Who said higher education doesn't teach you anything practical?

I now know how to pretend to be a virgin prostitute. Should I ever need to feign virginity, I know exactly how to use astringent to do so.

Ooh, and I got a 100% on my history paper. I fully believe it is due entirely to my beautiful endnotes that when I look at I am filled with the kind of joy people feel when gazing upon newborns, or having sex or something.

*End of the crazy shit going down in History 242*

Okay. End of the semester. Have a ton of stuff to do. Being an incredibly organized crazy bitch girl, I have come up with an ingenious solution to this issue, and using Post-It notes, I have created a sheet for each day until the end of school, outlining exactly what tasks I must complete each and every day or I don't know, zombies will come eat me or something and I'll die homeless and alone. When I finish a day, I cross off the stuff and pull off the Post-It.

Today I crossed off all my things and then celebrated by watching five episodes of Gilmore Girls straight. My sister got tired of my devoted fandom after hour two, and I'm pretty sure by the end even my mom was sick of it. But I do not care, because the Gilmore Girls? I loves them. I want to be them. Except I'd be the fat one. That would not be fun.

I'm taking a break for Criminal Minds. Then I'm watching more.

ETA: Lassie? From Psych? Just showed up on Boston Legal. And I'm pretty sure my mind literally exploded.

New Stuff

Changed the template. And if you're not like spectacular amounts of stupid you probably noticed that already. Unless of course you are, in which case I meant no offense, and welcome!!! But I'm pretty sure it's just my mom, my aunt, and my sister reading this, and they're all pretty darn smart.

My mom is too smart. That's why when I took over the den she had to move her law degree, because we could both foresee sometime in the future when, during a dark night of the soul, I drunkenly rip it off the wall and scratch out her name and write in mine with Sharpie.

(Not so implausible. Our last names are the same, and my middle name is kind of the same, just have to take out the -ie part, and dammit, I know how to write Latin.)

(Also? Kind of crazy.)

Yeah. It's safely up in her room now.

I forget where I'm going with this. I don't know if I had a point, actually. I'm pretty tired, and kind of stressed about the end of the semester (I actually made out little pages for each day left, with everything I have to do written on them.)

(See? Law degree scrapage isn't looking so silly now, is it???)

Ooh, Amazon! A Wish list! I has it again! It shows up on the bottom of the sidebar, so, you know, should you wake up one morning going, "How shall I show Kathleen that she makes my life worth living today?", the DVD of A History of Britain, or- better yet- The Power of Art would totally suffice.

See, I'm kind of considering transferring to Columbia to stalk the guy who does those two DVDs. And not, for once, because I want him or have named our children.

(I know, right? He's about the right age, by which I mean eligible to fight in Korea, the right nationality, and lacking in any pleasing aesthetic features, so he should be right up my alley. I think this is a sign of maybe becoming normal.)

(Eh, maybe not. The whole law degree thing just came back to me.)

(Oh, and I just remembered that I had a conversation about pig sex with two coworkers this afternoon and how we can apply this to apparently my artificial insemination. That's not terribly normal.)

No. He's just ******* hilarious, and awesome, and my essay about Rembrandt on my last art history exam was due entirely to the Rembrandt episode of Power of Art, which kind of says a lot about how I like to prepare for exams, and also quite a lot about the series, because I got a 98%, so yeah.

I don't think I had a point here, either. Except buy me stuff.

Always a good point.

(ETA: Wow. I just realized that there are a gajillion parentheses in this post. Sorry.)

(Really.)

Queen Sugar was a bitch.

Haha. I'm a dork.

So I'm watching The Ballad of Jack and Rose with the squee-worthy Daniel Day-Lewis, and hot damn is that one freaky commune-dwelling incestuous hippie, but OMG SO HAWT.

*ahem*

Except no one will tell me if it's actually incestuous or not, and I won't have time to finish it tonight and SOMEBODY TELL ME IF HE WANTS HIS DAUGHTER.

