry, Anthony Zuiker, but this will just not work. The Smacked shippers will boycott!!!(Well, okay, I won't, but I will watch and throw things at the screen. Humph.) You will either have Mac get together with Stella, or maintain his little detachment from all women in memory of his dead wife thing indefinately, okay??? Because I am fairly certain that this little British tart will not understand the sanctity of the beachball, while Stella totally would. Not that she wouldn't be a little creeped out by it, because even the woman in the coma was going, "Really? That's sweet...and a little weird..." (well, not really, but still), but she would understand it. Peyton? Not so much. And who names their kid Peyton?

Author's Note: Yes, I realize that this formerly logical if a bit weird rhetoric just turned into a completely bitchy and unwarrented ad hominem attack, but I don't care. You d0 not screw with my CSIs.

First Grissom and Sara, and now you completely destroy the holiest of CSI almost-unions??? Ugh. It disgusts me. So Claire Forlani can haul her skinny little British ass back to whatever booth she was making out Keanu Reeves in (because they're "not dating"...yeah, totally), and leave my shows alone, mmkay???? Grrrr.

Back in the real world, how do you lose something like this??? How? Did your secretary "erase" it like the Watergate tapes??? Don't they have like a safe room or something for housing tapes of major historical moments??? I flip out when I can't find one of my DVDs, and I'm pretty sure that, while it is the biggest romantic comedy of all time, My Big Fat Greek Wedding didn't change history.

See? When you aren't attractive, nobody cares. It's a little sad and superficial, but true, no?

A humerous retelling of Suri Cruise's "debut". I laughed and I laughed...

Think that's all from me today, folks. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives.

The plan was foiled when the divorced fathers forgot to pick up Leo after soccer practice.

I'm back---I know you all missed me terribly. Especially since I update somewhat obsessively, a three day break was quite the undertaking for me. But when given a choice between lugging the laptop around on vacation or not having the internet, I'll take comfort over convenience every time.

While I will write about the trip, I'm not going to put up pictures. First, blogger won't let me. Second, I hate looking at other people's vacation pictures. Third, there are about a thousand available to you from either my sister or my mother, because my family has a sick preoccupation with taking pictures. I don't know why they insist on wasting half the time of any given activity photographing everything and everyone involved instaed of just experiencing the damn activity. Grrr.

Okay, so on Friday we manage to leave on time and with minimal luggage, which is an ordeal for us as usually we resemble a circus pulling into town. Imladris and the Boy take bets on how long it will be before I ask for breakfast. Which makes no sense, as they took them in front of me. I'm beginning to question just how smart my family thinks I am.

Get lovely cappuccino at McDonalds, and manage to spill it all over my skirt without ever actually opening the top. I don’t know how that happened, but it did and I ended up sitting in my underwear for half an hour waiting for it to dry. Embarrassing, I know. But necessary.

*five hours of hilly country and corn later*

We arrive at the hotel, loverly as alaways, except I am informed upon arrival that the Boy will be commandeering the rollaway bed, because my parents want to share a bed. Whatever. If they wanted to sleep together so badly, they can damn well get me my own room, because I am so past that sharing a double bed, which I get to myself every other night, with another full-sized person. It doesn’t work. They pull out the “don't ruin our vacation” card, and Imladris and I are forced to share a bed and do our much-practiced turn in unisen so that we don't end up facing each other. Of course, I never get the side of the bed with the nightstand, and I have no place to put my glasses. Thus begins a weekend where I awake many, many times to find myself almost spooning my sister. And then I have to go get a little bit sick in the bathroom. But at least the Boy has room to spread out. >:(

By the time we finish arguing about the bed and have dinner, the evening is pretty much over. Everyone falls asleep, and Imladris and I drink (Arbor Mist: Drunk Soccer Mom drink, but TASTY!!!!) and watch Harry Potter and Finding Nemo. We decide to sneak booze into more children’s movies (Open Season anyone??? ;)). I decide I’m back into Alan Rickman (its’ a hormonal fluctuation thing, comes and goes.) Imladris decides never to pair adorable teensy bottles of wine with lots of ice cream.

