And Then We Came to the End.

It's November 30, the last day of NaBloPoMo.

It's been a good month, y'all, hasn't it? I didn't even have to resort to posting song lyrics or random pictures, and I only broke down and wrote about me feelings on one amendment, which is restrained for someone who has opinions (oh, do I have opinions) on every single one. I usually had something to say, even if it was just that, well, I didn't really have anything to say.

I've enjoyed it, too. I'm very anal-retentive into control (well, okay, that sounded more S&M than I'd like), and knowing that I had to update everyday? Was kind of awesome.

In fact (and please don't hold me to this because I'm not sure I want to do it yet), it was so awesome that I'm thinking- hold onto your hats-of doing it in 2008.

As in a NaBloPoYr. Except without the Na[tional], because it'd just be me. And only my mom would read it.

So yeah. Just think. Next year? Maybe 366 (that's right, folks, it's even a LEAP YEAR!!!) episodes of the Crazy.

And do you know what happens next year? Political stuff. And oh, how I love political stuff. You know how I'm kind of an Article III groupie (not THE Article III Groupie, who has a very funny blog that should be updated more, but a lesser groupie with far less education and broader interests)? Yeah, I didn't get to PICK them.


You give me a modicum of power such as voting? It's like an intellectual orgy over here at Chez Morena.

So stay tuned.

(I don't mean to imply that I'm not updating in December. Because I totally will. Probably just not tomorrow. Or next weekend. Or any day when the most productive thing I have to add to the internets is "Ugh. I'm bloated.")



Not a whole lot else going on today. Very sad news out of the Empress's school, which kind of puts a damper on things. And makes you drive more carefully. WAY more carefully. After the abovementioned tragedy, there was a mass exodus of students because most (including the Empress) just couldn't deal with it.


The Boy's response? He didn't want to miss anything, so he stayed at school.


Yep. He's a male.


(Not that there was ever any doubt.)


(I kid the child, but I'm not heartless!!!)


(Although according to certain sources, I'm a cold bitch who's dead on the inside.)


(Which isn't true. I just am not all warm and fuzzy. Well, I'm literally not fuzzy. I'm the normal 98.6 degrees warm, though.)


(I just don't hug.)

(I don't know why all those are in parentheses. It made sense for the first couple.)


(Now not so much.)


(I'm going to bed. Happy December!)

Day 29. Fine. Whatever.

Icons for Colleen today, for I think this is her favorite episode of Star Trek, even more than the one where Kirk and the Space Whore have to *snicker* repopulate the species, or the boot episode.



The heathen envelopes are finished. And I have nothing else to do but study until finals. Well, if you don't count cleaning, laundry, presenting in Egyptian civ, writing a psych paper, and watching POTC: AWL roughtly 547 times.

Oh, it shall be sweet.

Realized that I have an inadvertant day off next week. Because there's a terrorist coming to talk about not being a terrorist anymore, and I've got this weird feeling that some sort of shit is going down, and I'd really rather not be a part of any of it.

So sleep- yay!!!

Also? It's Tuesday. God wants me to watch Pirates. Over and over and over agan.

Only one link today, but it's a doozy:

Um, yeah. Maybe if you're thinking Flowers in the Attic.

I should never drink. When I drink I do stupid things. Like sleep with my husband.

A belated shout-out to my little brother, who did not get one on his birthday last Friday. (His reply? "Oh. You posted at 9:30. You were probably drunk by then." I love the respect I get from my family.)


Josh was just on the tree lighting thingy at Rockefeller Center. And I'm pretty sure I'm ovulating now. Because Josh? Plus O Come All Ye Faithful? In an adorable coat that I'm ignoring looks like mine? After a long day of mummy reports from 3500 years ago?

Is FREAKING AWESOME.

I love him.

Also freaking awesome (although not as much as Josh because that would just be impossible)? The movie Waitress.

It's adorable and funny and touching but not depressing. Like a good movie should be. But rarely is these days.

Wow. That sounded like I was eighty.
Week old links because I'm tired and going to go fold religious flyers (as opposed to the non-religious flyers that don't have heathen stickers yet, but I digress).

Oh, crap. Another dissertation topic gone. And I was going to run away with my professor/advisor, too. Like in Indiana Jones. Well, okay, that didn't happen. But it could have.

Under the heading of Love Gone Oh So Wrong we have three items today:
1.) This is what they should put on the show. Not that dumb rose crap.
2.) What, now that you've got that disco ball you're too good for her? You disgust me. And not just because you're a car driver.
3.)Seriously? How is he old enough to produce sperm?

Hehe. It's funny 'cuz it's math.

DON'T DO IT KITTEH.

Seriously? You work 80 hours a week for these people and then they don't let you get embarrassingly drunk at Christmas? Screw law school, I'm pretty sure most of my professors are drunk all the time.

Please Don't Emanate in the Penumbras.