And also? If it is incestuous? Gross that his wife wrote this for her husband and FATHER OF HER CHILDREN to be in. *shivers* They only have boys, right?

Only one other thing to talk about today. I had a presentation this morning in history. I don't have a huge problem with public speaking, I don't necessarily relish it, but it doesn't bother me really. I had a lovely presentation worked out, with pictures even, and it was just a two minute informal thing.

So I get up there, and I can't breathe. For reals. I don't know what happened. It's not that I was nervous, I just couldn't breathe, and then I started feeling lightheaded and shaky, and my presentation sucked and was like thirty seconds long because I thought I was going to faint, and yeah, not good.

And I can't figure out why.

Maybe I should go watch some more Daniel Day-Lewis.

ETA: Okay, there is no plot summary, but the plot keywords are "sex, loss of virginity, dog, ox, stepbrother." And now I'm even more confused.

ETA 2: On Samantha Who?, Samantha just went into a Borders to attempt to find a guy. She was unsuccessful. Uh. Yeah. I know. I've spent 12-20 hours a week for the past two years in one of those, and I can tell you- THERE ARE NO GUYS IN ANY BORDERS.

It's becoming a thing.

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I guess...

...it's technically Sunday, as per the little clock that says 1:02 A.M. on my computer, but I haven't been to bed yet, so that counts as today, right? Right??? I'm saying it is, because I am not losing my totally self-imposed year of blogging on some ranodm day in April.

So...dinner dance.

I now have seen and heard drunk people do so many different things that I never ever wanted to see or hear, and I'm pretty sure that I have to change parishes.

Not to say that I didn't have fun, because I totally did, and it was quite possibly the best night of my life because OMG THE THINGS I HEARD!!!, but I had a total Nanny Diaries moment when I was sitting alone at the ticket table, and there's the group of hugely successful parishoners standing right in front of it, being complete drunken assholes. In front of practically a child, and a woman. It was kind of annoying.

Anyhoodles, no nudity (which happened last year, apparently), but I did get to see a priest dancing to "Brick House". So I guess it's a wash.

I'm going to bed now.

Whore for an accent.

You all knew that already, though, didn't you?

Anyway, I am in love with Doctor Who now. Seriously. Joined two Facebook groups. Almost joined the one that said I wanted to do naughty things to David Tennant but thought better of it in case future employers found out (current employers wouldn't care, I don't think, as James and I spent a good chunk of time discussing the Great Sex Bible last night), even though I TOTALLY DO. I contemplated running down to Best Buy to buy Goblet of Fire TONIGHT. Cannot wait until tomorrow. NEED NOW. DAMMIT WHY ARE THE DVDS SEVENTY DOLLARS GARH!!!!

*ahem*

Good Lord, people should not let me teach their children.

In other news, you know The Cool Crowd??? This morning, there was an ad for new people to contribute to the column. I am seriously considering applying. I believe my e-mail would go something like the following.

"The weekend started early last night when I dealt with unruly hair and plucked my eyebrows. Today I really must do something about the pimples breaking out, so I'm thinking mudmask. New Numb3rs on at nine!!! MUST NAME SELF'S AND DAVID TENNANT'S BABIES. Tomorrow I'll be sleeping in and then assisting at the dinner dance, the highlight of which should be watching old people get tanked (bonus points if they're a member of the clergy). Sunday I'm sleeping. Again. And maybe reading my British history textbook. Oh, wait. A showing of Baby Mama was also discussed. I'll probably fall asleep at nine. And sometime I need to get to the grocery to buy more Dannon Activia, which actually really works and you totally didn't need to know that about me, did you? No wonder I'm single. I want to die."

Please, Journal Sentinal. Don't keep calling me.

Accomplished absolutely nothing at work tonight...

...but I did discover than people are batshit crazy and that Jerry Seinfeld saw Casino Royale at the theater near my house. Huh. Who knew?

