The Long Weekend.

It was a good weekend. I mean, yeah, there was screaming and crying and fighting and then some furniture-moving, but there was also stuffing. Which makes up for, like, a lot. I even got to sleep in on Wednesday, a pretty damn awesome occurrence in the middle of the semester. And I got sent home from work early today because, shockingly, no one wanted to brave the supposedly apocalyptic storms (Although looking outside I see mostly rain? Is it getting worse? Or am I just stupid?) to buy the new book about Andrew Jackson. Although several people did call to say that they were camping out for the Joyce Meyer event tomorrow night.

Um. Okay. It's winter. And snowing. But hey, whatever blows your self-help skirt up.

But it's over now and I have to brave the supposedly apocalyptic residue to prove that the Bible isn't a fraud in Hebrew Studies. And then actually show up again on Wednesday. *woe*

Three more weeks. And counting.

I am rather tired.

I worked, like, all freaking day. And then decorated the house. In our new if-you-don't-actually-eat-it-it's-so-totally-not-worth-it style. It's significantly more minimalist. And that's okay.

Nothing fun happened at work. The guy I was working with told me that his niece started wearing a training bra, which really made me just want to begin drinking heavily. Oh. Some guy had me take his picture with his cell phone and send it to his wife because he just got new glasses and she would apparently find them hilarious. Whatever, dude. Leave me the hell alone. So I guess that was pretty funny.

Not worth going through eight hours of it, though.

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

Not only did I get the most wonderful wool coat in the world for $120 off this morning (and in a medium size no less...), there is a new Psych Christmas episode on RIGHT NOW.

All is right with the world.

I am not losing at the end of November.

This is officially a post.

And I am officially going to bed.

Hopefully tomorrow I will find a pretty coat that will be cheap.

Reason #548 That I Would Not Make a Fantastic Housewife.

Although I do come with a house now. A house that I totally mine and I will love forever despite the fact that I've been told sixteen different times today, "OMG what if you meet someone and move away and then we need solid-surface counters? WHAT THEN???" Except for the laughable idea that I would ever let anyone tell me where to live. The amount of work I've done? Johnny Depp could show up and be like all "I want to marry you and have lots of sex and babies!" and I'd have to reply, "As long as we can do it in my beautiful kitchen with the integral sink and extra hole for that squirty water hose thingy."

So now I have solid-surface counter tops. And a sink that my mother helpfully pointed out was big enough to wash a baby in.

Or, you know, drunkenly start a small fire fueled by dissertation papers. I'm guessing that's more likely.

ANYWAY.

Pies.

That's why I won't make a good housewife. I always make the pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving. Well, that's not true. My mom obviously used to make them, and then we made them together, but the last couple years I've done them. And I love it. It makes me feel downright domestic.

I just ignore things like how long they're supposed to cook or the fact that they have to cool. I kind of forgot about them being in the oven because Criminal Minds was on. And then I kind of didn't realize that you need to leave them out for like FRICK THIRTY minutes. My dad offered to set his alarm and I'm all, "What? Why?" and he's all, "Your pies. They are hot. And need to cool. Idiot."

He didn't call me an idiot. I added that. But I'm guessing that's what he was thinking.

Stephen Colbert is *apparently* intrinsic to my faith identity.

We all know that last summer I read My Life with the Saints because of an interview segment. Lately, I've been looking for a new saint. Or rather, I was on a website that was totally not a fan blog and totally not reading comments when the woman who runs the site mentioned that she lost her St. Benedict medal and wanted a new one for Christmas. I immediately thought 1.) oh, that's kind of adorable, and 2.) I WANT ONE.

Except not St. Benedict. Because I am not a spelunker, a monk, or suffering from a gallstone issue.

*Please note: I do not want everyone who reads this go out and buy me a medal like that year when I mentioned A History of Violence was kind of a cool movie and I ended up with more copies than Viggo's mom. I asked my mom for it, I'm thinking she'll take care of it. :)*

Anyway. I needed a saint to put on the medal that I want. I don't have a saint. I already have a crucifix and a Miraculous Medal, so I'm out of luck with those. I kind of got screwed at birth when my parents didn't give me a saint's name. My confirmation name is Elizabeth, but that's mostly because I didn't want to end up with a FOURTH Christian name.

So I am forced to search for patronage. Which is fine, I am almost positive that in the two thousand years of Church history, surely someone has gotten a useless doctorate. Right? Or art history. I mean, during the Renaissance, the Church was the only reason there was any art.

I'm positive that at least one cardinal was in it for the glorification of Christ and not just something nice to show his mistress when he walks her through the hallways. ("What's the stench, honey?" "Oh, just our souls. But look! Bernini!")

Obviously not.