It's funny 'cuz it was a bad ruling. *ahem* Just a little Constitutional humor there, folks.

Had another existential crisis this morning, although this time I managed to avoid wailing and gnashing of teeth. At one point I did bury my head in a pillow. This is, let's face it, a step down on the Crazy Meter. I think it's a sign of personal growth.

Most of this morning's breakage down was caused by the fact that the semester's almost over, and while I have narrowed my life's goals down to two main trajectories (well, three if you could Marry Prime Minister, Preferably One of An English Speaking Country French Sucks, but that one's not really a career goal per se), I am no closer to picking one, and they are such that you have to pick just one. Unless I want to go around like that guy in the TNT movie The Librarian collecting graduate degrees. Which I don't. That seems like an awful lot of work.

So my mom was putting up with helping me talk through some things, when we got to the crux of my issue. I want to go to law school. But I don't want to be a lawyer.

Well, except a judge. I think that would be pretty cool. Mom shook her head and suggested, correctly, that I'd only be happy being an appellate court judge, because criminals and other plebeians? Eww.

So I'm all, well, yeah, but you don't get to be appointed to those positions until you're like, EIGHTY!!! (I think this is when I collapsed onto the pillow.) And then she's all, no, that's not always true, look at [Chief Justice] Roberts!

Um. Okay. Let's, shall we?

I suppose that if you lead a charmed life in which it appears God is grooming you to become, I don't know, a freaking PROPHET or something, it's no big deal with ascend to the highest judicial office in the Western world before your voice changes. with like, ZERO experience, I might add. I've been working at Borders longer than he's been on the bench, but whatever. As usual, nobody asked me.

Those of us who didn't rise fully formed from a pile of fairy dust might have to toil in anonymity for awhile longer. At least through puberty maybe.

So I got no closer to a resolution, but I did manage to make myself feel like a failure.

On second thought, this doesn't look like so much fun. Unless the private conference on Friday is BYOB, I'd take the week off, boys.

Maybe I will have to marry a Prime Minister.

This has nothing to do with anything (SOMETIMES they do, shut up), but yesterday morning I hauled myself up four flights of stairs at 7:30 to listen to an effete, underpaid librarian talk about fake illuminated manuscripts. Which you could tell he was trying VERY hard to make himself feel good about. At one point, he goes, "There are only three (more than one) facsimiles (fakes) in good condition (many more in varying other conditions) in the Upper Midwest (Wisconsin)."

So there are a tons of good fakes in the state. But we've got one of them!

Ugh. This is why art history isn't one of my two major trajectories.

So you know that update that was coming?

Yeah. It's not. Because I'm tired and burned out and got a really bad grade on an oceanography test it's a B- shut up but on the other hand my photos project looks AMAZING and I spent a grand total of twenty three minutes at home before 7 tonight.

I don't even know what I was going to talk about. 2nd Amendment? Guns suck. There ya go.

Tomorrow. I promise.

Pretending You Care

Because I don't feel like actually writing tonight, I give you a transcript of one particularly nice transaction I've had the privilege to be part of recently.

Me: Hi. How are you today?

Mother in Question: Fine.

Little Bastard: *screams*

Mother in Questions: Stop screaming.

Little Bastard: *screams*

Mother in Question: I'll put your Diego book back.

Little Bastard: *scream*

Mother in Question: Okay. I'm putting the Diego book back. You can't have it.

Me (quietly): Do you really want me to take it off the purchase?

Mother in Question: Yeah. I'll pay cash if he starts to behave.

Little Bastard: *screams*

Mother in Question: Okay. I'm putting the Diego book back.

Little Bastard: *screams quiet to a dull roar*

Mother in Question: Will you stop? Because then we can take the Diego book.

Me: Um. I took if off the purchase. You'll have to pay for it on another one.

Mother in Question: *death glare* What? I thought you rang it up. That way I could do my whole little thing with him.

Me: No, you told me to take it off.

Little Bastard: *screams increase*

Mother: *scoffs* Fine. Just ring me up.

Me: *fallopian tubes tie themselves*

I am not drunk.

But I am bloated, tired, and don't feel like writing.

So I don't think I will.

I doubt I will tomorrow, either, as I have to work and want to spend the rest of the day drinking coffee and relaxing, but I promise I'll be back with a real, grown-up entry that says more than "MmmmtastyBaileysmmmbye!!!" on Monday. Because I really want to discuss the 2nd Amendment and a couple of good books I've read lately. And, you know, the Hogans' divorce.

What? That's who I am!

Two things tonight before I go have popcorn and watch Transformers:

1.) Love Actually FREAKING ROCKS. Dude. Best. Movie. Ever. Bar. None. And it keeps getting better and better and better each and every time you watch it!!! It's amazing.

2.) Umm. There is no two. There was. But I forgot what it was. So, um, yeah. No number two.

Goodnight!!!

Oh so much wine.