First Hot Guy and now Irish Girl?!?!?!

Oh, American Idol. How you toy with my affections.

And she totally rocked last night, and it's not just because I'm a whore for a kicky Gospel musicals. (Godspell!!! Like taking acid and then going to Good Friday services! But without all the nasty side effects like, you know, taking acid and then going to Good Friday services.)

She was way better than Dread Guy, whom my sister apparently wants, like, BAD.

Which is slightly disturbing.

I wonder if, perhaps, she were to ever hook up with Dread Guy, if she would FINISH HIS PRESCRIPTION MEDICATION AND NOT TELL HIM UNTIL HE FOUND THE EMPTY BOTTLE WHEN HE WENT TO TAKE HIS PRESCRIPTION. And then be all, "Oh, I didn't know you were still taking it- but good news! I refilled mine and it's now ready at Walgreens!!!"

WELL THAT DOESN'T HELP ME MUCH IT'S SIX THIRTY IN THE MORNING AND MY NOSE IS RUNNING NOW!!!!

*ahem*

Because that may have totally happened. It is as I suspected. Separate bedrooms are not enough.

ETA: Oh, dudes. Boston Legal last night? With the Supreme Court? Was amazingly ridiculous. First, I'm pretty sure you usually have more than forty-eight hours to prepare. Second, they usually don't let you bring friends. Third, the look-alikes sucked. Clarence Thomas? Was black. That's the only resemblence. My brother called Scalia though, which was pretty funny.

Tuesday night, watching Idol.

*cough*Like the rest of our obese, Philistine country*cough*

Some kid with dreads just sang "Memory".

Judge: I don't know, I think we're so used to hearing that song as a female power ballad...

Mom: No we're not! I'm used to hearing Barry sing it!!!

Dad: Well, that is kind of a female power ballad.

Mom: HEY! MEAN!

Hahaha.

I can feel the acid reflux coming...

...almost time to register for classes, and yeah, remember last time? *headdesk*

So I had a perfect lovely little schedule figured out, but then Russian despotism was pulled, and the professor who was supposed to teach my iconoclasm class isn't, and since the the art history department is kind of 50/50, I'm not signing up for a class without knowing who's teaching it.

So, much gnawing at my fingernails later, I have a new lovely schedule planned, which includes civil strife in Northern Ireland, British imperialism, global 20th century, African art (boo!!! Poor form, but the only other 300-level that fits), Jewish civ, the Biblical years (kind of like a band), and CONSTITUTIONAL LAW HELL YEAH.

*ahem*

They had all better still be open, because I can so not go through this again.

Also I'm getting a Celtic studies certificate. Just because.

Sunday Night tradition.

Because I'm tired and cranky and drinking and want to go to bed.


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Saturday Night, writing endnotes and watching the Pope.

I did actually go out for dinner with a friend earlier, and had to turn down another invitation, so it doesn't make me suck quite as much as I normally would for writing a paper on a Saturday night.

Anyhoodles, the Pope did a Youth and Seminarians thing today, and my God, those priests are BABIES. Seriously. They look like they're about my age.

Which means two things. I'm getting old, and the Church is probably in trouble because I don't want to think about ANYONE my age being in charge of anyone's spiritual development.

No, I kid. They all looked happy and devoted, etc. There was one who was making funny faces at the camera, and looked like every single guy I know.

(Physically he looked just like Derrick, which made me laugh a little because somehow I don't ever picture Derrick in the clergy.)

It's too bad that Milwaukee doesn't have that many young seminarians, because I really think that if people could see how young people and truly devote their lives to God (not in a cloying way, like with chastity pleges-*barf*) it would strengthen the Church.

Regret

I don't have a lot of regrets about anything in my life, and I am especially pleased with the way my education has turned out so far.

But Imladris picked up her cap and gown for graduation today, and despite her protests that she "looked like Antonin Scalia!!!", she looked adorable. And it made me realize that I never got one of those, and I kind of wish I had.