Next morning I finally give up on sleeping at about seven and get up to have coffee with Mommy and Colleen at the adorable little coffee bar across the street. Immediately I am floored by the fact that the girl working there has earned more tips this morning than I have over the entire summer. Oh the Joy of Customers.

Mommy regales us with tales of her dream last night, in which Colleen and I are both married and one of us is pregnant. But she doesn't know which one. Imladris immediately decides it's her, and I will die alone and barren. I am sure, despite my mother’s dream, that I am a beacon of fecundity, and am not going to be barren and childless while Imladris drags around her perfectly dressed 2.5 children. Humph.

So we plan on going out and about, but there is a parade blocking everything. Serioulsy? Mrs. Grant??? When I was little I had a First Ladies coloring book, and I never liked to color her in. Her dressed were much to ugly. Much like Eleanor Roosevelt. I know she “did a lot for our country” and all that crap, but girl did not know how to dress. Neither did Mrs. Truman, poor woman named after a cow. Really, from Mrs. Lincoln (Crazy knew how to dress, I'll give her that), there was like a seventy-five year period there without a pretty first lady. Very sad, really. And then Jackie came and saved the day. Loved coloring her in.

Spent the morning shopping. Got adorable shirts. Espresso and Merlot. Tasty. And then everybody goes back to sleep. I read about St. Petersburg. Seriously reconsidering moving there, because the apartments sound pretty damn nasty. Maybe I'll focus my husband-hunting on western Europe.

Got ice cream. Mmmmm.

More resting. I burned probably five calories this weekend, and that was hauling myself up the stairs to various restaurents.

We then drive around and go to Mass. Colleen thought she was dressed like a hooker. I thought she looked cute, but did admit to the irony when the priest did a little “being dressed appropriately for Communion thing.” Tee hee. Glad they mentioned the Holy Day, as I completely forgot and have to work at night and have to find a Mass during the day.

For dinner we got take out in the room. Mmmm. Watched CSI:NY and Criminal Minds while having tasty burgers and mudslide sundaes. Have decided that Hawkes, too, would be a good platonic husband, as he was Very Caring to that poor woman whose son was burned to a crisp because her horny boyfriend wanted them to move in with him. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to hand out around the lab, or have him mention his work at all, lest I get myself worked into a hormonal frenzy over the other members of the group, but still.

I now think I'm going to throw up.

So it's finally dark, and we can go out for out traditional nighttime drive in the hills. Okay. Imladris and I had had some more Arbor Mist during dinner, and, while we were certainly not tipsy, we were having a Pretty Good Time, and tried our darndest to find the hot reenactors, who were supposedly camping outside Grant's house, but totally weren't. Lots of fun. The evening ended with me attempting to find a bar and recruit a guy to infiltrate the Masonic ranks and tell me their secrets, and possibly impregnate Colleen, but that's a whole different story. "Hey! Have you thought about becoming a Mason lately???" HAHAHAHA.

Fell asleep watching SNL, which was crazy funny, and gave me the title, which I have been laughing about all weekend. "Yes I'd like a sandwhich!" Hehehe. Also, we feel a teensy bit sad for Maggie Gyllenhaal.

On Sunday we have more coffe. Have decided maybe I need a couple more dollars of inspiration in my tip jar. Shall test this theory on Tuesday. So after filling coffee, we go the breakfast buffet. I have now officially gained five pounds. Then we walk around some more, and drive around for like two hours, unwilling to admit that the weekend is actually over. My family has perfected the Art of Denial.

Could not find a single Taco Bell across the whole damn state. Had to have it for dinner instead. Grrr.