I was going to do a real post, with something other than a drunken paragraph saving my NaBloPoMo status, but alas I am not.

So, yeah. Happy Day After Thanksgiving.

Oooh. One thing. My cousin is writing a screenplay? And somehow I didn't know? Que???

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

I have had entirely too much to eat and drink (Baileys in chocolate shot glasses? Why did no one think of this before? I have wasted so many holidays with Baileys in regular shot glasses!!!). I think I may have discussed incest and the second amendment with my grandfather. Wow. That's embarrassing. I don't know. So I'm going to bed.

But NaBloPoMo will not stop!!!

Oh, wait. Shout out to Aunt Mary, who totally did not request one. Happy birthday!!!

Okay. Good night.

Notsomuch with the title today.

Or so much with the entry. I was fairly bubbling with creativity earlier today, but then I cleaned and cooked and now I want to go to bed.

Normally this would depress me, because going to bed is pretty much just a bandaid and I usually feel worse in the morning, but not tonight.

Why, you ask?

Because I can sleep in the morning. Yes. I am so not getting up until like five minutes before we have to leave. Yep. I'm going to look REALLY nice.

(DUDE! Ecklie is the IA guy for Criminal Minds, too!!! Does he commute to Vegas?)

School was kind of empy today. Thought I got a C on a test, which was about as shattering to my personal constructs as killing someone would be to other peoples', because I DON'T GET C'S!!! But it turns out they screwed up the answer key, and I got a high B+. Which isn't too bad for not studying.


I'm going to go ship Morgan/Garcia for awhile. Ciao.

Bite me.

I've got, like, nothing for you tonight. Honestly. I don't recall doing anything today. It's weird.

Let's see. I know I put pictures on Flickr. I ate dinner. I wrote my photos project. I cleaned the bathroom. I went to Target (Again. I shouldn't be allowed in upper-class discount stores. It is simply not fiscally responsible.). I bought pillows. I put the pillows on my bed. Other than that? Notsomuch.

But I guess that is kind of a lot.

One major thing I haven't done? Studied for my personality test in 14 hours. I suck.

Got two A's this morning, though. And I'm feeling good about that. Less so about the aforementioned personality test.

Boy, you all must be sick and tired of the classes rundown by now, aren't you? You're probably looking forward to winter break more than I am.

Because then Teh Major Amusement that makes it to the blog is something like plucking my eyebrows and seeing how many days before I start ignoring makeup and wearing sweatshirts. I think it took three days last year.

Just letting you know.

I know you're shocked, but I did read a book today, Supreme Conflict. I didn't love it as much as The Nine, mostly because it wasn't organized as well and at the beginning was kind of confusing because they were jumping from justice to justice and expecting the reader to keep up. But then it kind of calmed down and focused mostly on O'Connor's leaving and Roberts and Alito.

This is good for me, because they're the only two I really remember. I was seven when Stevens (the last new one) was confirmed in 1994. Not so much into the Constitution then. By 2005, I was old enough to remember a CSI being preempted Roberts' nomination was announced. You don't forget that shit. Okay. It was a rerun. But I was still mad.

Interesting. There was a kind of cute part about Alito's daughter in it- she was home alone when Andy Card called to offer her dad the nomination. She told him he was at work, and then IM'd her brother saying that some guy from the White House had called. He asked her who it was, but she didn't remember who it was. So he ran through a list of people it could have been until she recognized a name.

And it kind of struck me that, if my dad was nominated to the Supreme Court, The Empress would forget the name of the guy who called. And then I'd have to yell at her. I'll bet the Alito boy yelled something like "Dumbass!" at poor little Laura.

But that would be my family.


Oooh, I have links tonight!!! I know, you're thrilled. But they're clogging my favorites, so you're getting them.

Let the self-loathing begin now. Um. Yeah. My two A's don't look so intelligent now.

Look, I am no happier about the Ted/Robin hookup last night than the next guy, but it did not deserve a jeer. The poll at the end of the article is supportive, though. Yay, Mother fans (I almost wrote MotherBoy. The Arrested Development groupie in me.)

Continuing with our SCOTUS theme tonight, the Supreme Court agrees to hear 2nd Amendment case. Oh, great. The one instance where I don't think packing the Court with conservatives is a good idea.

So now I really have to marry well. I guess even working my ass off to let my ovaries rot while I sleep with my doctorate at night isn't enough anymore.

I'm so disturbed by this. Not the fact that she's a crazy, but the fact that the phrases "ex-lover" and "Bill Nye" were used in the same sentence, in conjunction with one another. I need to go take a shower in rubbing alcohol or something.

I taste blood in my mouth.

That's weird. There's no reason for it. It's freaking me out.

Also freaking me out? The fact that The Boy just finished his homework and he and the parentals WON'T STOP YELLING ABOUT IT. Gah. I'm moving out.