Because there is no patron saint of historians or theological historians (which I'm halfway convinced is just something Marquette dreamed up to bilk me out of another 30k a year), at least not officially. Apparently, Bede is the front runner, but all the pages are blogs and I found as many saying that he wasn't. Also, he is famous for mistranslating some primary sources, and I do not need any more help in the mistranslating department, Bede. Thanks but no thanks.

Art history apparently doesn't exist at all as a profession (In the real world either! Ha! I'll be here all week!), and the closest you can come is archivist or archaeologist. *sigh* I am not an archivist or an archaeologist. I am interested in High Renaissance and later. The didn't bury a whole lot of Caravaggio's.

The closest two were Catherine of Alexandria (by far the best Catherine) or Jerome, both of whom are apparently more helpful than God when it comes to intercessions. If I were a travelling knife maker in Piceno, Italy who moonlighted as a wheelwright? I'd go to Catherine. A monk who is also a librarian, and struggling with anger issues? Jerome.

St. Jerome seemed like a good choice, as he is apparently the patron of all things dorky and scholarly, and hello! If you were a girl we'd be finished by now!, but not history per se. And since I haven't exactly written that thesis on the synoptic vs. Johannine traditions yet, so I feel like a fraud going to the Biblical scholarship guy. (Although maybe he could help me with financial aid?)
Also, I kind of want a girl.

So we're left with Catherine! Who is like perfect, except if we're going for specifics. (Which, apparently, I'm not as my chosen profession doesn't require intercession. I beg to differ, Vatican. Y'all are priests. You have the cushiest gig EVER. Did you ever have to write a dissertation while your eggs were falling out of you at approximately one every twenty-five pages? No? NO.)

I'm sorry. I'm a little bitter.

She's the patron of female students, which I am. And she's supposedly wicked helpful, and I need that if I am ever going to be gainfully employed. In a rather ironic note, she supposedly appeared to Joan of Arc, which only makes sense if you know me, but if you do, then it totally does! And she's had a bunch of pretty paintings done of her. So we're almost at art history. Certainly closer than "archivist".

And Catherine is as close to Kathleen as you can find.

There you go. Saint found.

It's her feast day, so that's why you got this ridiculously long post tonight.

Various and Sundry Items:

Because I am entirely too exhausted for punctuation or, like, sentences or something crazy like that.

-I'm very exhausted.

-I would like to advertise for anyone who wants to drive my brother to school on Wednesday. It is my first day off in like ALL SEMESTER LONG (That's not true. But it's been awhile.) and I really want to sleep in and yeah, I don't care if you're a pedophile, Criminal-Minds-type-unsub, or wielding a hatchet. Just have him there by 8:20 and we'll be good.

-OMG THANKSGIVING COMING SO HAPPY OMG

-Apparently, I know someone who commits insurance fraud. Huh.

-PBS is currently showing the documentary "The Rape of Europa", based on a book that I got for Christmas last year and love quite possibly more than my parents. Nazis? Paintings? Nazis and paintings? I am there.

-My page-a-day calendar is a painting of St. Catherine of Alexandria. I think it was a misprint, because her feast day is tomorrow, and that seems too close to be just like, oh, we're going to put this painting here...Tomorrow, you'll get a post about St. Catherine of Alexandria and my long quest for a patron saint and WHY IS THERE NO PATRON SAINT OF HISTORIANS I AM NOT AN ARCHAEOLOGIST. *ahem* That is forthcoming.

-I am going to bed. Good night.

Happy Birthday John!!!

Unlike last year, I am not too wasted to give him a birthday shout-out, especially on this, a rather unpleasant birthday.

(I am, however, not even going attempt to link to last year. Way too much work.)

Despite the fact that you were clearly the favored male child in our little abode, the last sixteen years have been quite fun, and know that we all know what you're going through, and no, that doesn't make it any easier. But still. Support! And all that!

Yeah. Art history is coming freaking early, y'all, after my Manhattan-on-an-empty-stomach. So good night!

Congressman, no one watches C-SPAN.

Ahaha. It's no Sarah Palin, but SNL was funny tonight.

Today was massively exciting. I restrained myself from killing several customers who annoyed me to extreme extents (A few hints: If the person you are buying a gift for is already in law school, an LSAT prep guide is not appropriate. Also. If the person you are buying a gift for is already pregnant but not far enough along to not worry about miscarriage, don't buy her a pregnancy book. We do not sell Gosh, I Hope That Amniotic Sac is Really Securely Attached to Your Endometrium Gift Sets.). I washed my hair. And my sheets.

Yeah. It was pretty exciting.

Come on Get Higher- The Most Embarrassing Shuffle Ever

1. Put you music player on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag 10 friends who might enjoy doing the memo as well as the person you got the memo from.

Ahaha. This was fun. A disclaimer: I am, quite possibly, the biggest dork on the planet. I could go to ComicCon and no one would want to hang out with me. So please, be nice. :)

(Oh, I did skip Christmas songs, because they're not usually on my iPod.)

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
King of Pride Rock, Lion King. (Perhaps I just roar at them.)