Yeah, you really didn't want to read all that, did you??? Oh well. This post is over, because my father is being industrious and cleaning the attic, and I have to go make sure that he's not throwing out anything that I have earmarked for my children.

It doesn't have to be moving.

Guh. I am so. unbelievably. bad. at organizing myself. Seriously. My children are going to die of malnutrition because I won't be able to find the milk or something.

So we're leaving tomorrow for Galena, which promises to be a wonderful weekend. If I remember to pack enough clothes. I'm really bad at the traveling thing. I am so incapable of remembering exactly what I need to bring and what I need to do that I actually have to write out lists. Last night at work I'd have flashes of brilliance like, "OOH! Nail clipper!!!" and I'd have to write it down on a piece of receipt paper. When I do my packing list, I literally have to start at the top of my head, with hairspray, and work my way down. I know it's sad, but otherwise I'd forget something like deoderant. But I feel way more confident if I have a list that's all crossed out.



Of course, something always is left off the list that I desperately need. This time it was pajamas. I did not allot proper space for pajamas, and this is causing me major grief, as I am trying very, VERY hard to be space concious here and only bring the little tote bag. Which is not going well, let me tell you. Okay, so I probably don't need several books, but what if I want to read about the only American woman to survive Stalin's gulag and Sarah Churchill??? Hmmm???

So I have like nothing done, and very little time to actually do it in. Which is usually how I prepare for trips. Last year for the Cleveland Odyssey I didn't even buy summer shirts until the weekend before. I'mdoing slightly better today---don't have any major shopping to do.



Onto international travel news, I have now decided officially to switch my major from international relations to something inside this country. Not because I'm scared to fly, but because if I can't travel with lipgloss, I'm not traveling at all. ;) The State Department will not want to deal with me when I'm dehydrated and frizzy from lack of styling products. Heh. They think they've got problems now.

Meanwhile, I'm finding it incredibly amusing that Bush and Blair pow-wowwed from their respective vacationing spots in Texas and the Caribbean. That's leadership for you. Nice to know we're in competent hands.

All kidding aside, it is rather scary to think of what could have happened. See? This is why we need the Patriot Act. Well, okay, not really, because we didn't technically foil this one, the British did, but still. I honestly don't care if somebody is listening to my phone conversations if it saves me from having my plane being blown up with me in it.



GAH!!! Eddie Cahill interview!!! Hmmm. We're gonna have to do something about that tattoo. I want to go to Ireland with him... *sigh*

I'm going to go have lunch and see if there's any way I can cram my life's necessities into a teensy weensy bag.

My tenuous connection to Greg from CSI.

Alright, so I was freakishly bored last night, and thanks to Wikipedia came up with a rather tenuous connection Greg Sanders. Stay with me, I'm honestly getting to a point.

So I'm reading this book about the Middle East, and I was Wikipedia'ing various Middle Eastern leaders. So I was on Golda Meir's page (did you know she was only the third female prime minister ever? I didn't.), and then I went to UWM's page, you know, just to represent, and under notable alumni (which, btw, weren't so notable) there was a guy with the last name Szmanda. So I'm all, "EEE!!! I wonder if he's related to Greg???" So I click on him and it turns out to be the Menards Guy!!! You know, save big money at Menards? That guy. So I'm all "GAH!!! Menards guy!!! Are you related to Greg!?!?!?" So I scrolled through his page and right at the bottom is a little thing that says his great-nephew is Eric Szmanda, known for playing Greg on CSI. So then I got totally batshit crazy (it was after ten and I was slighty outof it), and am all "EEEK!! GREG!!!! SO AWESOME!!!"

Unfortunately, when I informed them, nobody else in the house was anywhere near as excited about this as I was, and I had to wait until Imladris returned from a friends house for an appropriately "REALLY!?!?!" response. Which she, obviously being far more intelligent than the rest of my family, provided.

So that's your update for today---dont' really have time for a long one!!! :)

Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

Blogger will not let me post pictures. Woe.