Welcome to self-flagellation with Kathleen...

I had a test this morning.

A wonderful test for which I was beautifully prepared, had read all seven hundred pages of both textbooks, could recite names, dates, and percentages. Hitler himself would have been pleased by the way I could chronicle his demise.

I even called every single essay question. At the beginning of the semester the professor said that once we'd taken a test or two from him, we'd not only have the form down but even be able to figure out what the essays were going to be on. And I thought, "Pssh, that's stupid. We talk about tons of stuff, and there are only three questions on the test. How the hell could we ever guess that?" But I was wrong, because I knew that there were going to be little questions on the suffragette movement and the art and literature of Victorian England, and I was damn sure that WWII was going to be the big essay. And it totally was.

So I wrote two beautiful essays on art and literature and the suffragette movement that would have made Emily Davison feel as though she died for something important. Emily Bronte would have cried. Things were good.

And then...I ran out of time. I left myself FORTY MINUTES for the final essay, because I knew that I didn't want to rush. And I don't know what happened, but at 9:07 (class ended at 9:15), I was only on 1941, and Hitler hadn't even invaded Russia yet. And then I flipped out and said a really bad word in my head the rest of my essay? Was total crap. Hasty sentences, scrawled penmanship, the part about the book that I totally read this time was like six words, D-Day was reduced to a footnote, and the Holocaust? Quite possibly the most disgusting prolonged incident in human history in which a megalomaniac wiped out two out of every three Jews in Europe for no reason at all? Was a sentence.

And it's not that I'm that upset about the grade, because I've gotten A's on the other tests and could pretty much not show up for this one, the first part of the test and the first half of my final essay were wicked good so I know I'll get most of those points, and anyone could tell that I, and most of the other students, were running out of time.

It's more that I'm frustrated at myself, because I'm so much smarter than that last essay makes me seem! I know everything about WWII. I know numbers, I know percentages, I know how many freaking units the Germans had at Normandy as opposed to the Americans. I have quotes ("Never before have so many owed so much to so few," Churchill, about the RAF pilots during the Battle of Britain). I know that if I had had an extra twenty minutes, that would have been one of the better essays I've ever written, and it wasn't, and that pisses me off.

And while I'm not expecting anything horrible like a B, but unless the professor is drunk or something while grading it, I'm not getting another 100. Which sucks.

Argh.

The Return of the Pop Stand

I got three whole comments on Facebook, so I'm amending my post on Monday to include the following:

Even if I let Derrick guilt me into law school, spend a hundred thousand dollars on a degree that I don't want, spend three years of my life holed up in a study going over minute points and occaisonally throwing casebooks at his sweet little head (Oh, sweetie, you'd better believe I'm making you sit with me, and let's face it, we'll probably be living together anyways, as I don't generally like people but not you! I like you!) to become a lawyer and never see sunlight again and wear pantyhose all year long and develop and ulcer and have to stop wearing contact lenses (it happened to my mom, it can happen to me) and finally live up to my family legacy and have a breakdown, only to spend a few years on thorazine before becoming legal counsel for Derrick's brand new nation with a fabulous new White House color, which would kind of negate it being white, and then become a sociopath with cats, it's okay.

Still better than this.

In legal news, SCOTUS handed down a lethal injection decision today. And I am NOT amused. It is indeed a rare thing when I am in agreement with Ginsburg and Souter.

Seriously? 7-2? I read the transcript, and it totally sounded like it was going the other way. I know it's a conservative court, but it's also stacked with Catholics, who apparently DON'T LET MURDER BOTHER THEM. And the Pope's even in town! You could have thrown him a token decision.

Oh, boys, you screwed up this time. Perhaps a favorable gun control verdict could redeem you.

Or maybe I'll just wait for Boston Legal next week.