So I watched The Weather Underground today for 1960s, and I was totally planning on watching it like I'd watched (and I use that term loosely) the previous videos, which mostly involved fastforwarding an a lot of staring at the wall and naming my future children, but I got completely drawn in.


Damn.

They were crazy. When the freaking BLACK PANTHERS are all, "Whoa, man. You've got to step off and calm down," you know you have a problem.


Also? I'm pretty sure that my mom's friend used to belong to them. Because she looks just like a woman in the movie. And it freaks me out.


My favorite part? When they go, "We didn't do it, but we dug it." Oh. Real nice. Fancy rhetoric like that's gonna start a revolution!!!


Do you know what ended the movement? They all grew up. No, really. They realized that being an adult and paying taxes and taking care of their families (they all had them, after the apparently prevalent orgyness going on, but I digress) was way more important than being CRAZY. It kind of made me feel god about myself.

You wanna know something sad? I got home from classes today, and by the time I'd dropped people off at work, cleaned the house, done homework, ran errands, and folded the laundry, I sat down and looked at my shoes and thought, "Hmmm. I could put on better shoes and go out like a normal person." And then I thought, "Eh. That's a lot of work."

So I suck. Hope you had a good birthday, Sarah!

It's making me feel dirty thinking about how clean I could get.

Rich and Cat and I were doing a table today of bath supplies. And we got a little bit loopy.

It got embarrassing. Really.

Two Three things today.

1.) I'm a little bit in love with the son from the Citigroup commercials. You know, the one who takes his dad to Norway and then finds out they're actually Swedish? For a couple of reasons. One, he's wearing a sweater with a blazer. For my mother's daughter, which I most certainly am, this is almost enough for me to write to Citigroup to see if he actually exists. Secondly, he's taking his dad on a trip. Awww. That's so sweet. Third, he has enough money in a presumably Citigroup bank account to extend the trip to Sweden once they realize that they are not, in fact, Norwegian. A sweet, preppy guy with money and extra vacation time? Sign me up.

2.) Will people stop yelling about raking the damn leaves? Please?

a.) Leaves don't actually have to be raked. There is absolutely no way that the world is going to stop spinning if they aren't raked one year.

b.) I am pefectly capable of raking without my grandfather's supervision. I'm a twenty-year-old woman. I'm pretty smart. Even bright, some would say. I have a 4.0 Raking? Not so much above my grasp. And the twenty-three year old man assisting me? Probably able to do it on his own as well. Honestly. There is no reason for the twice hourly phone calls.

Also? Even if my generation hadn't reached adulthood, which we have, I'm not sure why he feels my mother, she of the J.D. (summa cum laude, no less), would not be able to organize four people and rakes. God. It bugs me so much.

c.) Seriously. They have to be raked right now? This week? When I have projects and tests and weird pimples? Honestly?

Grrr. I am not in the mood, y'all.

3.) I have a weird pimple on my face. It's right on my lip, so there's not a whole lot I can do about it. And it's bugging me. A lot.

That's all.

I've started recommending books that I've never read to customers. I never did that before, beause I had a paranoid fear that they were going to be like, "Really. You liked it? What happened in chapter 6?" Even though this is, at best, irrational.

But I read books that not a lot of people would like to read. No, really. I don't like most bestsellers, I have trouble feigning interest in anything stupid or fantasy or science-fiction. And no matter how hard I pimp The Nine (and dammit, Jeffrey Toobin should send me a check I work so hard to sell that baby), no one wants to read it.

Really their loss. Amazing book. But I digress.

So today I starting handing people David Baldacci books and praising them. And then Jason came up to me and complimented me on my recommending. And I felt a little bit bad. Not too much, because I checked later and she bought the Baldacci, and that is my job, but still.

Oh, I am not amused. Not at all.

Yes, Jessica, a sign of emotional maturity is indeed a cute butt. God, some people bug me.

OMG, OTHER BOLEYN GIRL TRAILER!!! *is dead with the happiness* Incidentally, this is another book I pimp to no end. I just hate myself more at the end of the day.

So I'm going to go try to quell these homicidal feelings I have towards the elder members of my family. Ciao.

I don't have a lot for you today.

Just one thing. Someone is stalking the TAs at UWM. And I am so amused by this. Because really fellow undergraduates. Control yourselves. Let's be adults for a moment, hmm?

Apparently, there was a Super Secret TA because some guy asked out some girl, which is totally tacky, and when she said no there was a whole harassment thing. And then it came out that there were some girls who were literally stalking (like actually following) some other TAs.

My history TA was regaling us with this Friday morning because, let's face it, it was way more interesting than Robert McNamara's role in Vietnam, and he goes,

"Okay. What am I don't wrong that I don't have a stalker? Why is no one poking me fifty times a day on Facebook? Is it the beard? Is it that I'm fat? Is it the clothes? Is it that the beard and the flannel make me look like a child molester-because I've gotten that? Why? So, if you're deranged, please see me after class."