The cake featured in yesterday's entry is gone. Bigger woe.

Tuition bill came. Holy shit woe.

But we have cream puffs courtesy of Daddy's parents. Yayness.

So Colleen has made it her goal to find me platonic spouse. For those of you who don't know, Imladris has a platonic universe worked out where she is married to Jack Malone from Without a Trace, but they sleep separately and adopt children. She meets Vivian for coffee, and Greg from CSI crashes on her couch. Also, I think Nick and Sara from CSI live down the street. I'm not sure about this. Oh, and Samantha and the boys from WOT don't exist. She wants me to share in this platonic universe and has posted a list of platonic husbands for me to choose from.

Will Ferrell
Mackenzie Crook
Dustin Hoffman
Victor Garber
Bill Nighy
Sean Hayes
Billy Boyd
Andy Serkis
William Peterson
Michael Caine

Along with some snarky comments about my taste in men, which- much like my taste in wine- she finds questionable (lots of people like pinot noir---and not just because of Sideways, which I actually wasn't that fond of).

Any one of them, except for the one that should not be on there because she knows it couldn't be platonic because I regrettably got verbal diarreaha while we were in the care one day, would do. But I've been thinking about it, and have decided that I would like to be in a sexless marriage with the nice old guy from Criminal Minds (also, the guy who the title in The Princess Bride. Which I have not seen yet). He's nice and probably rich and if we're being platonic here I don't have to worry about looks. So we're good. Oh, and there's a poster from his CD in the back room at work and everytime I see it I feel the need to screech and go "HEY!!! CRIMINAL MINDS GUY!!!!!!!!" which no one seems to appreciate.

But nobody else from the show is allowed in my universe. The girls are too pretty, and the guys are...well, too pretty.

Onto other implausible discussion topics, last week Imladris posted something about what she would take with her to the end of the world or some other sort of disaster. And then her friend posted the same thing. While I do not have their painbrush talents (I can't draw a stick figure), and therefore will not have a picture of a stick figure me running from a flood/fire/Horseman, I have been thinking about this. And I've been having a big problem figuring out what I would take. Because all the stuff that's important to me, like my books and movies and posters and stuff, can all be replaced really easily. Except maybe that Josh one that they don't sell anymore. Obviously the jewlery I have been entrusted with, but I can wear all that. Other than that, I think I'd take my purse.

Because my purse is less a purse and more a Black Hole of Things One Possibly Might Need. Seriously. People vacation with les. My iPod is there, which I would definately need because it has all of my slightly illegal Josh songs that the Grobanites were kind enough to send me. My cell phone, which I would not want to be without. My checkbook and wallet and calender, all of which I would feel naked without. And then we have the full compliment of beauty supplies, including but not limited to breath strips, wet ones, hair spray, hair bands, concealor, pressed powder, blush, mascara, lipstick, lipgloss, lip balm, and sunscreen.

And a Tide Pen, in case I spill anything.

Magic Erasered (yes, it can be a verb *sniff*) the kitchen floor today, and it looks quite wonderful. I loves me the new extra strength Magic Eraser. I only used one and go the whole kitchen done. And now my dad is out there grinding something and probably destroying it. Woe.

Looks as though we may be going out of town of Friday. *does snoopy dances* I have shopping to do...

Okay, this has absolutely nothing to do with anything at all, but I just realized it today. Libya has the MOST BORING flag EVER. They just do.

The troops say no, thank you. They have enough to deal with without having to drag La Lohan's drunken ass out of Nobu: Baghdad at two o'clock some morning.

Have a good Tuesday, y'all.

In which Imladris and I bake a cake.

Featured below.