Historical Bitches

Not of the Cleopatra/Marie Antoinette type, but more the GAH DID THESE PEOPLE NEVER TAKE WESTERN CIVILIZATION SURELY THAT MUST BE A REQUIREMENT FOR BEING DICTATOR??? kind.

*ahem*

The first three are kind of the same, but whatever.

1.) Please, Powerful General Commander People, do not attempt beach landings when your enemy is sitting on the top of the hill with machetes/bows and arrows/fireballs/machine guns/pick a historically appropriate weapon waiting to pick off your stupid soldiers and laugh and then break for lunch. Because it? WILL NOT WORK. My God, I am sick of reading about this. Some Napoleonic battle, Gallipoli, Dunkirk, and D-Day (okay, that one worked out, but only because Hitler sleeps late and is a meglomaniac and it was dicey there for awhile, have you never seen Saving Private Ryan???), and that's just within a hundred years!!! So from now on, if you are stupid enough to pick the worst possible landing area to go bounding out from your nice safe ships, you deserve to die. That is all.

2.) Similarly, stop planning cross-channnel invasions of England. It will not work. It has worked once. In 1066, when the inhabitants were barbaric and the Normans were, well, the Normans. IN 1066. A thousand years ago. If Napoleon couldn't do it, you can't either, mmkay, pumpkin???

3.) Why do people repeatedly try to invade Russia during the winter? YOU WILL DIE. It seems like everyone runs through the western part, raping and pillaging and etcetera, and then the stop outside Moscow around October and, I don't know, preen or something so that they look pretty when they leap into the capital, and then winter comes and THEY ALL DIE. If I was ever to try to invade Russia, I'd leave a couple of months early, but I guess that's just me.

4.) Why are there no books about WWI or Irleand? I was "working" on Sunday, and WWI has one shelf, and Ireland has like seven books and most of them I've read, a couple of them are by Frank McCourt (blergh), and then there's one that I can't afford but want really badly. Anyhoodles. Where are the David McCulloughs and Joseph Ellis' of Irish history? Is it too much to ask that Alison Weir hop the Irish sea and write a fun tome about the Easter Rising? I think not.

5.) THE CRUSADES WERE NOT STARTED BY MUSLIMS.

6.) The Spanish Inquistion? Was completely our fault, and not even a lofty goal of redeeming the unsaved, unwashed masses but at it's zenith rather a power-hungry grab for control of Europe.

7.) I don't care that the Japanese "started it". Internment camps were still wrong.

8.) We should not begin interring Muslims.

9.) Apologizing to Galileo was ridiculous.

10.) Apologizing to the second-generation citizens who looked differently from us but were put into concentration camps is not ridiculous.

-Slightly Less Historical, but Bitches Nonetheless-

11.) I don't like my presidential candidates. I would like new ones, please.

12.) Now that Michael Johns, my reason for living watching, is off of Idol, I have nothing to watch tonight until nine. And don't give me any crap about how an Australian shouldn't win American Idol, because hell, I'd vote for him for PRESIDENT. (See above.) Frankly, nationalism is a dangerous thing and I think it is about damn time we get someone with a cute accent in there.

To Learn: Blow this pop stand.

I don't care that I'm going to toil in academia for ten years for a degree hardly worth the paper it's printed on, to be a fake doctor, to teach ungrateful people who just check Facebook during my meticulously planned and witty lecture, to share an office with some retired guy who deletes my phone messages, to be 24% less fertile statistically, to NEVER attain tenure because there are apparently NO tenure openings IN THE ENTIRE COUNTRY and if perchance someone drops dead (like maybe the retired guy who deletes my messages), they probably SURE AS HELL aren't going to give it to the chick who sits puts in like three hours a day and that's only because she's catching up on bootleg video of The Tudors in her office and doesn't publish except in letters to the editor in People when Sexiest Man Alive rolls around to say WHERE THE HELL WAS ALAN RICKMAN I DON'T CARE THAT HE'S LIKE EIGHTY BY NOW, to do all of this for about as much money as a plumber makes.