It was funny.

Way funnier than McNamara.

This is your update.

Because I'm tired and cranky and have a sore throat and in NO MOOD.

Good night.

Love that dare not speak it's name.

I was reading somebody else's blog this morning and they had that for a title, and I had a flashback to a couple years ago when I had a teacher say that in a very dramatic voice. And I've been laughing about it ever sense. It was funny. Maybe you had to be there.

Hey. It's better than dreaming about the Federal Judiciary.

So from the time stamp on the bottom of the page, I started this at like eleven this morning, but now it's 11:15 at night and I'm tired and watching Ugly Betty and eating cookies. Had to work tonight. Ugh. Not fun. At all. Pam was all, "When are you going to be able to work more?" and I was all, "In eight years when I'm finished with grad school."

Mostly I'm really tired.

But- off on Thursday and Friday next week. Yes. Sleepage. All day long.

And I was wandering around work this afternoon, shopping in the history and law and travel sections, and saw Escape, and holy polygamists I want to read it. Maybe on 40% weekend.

Okay. I'm going to bed. Ciao.

Confidential to Mickey:

For someone who hasn't served Christmas dinner on anything without a Chinette label or mouse ears for as long as I can remember, MY GOD do you have a METRIC ASSLOAD of FREAKING SILVER.

*ahem*

And it's all polished now. And the people driving by my house at dusk today would have gotten an eyeful of a pissed off girl sitting on the porch inhaling TarnX fumes and occasionally shouting obscenities. Just slightly.

But no, seriously. Goblets? Random bud vase? Obscure single knife? Really?

But it's all polished and there are indeed pictures but the act of them exhausted me so that I cannot cross the room to connect my camera to my computer. But oh, there will be pictures.



Without any transition whatsoever, I had a dream about the Supreme Court last night. (Derrick: Wait. Was there sex? Me: No. 'cuz, um, eww.) Witness the new level of nerddom.

(Probably because I had been thinking about this yesterday. Mostly being sad. And then grateful that we never had to deal with that. Because dear God we didn't need that.)

Except Sandra Day O'Connor was at a rest home, and my mom was her friend, and somebody who looked like Velma from the Scooby Doo movies was a justice instead of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, which is a blessing because let's face it, she's just bringing the party down.

It was weird. No weirder than when I dreamt about the poisoned guy from Ukraine. That was weird too.

I have a tentative schedule for next semester that I'm clinging to desperately even though I know that, as a second-semester sophomore, there's like a 2% chance I'll be able to get it. But it's a beautiful schedule. Get this- 18 credits, all good classes, home at 12:15 and 1:45 every day and OFF ON FRIDAYS. As in, I might be able to sleep past six more than once a semester and not get myself into dangerous situations involving cars.

So keep your fingers crossed.

*This* is why I don't like public transportation.

Because creepy-ass guys who are at once scary and depressing come up and talk to you and tell you the government killed their family, he's the only one who can testify, yell some derogatory terms for African-Americans, and then go off on a tangent about Fr. Grappi.

Oh, Milwaukee.

Personal Day, I has it.

Well, not officially. And I did miss four lectures. Don't care. Was feeling ill. And tired. And had lots of stuff to do. None of which I actually did, but I did watch Brothers and Sisters from last night (I collapsed at eight thirty. Shut up. That's totally normal.) and read half of Wicked.


Not quite as responsible as studying the fifty images that are all Greek to me (HA! They are all Greek!!!) for art history or trying to decipher the First Intermediate Period, which is actually massively confusing and not easy to understand like the Second Intermediate, which consists basically of "Hyksos. Chariots. Take over. Bad." That? I can do.


Nomarchs? Not so much.




Had a lovely day, though. Slept till quarter to nine, which feels like noon when you've been up at six for two months straight, and then did actually study for awhile at the doctor. But mostly with the Wicked reading.

It was about 60 degrees, too, absolutely beautiful. I took it as a sign of God yelling at me to get my ass in gear and take the damn pictures for the damn ocean project already and if you had done it in September when it was assigned you wouldn't be on the freaking beach in NOVEMBER MORON trying to press down the damn shutter with frozen hands.

Well, except God used significantly fewer obscenities.

So Colleen and I did go to the beach, and took my pictures, which are lovely and already uploaded to Flickr and shown on the sidebar, feel free to admire. Unless you're in Geo Sci 150, in which case HANDS OFF THEY'RE COPYRIGHTED ASSHOLE!!! *ahem*

Then we went to Starbucks. I had been outside for like forty whole minutes and was beginning to feel slightly natural. Had to nip that in the bud. And a gingerbread latte did that quite well.

Oooh- I have something else scientific to talk about!!! Well, kind of. About as scientific as I get. But still.

Anyway, I was watching something on TV the other day, and there was a female scientist talking about something, and it struck me how awesome it would be to be like that.