See how pitiful??? No, I kid, but it's a teensy bit lopsided becuse it baked unevenly, and also just a teensy bit almost falling over. But that's okay, as it is very tasy, which has led to it being just a teensy bit gone. Oh well. Still a little bit left. The excellent frosting job is courtesy mainly of yours truly, because Imladris cut herself on the frosting jar (???) and had to go take care of that. The frosting jar sitting in the trash literally licked clean? Courtesy of Imladris.

Excellent fun, though, even if it was just a Betty Crocker box mix. Much like Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, Betty Crocker has made it impossible to screw her recipes up. The box practically says, "The egg goes in the bowl, moron." And I've tried to screw up macaroni and cheese---I've put too little butter in, I've used water instead of milk if we run out, I've even forgotton how much water to put in and just filled the bowl up. But it comes out tasting exactly the same every single time. I have a theory that if you just pour the noodles and the cheese sauce out into a bowl and let it sit for a couple minutes, you will come back and some sort of chemical reaction will have taken place and you will have a hot dinner waiting. I think the act of putting all that other stuff in is just to make you feel like you're helping. Makes you feel accomplished and domestic. It's a little sad when your idea of domesticity is Kraft noodles, but that's okay. Kraft will still love you.


So other than baking a cake, I didn't do too much yesterday. Went to Mass. Had very much trouble paying attention. Went to see Talladega Nights. Funny, but I still can't see why people like Nascar. And it's like some people's reason for living. There's this guy at work who will only talk about racing. He's nice, but it's driving me just a little bit crazy, especially considering that I don't understand a word he's saying. Will Ferrell was quite funny, though. As was John C. Reilly, who my sister has been unknowingly stalking for YEARS.

Slightly out of place political commentary: I was watching TV last night while eating dinner and the announcer honestly said, "Finally, could the breakthrough that paves the way for peace in the Middle East come tonight?" I almost choked on my fancy pants burger. Um. No. I doubt it. They've been fighting since, oooh, the Dawn of Time. I'm thinking they didn't just decide to give it up last night. And since I woke up this morning and the sky wasn't pink with Care Bears or some other peaceful change (although Care Bears always freaked me out), I'm thinking that didn't pan out.

Watched Platinum Weddings and Bridezillas at night. Colleen has decided that watching wedding shows with me is no longer fun, because everytime they mention a price, I scream about how many semesters that would be (seriously?All my books for your freakin' shoes?!?!?!?!). I think I'm getting on her nerves a little.

I actually like Platinum Weddings better, because the couples, while spending an obscene amount of money on a party, actually love each other. Not so with the Bridezillas. This one last night was such a bitch that she chewed out her mother-in-law for being late from the stage at her reception. And she was yelling at her husband about ruining "her wedding". Yeah. They're not making through the honeymoon. Crazy bitches.

Colleen has decided that I must have a platonic husband for a platonic unvivers like the one where she is married to Jack from Without a Trace and has coffee with Vivian, and is now scouring shows to find for me. Me? I prefer not to waste time fantasizing about platonic universes when CBS offers us so many other options. It just seems silly to me. ;)

On a slightly more intelligent note, I just read this wonderful book about Harpet Lee- Mockingbird. It's the first actual biography on her, because she's been so reclusive. It was so good, and I loved the part where it talked about her involvement with In Cold Blood, which I also just read. Apparently, she was not amused that Capote didn't thank her for writing like half of it for him, and it caused a serious rift in their relationship. Oh juiciness. It's so awesome---everyone should read it.

Justice will not rest. What if I gave justice a cookie? Justice will think about it.

Imladris is bugging me to update. And comment on her blog. She's very high maintenance, really.

Did not have time to update yesterday, as I got a call at one from Kim asking if as long as I was on at six, could I possibly come in at five. Which sounds like a reasonable request, except that I didn't know I was working at all. Much depression and hasty cleaning ensued. And there was no way in hell I was going in at five.