None of it matters.

Because it means that I will not be slaving away at a bookstore chain, designing insipid "Summer Reading" tables, which include such brilliant works as A Clockwork Orange, Fahrenheit 451, and Lolita.

LOLITA.

In what twisted universe is freaking Lolita summer reading, except maybe in certain prisons and the Boston Archdiocese?

Gah.

But the day was not completely lost, for it was time to throw out the gingerbread men that go on top of the gingerbread lattes. Being conscientious employees, Keelin and I didn't want to waste them, so tried to decide what to do with them. Some ideas bandied about included slipping them into random drinks and then watching people's perplexed faces when they tasted it, letting them swim in melted ice cream (this would actually be more wasteful, as we would have to melt the ice cream, but I think we all agree it would be worth it), and reenacting battles from WWI in an effort to help me study for my test on Thursday (I think Gallipoli would have been particularly fun, we could put the little allied gingerbread on the ground, all slaughtered, and the Ottoman gingerbread on a bag of coffee, all superior, but I digress.)

Eventually we decided the best plan would be to hurl them at the bluegrass players and then use the sneeze guard as cover when they began attacking with their fiddles and jugs.

What? They weren't supposed to be there this month and they showed up anyways and I WAS NOT PLEASED.

Vindication

Scene: Living room. Colleen and I are watching Sense and Sensibility the way we normally watch movies, less actual watching and more yelling appropriate witicisms and comments at the screen. My father is perturbed.

Dad: Will you guys keep it down?

Colleen: Look at this one!

Dad: I can't understand what they're saying!

John: Traitor!!!

Dad: Do you mind if we turn it up a little. Wait, is that the woman who owns the house?

Yes. We've turned him.

Next up, one of my six copies of Jane Eyre.

Actually, staying home on Friday wasn't the nerdiest thing I did all night...

Last night while Comedy Central Presents was on commercial and I was flipping channels when I discovered that John Roberts was giving a speech on CSPAN, and totally of course watched because hello? A Supreme Court justice on TV? I am there. I watched Scalia talk to a bunch of teenagers for like ten minutes this afternoon, while he was pretty much just grunting and going, "In my day, we trudged up the hill both ways in the snow, dammit."

Le anyhoodles, dude was funny. For reals, like funnier than the guy on Comedy Central, who was, to be fair, wicked unfunny. He even got a department of commerce crack in there! Comedy Guy was just talking about when he met Jessica Simpson on a plane and she was a bitch to him.

(Which was like personal vindication for me, because she is smack dab in the middle of the Hated Jessicas, which means I hate her more than Biel but oh, so slightly less than Alba.)

But that's kid's stuff, making a Jessica Simpson joke. Please. She is a joke. I can do that. Having fun at a dedication for a news museum?

That, my friends, is a skill.

At least I didn't have to wait at Walgreens...

Today was interesting.

I got stared at like an awful, horrible waste of genetic material by some registration lady because I wasn't waiting three hours in the waiting room while my grandfather had some doctor's hand up his butt (my grandfather could have cared less whether I was there or not), and then she demanded both my phone numbers.

Ookay.

Perky little redheaded nurse who remembered me (???) was all, "Oh, he's right in..." and I was all cut-offy and "Um. Yeah. No. I'll be in the waiting room." Where I was for another hour and a half. I finished a novel, studied my flashcards, and discovered that in the interwar period the patrician society in Great Britain tried to stave off Home Rule by creating an Anglo-Irish culture.

Uh-huh. That was totally going to work.

Then I went to Pick and Save, which I hate because grocery shopping makes me feel lonely and melancholy, except my melancholy was stopped when I realized that Activia comes in handy little LOW FAT versions, and I bought some, went back to Pick and Save when Grandpa realized he wanted bananas.