Because (and this is going to sound mean, but read the rest, I promise it's really not), most female scientists (and I've seen a lot of really smart women in the science fields- I was home schooled) look alike in that they obviously don't spend a whole lot of time on appearance. No makeup, glasses, sensible clothes and shoes, and usually long hair pulled back in a ponytail.

As someone who gets up and spends the first hour of her day in an insanely self-involved attempt to acquire some self-worth through full makeup, defrizzed hair, moisturized skin, perfumed pulse points, curled eyelashes, dewy lips, shirts that accentuate my *ahem* assets but don't look whorish, and heels that are permanently screwing up my back, MY GOD it would be nice to be able to be secure without that.

So bravo, women who are smart enough to know that none of that matters, especially when you're freaking brilliant, saving the world, and probably much, MUCH happier than I am at the end of the struggle with my hair cream. I'm sending you any daughters I may have, because you will probably do a far better job raising them than I ever could.

Want to finish today with a quick book wrap-up, even though probably no one cares. But I do, and it's my blog. *stamps foot*

I finished Mr. Jefferson's Women on Friday, and it kind of sucked. I am no fan of Mr. Jefferson, as everyone who has ever talked to me will know, but this book portrayed him as an insipid, undeveloped, adolescent misogynist. And I really don't think that is correct. Almost all men were not quite as accepting of women at that time, but there's no way he could have been around women like Abigail Adams and Dolly Madison and think that women were merely objects to be (according to the author) awkwardly adored stalker-like from afar, and then ditched after what was apparently an 18th century one night stand. Ugh.

Then moved on to Rhett Butler's People, the authorized retelling of Gone with the Wind. Which was amazing. Don't get me wrong. Loved it. Loved Rhett, and I don't think they screwed Scarlett up like some of the reviews said, because she wasn't in it enough. Loved everything about it.

But it wasn't Gone with the Wind. The stories were parallel, and occasionally major events from Gone with the Wind would show up in this narrative, and I found myself going "NO! I want more! Bring back Scarlett!!!", and obviously they couldn't because it wasn't Gone with the Wind.

But that's okay. Because nothing will ever be like that, and I guess I wouldn't want it to be.

But the ending? It was good. Really good. :)

Tales from a Retail Nightmare

In the eight hours I worked today, people did the following:

-Asked me if I was expecting a boy or a girl. I was so shocked and didn't want to get into a whole thing where he'd feel badly, so I blurted out, "It's going to be a surprise." A big one. Because I'm decidedly not pregnant. I would have felt really badly about my shirt if two people hadn't complimented me on it earlier. So in my head I just looked earthy and fecund.

-Told me, dead seriously, that they've been using Motherpeace Tarot cards for years, and they can't imagine using anything else. Um. Okay.

-Called to ask what the store next to us was called. When I replied with one of the major electronics chains in the country, they asked me to SPELL IT. Two works. Seven letters. Show on NBC. Not tough.

Yep. I was having such a bad day that I considered buying a $30 book about John and Caroline Kennedy just so I wouldn't have to figure out how to put it on a packed shelf.

I think I'm sick. I'm going to bed.

I am updating.

With a picture of the Muffin of Iniquity. Purchases with blood money from Costco.


Enjoy. I'm going to bed now.

I am NOT a failure at life!!!

So you know that person who got a really good grade in psychology that I was talking about earlier who might have been me? It was! And I'm comfortably in the A/A- average range, which is totally enough for me.

*end of the crazy*

*maybe not*

*we'll see*
Not a whole lot going on. I've been studying. Over fifty images for art history on Wednesday, and another Egypt test on Thursday.

Seriously.

How does he even have time to write these this quickly?

Damn.

Reading, too. I finished One L this morning, and now I'm kind of scared.

Law school has been one of my options since I was in high school. My mom's an attorney, and while she absolutely hated the practice of law, she loved law school. I've always wanted to do it, pretty much to just say I'm a lawyer.

Because I don't, you know, actually want to be one. That's, like, wicked boring.

Unless you're on the Supreme Court or something. But I don't think they let 25-year-old girls with JDs from Marquette Law who have never taken the bar (Rock on, state of Wisconsin and your seriously lax standards!!!) become justices.

Just a thought.

But I've read a couple of books by people who have gone to law school, and I've been hearing my mom's stories my whole life, and DAMN does it sound nerve-wracking.

And if you've been reading since, ooh, the BEGINNING OF THE ENTRY, you'll know I'm a neurotic MESS about EVERYTHING and perhaps this isn't the best idea.

Except I could do it. Not to sound like I'm tooting my own horn or anything, because I am simply a product of my environment and I have NOTHING to do with my moderate academic success (Because if they had left it up to me? I'd probably still be drooling like everybody thought circa 1987), but I'm pretty smart. And I'm pretty good at putting my pretty smart brain to work and getting something that I really want. *

So this could be my extreme sport. No way in hell I'm going to like run or jump or climb a wall or anything, but dammit, I can THINK.