Wanna know something sad? The only tips I made were from staff members. Music Guy felt sorry for me and put a dollar in, and would give me all the loose change he found lying around. And then my boss's wife gave me her change, which was nice. But it's not like there were a whole bunch of opportunites for tips, as there was absolutely no one but me and Music Guy downstairs at all for two solid hours. I cleaned the syrup bottles and squirted water through every single one. That's how bored I was.


So I don't actually have that much to write about, despite Imladris wanting an update like a junkie wants, well, whatever the junkie happens to be addicted to. I don't know a whole lot of junkies, at least not the illegal variety, so I'm not sure what the popular junkie addiction is. I would think crack, as there are countless crack jokes out there. Because if you add the word crack to any sentence it gets infinately funnier, really. Try it sometime. Not around my mom. Because she seems to think that just because my sister has an affinity for drug jokes that means she's behind the bleachers shooting up. Which is just implausible, because I don't think Imladris likes needles, and she certainly would never be caught dead behind a bleacher. She'd be one of those addicts in a pink fluffy robe passed out in her rose-scented bath in her penthouse apartment that her unloving but rich husband paid for.

Or on my futon. That works too. But not as glamarous.

Gah! Johnny on Letterman. We loves him on Letterman. Aw, hell, we love him on everything. But this was Particularly Good Look for Johnny dear. Even though he looked very nervous and scared. Actually, that just made me want to comfort him, because I do love a project.

So my life is pretty boring. I know you're shocked because the last eighteen months of entries have been jam packed with interesting tidbits about my fast-paced and exciting life. Totally. I kind of talk about Johnny, my hair, Josh, Johnny, my clothes, Johnny, various political events, Johnny, and occasionally other, non-Johnny movies I watch. Hmmm.

Today we might go shopping, all the way to Target. Whoo! I did get off next Friday, and I need various toiletries in adorable teensy packaging if we're going away next weekend. Because I'm making a very concerted effort to pack lightly, which is difficult for me. Because usually my weekend packing involves a tote and a small suitcase, inevitably filled with stuff that I don't ever use (did I really need the two sweatshirts? And I don't wear thick socks at home- why would I use them on vacation?). And when five of us walk into the lobby with two suitcases each, plus the incidental pillow, because nobody likes to sleep on other people's pillows, we are Quite the Sight. So I'm going to do my part and just have a little tote. Because it is summer, after all, and I don't have to pack anything too terribly bulky. I'm going to try my hardest.

Also going to buy some books, as I have only bought one book since June and it only cost three twenty seven, thanks to my lovely discount and my loverly gift card. And since I separated my savings from my checking account I don't feel quite as guilty buying stuff. I have such a guilt complex. About everything, really. I've always been freakishly guilty. I think I'm part Jewish.

Oh, Hugh Grant. We love your blinky Britishness. Not as much as Colleen has decided she loves forbes.com, where they have a list of the richest guys under forty---she was picking out possible husbands for me last night. Among lots and lots of other things, which included googling CSI's Anna Belknap's husband, and sticking a pillow under her shirt to see how she's look pregnant (she's decided to adopt).

Anyhoodles, my pick would be the Russian google guy. Because then I could name my daughter Anastacia and not have it be weird. And even if we end up grocery shopping and I have to ask how we're doing on paper towels, it will be with an accented billionaire, which makes even paper goods seem interesting, doesn't it???

I hope that was enough of an update for Her Royal Squishyness...

She could feel the Big Hill looking down as the Crowd danced at Tib's wedding in the chocolate-colored house.

So yesterday I went back and read some of my old Betsy-Tacy and Tib books, because it was rainy and I was feeling nostalgic. Oh! I'd kind of forgotten how adorable they really are!!! I'm going to name my daughter Anastacia (despite my sister's admonition that "that's kind of ghetto") and call her Tacy, no matter what my husband thinks or what his last name is. *sniff*

I read the whole first one in like twenty minutes, which was got to be the cutest thing ever. And then when Tib comes (she was Colleen's favorite, because she was rich), and they sit on the fence and talk about God, and they start their getting-into-Heaven club? So cute!!! My favorite part is when Betsy says that they haven't really been that bad, and Tacy replies, "We're born bad!" Ah, Catholic guilt- Victorian style.