And then I discovered that he is truly going to kill himself, with the stove that is older than most nations (No, for seriously, it's from 1949. I realize this is just my fall of the British empire class talking, but SERIOUSLY LONG TIME AGO IN SCHEME OF THINGS!!!) that SMOKES, that is, it smokes if he manages to turn on the right burner which he doesn't, but I think that may be the medication.

Oh, and lightbulb in the basement. If I am to go into your basement to check for water leakage and sump pumping and so forth, I NEED A FREAKING LIGHT. Not the flashlight that is somewhere near the washing machine and probably past several furry creatures.

But I said none of this, because I am not a bitch.

So now I'm going to go watch Best Week Ever. Fun day of memorial servicing tomorrow.

Barbara Jean? But she seems so nice- she sent me a copy of The Thorn Birds!

Okay, so it's not the several thousand dollar scholarship that my sister received, but my envelope from UWM contained what is perhaps more imporant to crazy people than wedding days, births of children, etc.- an academic accolade.

And I love it, I'm showing it to random people, it's hanging on my wall, and I took pictures of it.



(There's a far prettier picture on my harddrive, but it contains my entire name, and the place I am every day, which I'm not quite crazy enough top to put on the internet. So if you really know me, come over and I'll show it to you!!!)

My Lord, can you imagine what I'm going to be like when I have an actual degree??? Dear God, I'm going to have to make it it's own Flickr album. It's going to be all pretty, with "summa cum laude" on it...oh yeah, I figured that no way am I working this hard an not getting the highest section. I can't wait!!! And I dont want to sit there all happy by myself, so Mary, you'd better hurry your ass up and graduate with me!!!

Oooh, also? I didn't fail my horrible environmental science test. I got an A-. With extra credit, I may recapture my elusive 4.0 that was decimated by the chemical issues with the brain and the freaking tides that I still don't understand.

No. I'm not bitter. At all.

Oh, the '80s.

There was a marathon of I Love the '8s 3D on today, and it's pretty much waht I did on my personal day (damn, I have to stop taking so many of those!!!), so I give you...


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Romantic ballad cat.

Phantom Baby Returns

*TMI Warning*

I am freaking exhausted, feel like buying pillows, getting a huge pimple on my chin, and just called my parents to make sure that they got me Dannon Activia and CHOCOLATE!!!! when they stopped at the grocery.

(Dear Lord, it's a good thing I don't have a boyfriend, because I'm pretty sure the constant stream of things-he-never-needs-to-know would scare him away. Unless he's gay. In which case I guess it's not an issue.)

Once again, it is a damn good thing I'm not sleeping around, because I would waste so much money on pregnancy tests.




However, I'm pretty sure that the fatigue is from repeatdly getting up at the evil hour ungraced by God that is six o'clock in the morning. The pillows? Well, one of my throw pillows is trashed and I really need a new one what the with the BRAND!NEW!BEDROOM! The pimple is probably because I had two tests today and well, let's just say we're hoping for a curve. Of maybe 20, 30 points. Maybe. That would be nice, is all I'm saying.

THE SCIENCES AND I DO NOT GET ALONG. Never have, never will. And I am hardpressed to understand when, exactly, in my career as a woefully underpaid history professor/kept woman (Really, both involve me rambling about the parts of the world that interest me and getting drunk every night, so it's really a matter of semantics.) I will ever need to know the forumla for determining relative humidity in a 30 degree C vs. 20 degree C environment.

When, I ask you? WHEN!?!?!

*ahem*

Oh, the Activia. I think that may have to do with my diet of Starbucks, concrete mixers, and, well, you heard about the chocolate. I'm just guessing.


Teehee. Derrick sang this entire scene on Sunday. And then he threw me into the counter oven. We are truly model employees.

Also, I have had the 2-disc special edition for a week, and I have yet to watch it. I suck at life.

ETA: A few things have come up.