Also, I took Latin and logic. That's gotta count for something. Because I know what habeas corpus and writ of mandamus really MEAN.

And the gender, form, and declension. Yes. I'm a dork.

*Math and science excluded. I'm not a miracle worker.

On a not so intellectual note, who wants to see Jack Bauer put the smackdown on the WGA??? Show of hands?

This made me squeal in the middle of 1960s yesterday. Even though it's not about him. And she may have insinuated that his fan base is old. I don't care. Look at the picture!!!

Things I Did Today

1.) Listened to lots and lots of rambling student reports in Egyptian.

2.) Listened to lots and lots of rambling about LSD in 1960s.

3.) Read Nefertiti. Good book. Love Egypt. So much. Wish I was Egyptian.

4.) Picked up children. Managed not to hit anything. Always a good day.

5.) Ate my weight in mini-Milky Way bars.

6.) Gone to work.

7.) Didn't actually work.

8.) Bought holiday Elmo doll to sit on sofa and be friend to Mommy.

9.) Ate lasagna.

10.) Watched the Office.

11.) Realized still have two assignments to do to before nine o'clock tomorrow morning.

12.) Banged head against proverbial desk.

13.) Screw it. I'm going to bed.

In which I am groped.

After a bout of emailing that stressed many of our computers' infrastructures (Okay. Not that weird. If we had actually wanted to talk to each other it would have been one conversation.), had lunch with people today, which was massive amounts of fun.

I'm pretty sure Keelin is emotionally scarred, Kim is over all of us, and Derrick grabbed my boob and my thigh. This may disturb me/creep me out were he not a member of the Princess Tiara Club or something (his words, not mine).

So yeah, very good times.

One day we shall rule the world. And it shall be sweet.

And the reason he was on my thigh was he was admiring my kick-ass knee high boots. My stripper boots. I love them.

So it appears that the women in my family adore the (C)Kates. Colleen would have Cate Blanchett's babies if it were not a biological impossibility (She's not a lesbian. But she does love her Cate.), and I'm hopelessly devoted to Kate Winslet.

No, really. If I wasn't cheap, I'd rent Little Children from Blockbuster. But I am, and, well, she's not Johnny Depp, so my fandom will have to be slightly less complete.

But she was on The View yesterday, and she mentioned that she was now pitching Lancome's Tresor perfume.

And now I'm thinking about ordering it from amazon.com.

Because she's that awesome.

I'm also looking for a signature fragrance. But that's a whole other story.

So you know that test that put me into seizures on Monday? (Which one, you ask. Ha! Funny. Make fun of my neuroses.)

Okay, I'm not saying this for sure, because I really don't know.

But I may have gotten an 89%.

Maybe. For some reason, the super-secret code you have to come up with so no one will be able to tell your sad little grade belongs to your sad little self isn't listed, but there's the same number without a 0 at the beginning. Whoever had that number? Was .7% away from an A.

So either it's me and I ROCK, or it's not and THAT PERSON IS AMAZING.

Not quite as amazing as the person who got a 103.3%, but I'm pretty sure that was the professor taking it just to blow the curve.

He'd do that.

So someone called in a bomb threat to campus today.

And I'm really wondering why I've gotten sixteen e-mails about the business school's etiquette dinner, and I had to hear this on the news.

Also? Kinda hoping my class tomorrow in the building next door is cancelled. Please?

Dear Dr. *Name Removed To Protect Your Pathetic Privacy*

I have not had a really good day.

Really not.

And I'd really like to know whether I'm failing on top of everything else.

Is that too much to ask?

I don't think so.

That's all.

-Kathleen

Conversations With My Father

My dad came to my door last night when I was half asleep and goes,

"How many credits are you taking?"

"Um...18," (do you not read the blog, father dear?)

"When is your estimated or actual date of graduation?"

"May 2010..."

"Okay. Good night."

It was an insurance thing. Which made way more sense in the morning.

Physiological psychology test? Just as bad as I thought it would be.

And now I'm a little bit sad and even a little bit more scared to check D2L for my grade because I really don't want to see it. Really, really not. It is significantly more difficult to bury one's head in the sand when you have a large red percentage glaring at you from your monitor.

Is that just my crazy?

And 1960s shouldn't go too well tomorrow, either, because I've totally blown off studying for that in favor of being so ridiculously well-prepared for psych that it KICKED MY ASS, so yeah.

I'm back to living in a box.

I am not amused. This is a ridiculous strike over nonexistent issues (Want to be a real writer? Try STARVING and BEING A WAITRESS.), and it pisses me off. Wait. Does this mean no CSI? No Pushing Daisies?

Oh.

My.

God.

No HIMYM.

*is dead*

I know!!! I'll write it!!! I was on the school newspaper for a semester and always get A's on my papers! And I certainly know the characters! Please, Powers that Be, let me write it!!!