Then I read part of Betsy's Wedding, which was actually the first book in the series that I read. And it was so sweet. I know I'm gushing. But I can't help it. And the ending? It makes me want to cry. Maud Hart Lovelace said that the reason she never continued after Betsy's marriage was because she loved the last line of Betsy's wedding so much that that deserved to be the ending of the series. I personally think it was because she lost a baby right after birth and didn't want to screw around with Betsy's life, but the line is wonderful. *tear*

I'm going to read these to my children in utero. And then force them to read them when they're old enough. And drag them to Mankato to have their picture taken on the bench. They're going to be soooo pissed at me...


Yay---my iPod charger came!!! And actually works. Which I was slightly worried about, as, you know, iPods are famously tempermental. I see that little frowny-face guy in my nightmares. But it works, and I can now charge it in the car thanks to my (okay, my parent's) little AC adapter thingy which saved me another thirty bucks for the car charger.

Apple has quite the little racket going on, don't they? Now, my iPod was a gift. But I know it was expensive. You'd expect it to come with something to charge it, right? Um, sorta. It comes with a little USB cord that allows you to charge it by connecting it to the computor. Which is just lovely and works fine---if you're sitting next to a computor all the time. So. You think, wow, I need an outlet charger. Then you think, wait, if I got out of town, I need to buy a car charger so that I won't be sans tunes for hours across America's heartland. So you add that to your cart. Then you think, wait, I can't listen to headphones when I'm driving---that would be irresponsible driving, which I do not condone. So you buy the little cassette adaptor thingy. Which also works just fine as long as you're next to a cassette player. A couple days later you're sitting in your room or office or whatever, and think, hmmm, some tunes would be really nice right now. Too bad there's no way to play my iPod over speakers. So you buy (or ask for your birthday, my method of choice), the iHome base that allows you to listen to the iPod at home (hence the name). Oh, this also charges it, so the thirty bucks you spent two paragraphs ago on the outlet charger are lost. Finally, you're working out one morning and getting all sweaty trying to hold the iPod that you think, if only there were a contraption that would strap this to my arm...but wait! There is. For $29.99.

So you have now spent over two hundred dollars, plus whatever very large amount of money the original iPod cost you. Not that I'm complaining. Because I've done all that. Sheesh.

Watched America's Got Talent (which is kind of false advertising if you ask me) last night, because I was promised popcorn, and I also like to watch white people try to dance. So there was this whore in mesh shirt over a sparkly bra who could put her legs behind her head. Guess how many votes she got? And then there was this woman who stripped for her talent, which almost everyone can do if you take your clothes off slowly enough. I'm not saying anybody wants to see it, but we all have that "talent".

And then this annoying George Michael look-alike comes on the stage. I didn't see him the first time, but apparently he sang Caruso. So I'm kind of bristeling, because that's clearly Josh's song, even though anyone with a rudimentary grasp of Italian seems to put it on their CD. But I'm okay with it. Then he announces he will be singing You Raise Me Up.

Now I'm kind of pissed. That is Josh's song, and you do not take it from him, weird person. But still, I felt a little bit sorry for him, because nobody can sing it like Josh, no matter how hard they try.

So he starts he performance, and he IS TOTALLY RIPPING OFF JOSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Seriously. He stole the scruff, the touseled hair, even the mike hands. It's like he got a copy of Live at the Greek and watched it for a couple weeks. He even walked around the stage slowly like him. I was NOT amused. I'm kind of suprised he didn't get a mike stand and do the finger thing. The Grobanites would have been all over his ass. And not in the creepy way they are all over Josh's. *shivers*

But the good part is that he sucked. His voice was all high and cracky and he couldn't pull off the Josh thing- obviously, because no one can. Except Josh. I miss Josh. When the hell is his CD coming out???