1.) I am not in a crabby mood. The reason I sounded a little snappish was because I had today all planned out and appropriate studying arranged and then twenty minutes out it was all, "Oh, Dad will pick up Grandpa, you shouldn't drive in the rain," and I don't deal well with change and I DRIVE IN THE RAIN ALL THE TIME HOW DO YOU THINK I GOT HOME I DON'T CROSS MY ARMS AND BLINK LIKE JEANNIE. *ahem* This is why I will still have this hairstyle in my fifties. And then? When you were hem-hawing over whether I should go or not? I was taking a timed online test with the famously unreliable network connection here in the Bermuda Triangle, which rendered me slightly distracted. It's raining and my hair is working. I'm happy! :D

2.) Starbucks has new cups. Not to sound crabby or anything, but I. Don't. Like. Them. They aren't a comforting shade of cream, they're a glaring, industrial white. And the fun little "The Way I See It #15, 375" has been replaced with a fat naked mermaid and frankly I don't ever really want to see some hybrid freak's un-braed boobs, but I really, REALLY don't want to see them while I'm trying to enjoy my venti nonfat white chocolate mocha without whipped cream.

*le sigh*

Why does nothing stay the same???

CBS: 15,000 Morena: 0

There is basketball on.

There is no HIMYM on.

I am pissed.

I've also driven a ton today, spent hours and hours in the doctor's office, and avoided studying for my environmental science test tomorrow, which doesn't avoid itself, let me tell you.

So I think I'm going to go veg in front of High School Confidential and then fall asleep.

Hopefully I'll have more to say tomorrow.

Imladris and I laughed *so* hard.

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All of the gore, none of the singing Alan Rickman/

I worked in the cafe all day today.

People were being particularly annoying.

I was in a bad mood because I was late, and my hair was frizzy, and I'm going to fait a test on Tuesday.

I was also working with, well, let's just say it isn't someone whom I wake up in the morning going yay! I get to work with *insert name here*!!!

And let me tell you, they are damn lucky I didn't go Sweeney Todd all over their asses.

I just yelled a little bit and caused someone to go into a pissy little funk which amused me greatly.

I'm such a bitch.

:)

I picture this cat with a French accent.

see more crazy cat pics

Stories from my rather sad, narrow life.

I was sitting in the Grind this morning, trying to stay awake. This girl walks in with art history flashcards. Really huge, color-coded, way-more-work-than-I-ever-put-into-mine-but-oh!-how-wonderful!!! flashcards. Mary and I both glance absently at the top one and automatically go, "Peter Paul Rubens, The Arrival of Marie d'Medici at Marseilles, 1625" in tandem. And then Keelin laughed at us.

Also?


I became a feminist for like ten minutes in history class this morning. We were talking about the suffragette movement in Britain and all of their "unladylike" behavior, and holy flying shit, those girls were freaking HARDCORE, y'all!!! There was hunger striking, arson, imprisonment, messages burned on grass with acid, broken windows, and one crazy who even threw herself in front of the king's horse and was trampled to death as a demonstration.

It kind of makes our piddly little parades and Elizabeth Cady Stanton look sad.

I was all "YES! I VOTED AND DAMMIT I AM AWESOME!!!"

Even though I'm not British, so I can't even be thrilled by association. In fact, I'm Irish, which means my dad wouldn't have even been able to vote until the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829. Well, and he most likely would have been poor, so no cigar there either. And probably in Poland. You know what? This is confusing me, and I'm too tired.

So yay! Up with women and art history!

I thought I was out...

...but the brilliant combination of Criminal Minds and CSI:NY pulled me back in.

So all that time I had during the strike? Gone. Back to doing nothing with my life but watch procedural dramas.

So? Hotch's divorce and Mac's new blonde whore. Discuss.

Thoughts on Episode 2.1 of The Tudors

Henry's creepy-ass beard aside? It's actually quite good.

If totally wrong. No. Must stop doing that!!!

I'm seriously dreading the episode where Thomas More goes down. There will be tears. And probably some gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair.

I'm just thinking.