ETA: I just thought of something. Maybe this is God's way of giving me more time for studying. In which case, they should have struck (struck? striked?) earlier, because now they're scheduled to run out of new episodes during Christmas break. Grr.

Never give up. Never surrender.

I refuse to give up.

Funny work story.

Someone called and asked if we carried medical supplies. She wanted and EKG machine. Uh-huh.

Singing Alan. For your viewing pleasure while I figure out what the hell a cholinergic neuron is.

Seriously. Enough with the porn before 10 a.m.

God. Really.

The internet, baby. Learn to love it. And leave me the hell alone.

Links today, because I have to go study, but I'm too anal retentive to lose NaBloPoMo on the third day.

Most importantly, Sweeney Todd in EW. *is dead*

Cate Blanchett is pregnant. My sister was so excited about this she had to tell me over the phone, because, in her words, "More Cate Blanchetts in the world make it a better place!" In related new, The Fuggen Age. Hahahaha.

Yes, Hayden, in this world of Sudanese genocide, mass terrorism, famine, and AIDS, those dolphins really need your help. A round of applause, people. She's doing some good.

I want this coat. Yes, I now cannot afford Target. *sigh*

I'm going to go figure out what the hell a GABA receptor is.

Reasons To Not Get Dressed In the Dark

When you get downstairs, you will realize that you have a random curl sticking out the back of your head, there are deodorant marks down your side, and you've somehow managed to get hair product between your boobs.

Also? When you get to class and see that TA Who is Way Hotter Than Regular TA With The Aggressive Hair and Wedding Ring is subbing? You'll be really glad you wiped the deodorant off. And that you took the time to wear lipstick.

It was fun. Except he talked way too fast and I was getting dizzy, but still. Also he looks like Christ. And I need to go throw up.

We kicked Team Uhh's ass on the action potential. Totally.

Was slightly inappropriate when Nadia, Claire, and I broke out into fits of uncontrollable giggles when the girl sitting next to us goes, "Oh, I've been drinking," as the quizzes were being handed out.

Hahaha.

Drinking.

She looked drunk too.

Imladris stayed home today because...well...it's Friday??? I don't know. I don't ask anymore.

Anyway, she used her time by applying to colleges, something that I avoided like the freaking plague until the last possible minute, but I digress. One of the schools she selected was University of Dayton, a beautiful private college in (duh) Dayton.

It's also my grandfather's alma mater, and that got us talking about his academic record.

My grandfather is brilliant. He was a chemical engineer, worked on Project Manhattan doing something with uranium (I'm too stupid to know what it is), and still, at 91 years old, knows far more about chemistry than I ever will. He also had the highest scores to date when he graduated from UD in 1939.

And I'm just wondering when in the genetic process did the neurons stop firing?

Because my mom is pretty smart, graduated magna cum laude from law school, and well, Mickey can come up with inventive accounting plans to get her back to Vegas, which takes some brains.

My generation?

Not so much with the setting the academic world on fire. If you read the beginning of the post, I CAN'T DRESS MYSELF.

Evidenced by the fact that I'm updating and ignoring the psychology notes sitting on my desk.

So thanks, Grandpa. Would it have killed you to toss a little of the freakishly bright genes our way? You know, with the crazy?

Perhaps I won't have to live in a box after all.

For I have received the incredibly, mind-numbingly amazing grade of A on my incredibly, mind-numbingly difficult ancient Egyptian test.

*and the villagers rejoice*

Now have an A- average. I can work with that.

Meanwhile? The physiological psych test on Monday that I can hardly study for because looking at the stuff makes me want to vomit and then crawl into bed? Not so much.

Germ is still sick. And I am still not. Although my throat was hurting last night, but I think that might just be The Crazy. Still keeping him locked in the bathroom floating in a tub filled with Lysol.

Yes. We're really hoping his skin will come back. He was such a cute boy.

New guy on Criminal Minds last night- I'm not sure how I feel about this. I don't actively dislike him, like I do with many newcomers (Who are you? Why are you here? I don't like you.), but I'm not totally warming to him either. Maybe I was just distracted by Reed's hair, which is now longer (and prettier) than mine.

Also? I still heart Ned from Pushing Daisies. Even if I think he's gay in real life. I'm so down with a marriage of convenience.

Also also? I'd like you all to know that martyrdom did not, in fact, die out in the thirteenth century when they stopped burning Christians (that, btw, is a totally made up date that my inner history major will not let slide), it is still alive and well today when I am NOT having to work and COULD watch Ugly Betty (Betty and Henry go on a date! I real date! To Wicked!) but am CHOOSING to go to Mass instead and not risk eternal damnation.

Because that's just the kind of Catholic I am.

(This is not as great a sacrifice as last year, so I guess I shouldn't complain. Why are there always fun things to do on Holy Days of Obligation???)