Cupid and his arrow have declared me an endangered species.

Hey-got one icon up before blogger shut down. Oh the joys of technology. Of course, it also deleted my post with all my ideas, too, so now I have nothing to talk about.

Except for my scary inability to make anything remotely considered a decision. I am continuing to have a major academic crisis.

I have decided that my new life goal is to become Diane Kruger in National Treasure. (Shut up, Colleen. It's Wednesday, you have better things to abuse me about.) You know, because of the pretty clothes, the literary/historical mystery, and the hair. Mostly the clothes, though. Really, I just want to live in a novel. I'd probably want to be Audrey Tatou in the Da Vinci Code, too, except for the mannish suits and eternal damnation. It would be so much fun.

However, I suppose this idea is "unrealistic". Pssh. Whatever.

See? This is my problem! I'm completely afraid of reality! My biggest fear is ending up living The Office, except without the sweet guy in the corner and the one-liners. Then I'll just end up in the Tostitos commercial where this woman is dreaming about a vacation and hot guys and then this fat guy with a bad combover comes up and breaks her out of her dream by saying something about donuts in the conference room. Wait. That doesn't make any sense. Maybe it was a donut commerical. Or a travel commercial. Yes, I think that's what it was. For some travel company. Maybe Sandals??? The Tostitos one was the guys eating and watching the construtction workers (which is not nearly as gay as I just realized it sounded) while the woman was doing all the work. Okay, so my biggest fear is ending up in a donut/Sandals commercial. *sigh*

But I'm so shallow. I really want to call myself an attorney. And then my mom constantly reminds me that practicing law is not like on Boston Legal, which is getting pretty damn insulting because how stupid does she really think I am??? Hmmm???

And if I decide to go for my doctorate in art history, I'll have to deal with a life time of "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach/major in art history." See? It works both ways. I'm screwed. *bigger sigh*

So in an effort to pull myself from the depths of Oh-my-God-what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life depression, I decided to go on the internet and find out how much my books are going to cost me, as that is the only part I have to pay for this semester. Oh, dear Lord.

Okay, they tell you to allow eight hundred dollars for books a year. And that's pretty much what I had at Concordia, too. No sweat. I can make that in about two months. (I know you're jealous of my salary. Please, I'm just like you.)

But they LIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Even with buying all used books, which, let me tell you, is a crapshoot, I'm up at five hundred. With new ones? Over six, and that's if geography is inexpensive. And given the fact that the freakin' math solutions books is more money than I like to spend on prescriptions, it's not looking good.

So I had a major hyperventillitative fit, which I'm not sure is even a word, but it sounds like it should work, right??? And then I got really pissed off and kind of demanded that my elders start being elders and give me some money. Because when Oldest Spawn of Mickey "graduated", he got an obscenely expensive laptop, which I could never afford- especially not now that I know they mug you upon entering the bookstore. When I actually graduated, I got gift cards. Not that I don't love gift cards, but you cannot do your papers on them. Grrr.

Mommy just came in and suggest that I do French with Imladris this month. Yeah. If I'm paying $160.75 for the book in fall, they can damn well teach me everything I need to know.

I really, REALLY want to go away next weekend. And I have to work on Friday. Bugger bugger bugger bugger. Spent hours last night at work crafting the note begging somebody to take over my shift, because, let's face it, there was nothing else to do. It was quite a literary feat, if I do say so myself- the subltey of the language, how it was intent but not desperate (okay, so maybe the part about how he could call my cell phone in the middle of the night if he wanted was a teensy bit desprerate), flattering but not suck-uppy. And I made it sound like we were hauling Mommie Dearest off of her deathbed for one last hurrah (which we're not, nobody get upset), just to add a little melodrama. I was quite pleased with myself. :)

Have a good Wednesday, everybody!