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Go Your Own Way, Fleetwood Mac. (Um, this actually kind of makes sense.)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
The Tudors Main Theme, Trevor Morris (I like them to be royal. And crazy. Crazy royals.)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY:
Domine Jesu (Requiem Mass), Mozart. (Spooky. If you asked me "how are you today?" I would probably answer "Lord Jesus..." Less praise and more, OH MY GOD WANT TO DIE.)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Benedictus (Requiem Mass), Mozart. (I don't think so...)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Let Me Fall, Josh Groban. (That's kind of cool, I guess.)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Livin' on a Prayer, Bon Jovi. (My friends think I am a down-on-my-luck couple from New Jersey?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
California Dreaming, The Mamas and the Papas. (Definitely not. I have no desire to ever go to California. I do daydream a lot, though.)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Here Without You, 3 Doors Down. (???)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Somebody Told Me, The Killers. (I don't know. I don't think that my best friend has a boyfriend that looks like a girlfriend that I had in February of last year. At least not that I know about.)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
One Last Shot, Klaus Badelt. (Um. No. Hope not.)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Beethoven, Symphony #9 in D Minor. (I am long and classical and there is a hefty German woman screeching in the middle somewhere.)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Collide, Howie Day.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
You'll Never Walk Alone, Barbara Streisand. (Okay...)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Mandy, Barry Manilow. (My parents think I am a lost love? I guess?)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
At Wit's End, Hans Zimmer (No, I will not be dancing to an eight minute song from the third POTC movie.)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
I Did it For You, David Cook. (Yes, it was all for you. AND NOW I'M DEAD AND YOU SHOULD HAVE APPRECIATED ME MORE.)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Bad Day, Daniel Powter (Wow. Flashback. Remember when this was big for like five minutes? Anyway, I do have a lot of them. But I don't think it qualifies as a hobby.)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
My Immortal, Evanescence. (Not even close. Or even a song that reminds me of my biggest secret(s).)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Eyes on Me, Celine Dion (No comment.)

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
I'm Yours, Jason Mraz (I suppose being so hot that other people melted would be troublesome.)

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
The Star of the County Down, The Irish Rovers (Well, I suppose writing about County Down may kill me. And this song- with different words- was actually played at my grandfather's funeral. So that's kind of weird.)

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
The Scientist, Coldplay (Actually, one of the things I regret is not taking the CLEP chem exam and getting some lab credits.)

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Honey, Honey, Mamma Mia Soundtrack (Well, the weird little giggle after Amanda Seyfried says "thing" kind of makes me laugh.)

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Up is Down, Hans Zimmer (I did cry at the end of the movie.)

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
To Where You Are, Josh Groban (I'm going to be a widow?)

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
I Say a Little Prayer For You, The cast of My Best Friend's Wedding (Love the movie, but people breaking into song in the middle of lunch is rather terrifying.)

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Follow You Down, Gin Blossoms (I have a stalker?)

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Bad Boy, Cascada (Maybe I would change my fascination with Europop.)

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Only Time, Enya (I guess "Everything" was asking too much.)

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Come on Get Higher, Matt Nathanson. (I have a higher level of self awareness.)

Tales From the Hardware Store

Scene: Home Depot. A young woman stands in the painting supplie aisle.

Flunky: Can I help you, miss?

Author's Note: Do you think it was the heels that made him eralize that perhaps I needed help? Or the belted trenchcoat? The fact that I vomitted a little upon entering the establishment?

Morena: Do you have a gun? A knife? A month's supply of valium? Um. Yeah. Do you have plastic drop cloths?

Flunky: Uh...I think so. We have rolls of plastic that you can cut. How big does it have to be?

Morena: I don't know. Big. Ish. It's a bathroom. And there needs to be enough left over for me to smother myself because the noose idea is out, I just ripped down the shower rod Not huge.

Flunky: Okay. Here you go.

***

Oh! Major life skill alert! I SPACKLED today, y'all. I was in a rush and I didn't have time to fully appreciate it, but I do so love anything that reminds me of frosting a cake.

Yeah. I don't know either. It's been a long day. I've watched two videos about paramilitaries (Baby Irish terrorists! So cute!) and tried for like an hour to figure out how the story about the professor's toddler scribbling on the walls and hardwood floors (Sad note about my life: I involuntarily flinched when he said that, because no! What if they had to repaint! *horror*) related in the least to the Anglo-Iraqi war and partition of Iraq.

I have yet to figure it out.

I officially watch too much CSI.

Tonight I was cleaning up after dinner and I dropped a container of spaghetti sauce. It kind of exploded all over the brewery.

And my first thought was, "Oh, that looks just like medium velocity spatter all over my walls."

Yes. I do suck.

Meanwhile, can we talk about Jason Alexander's crazytastic hair on Criminal Minds?

I had a story, I really did.

I remember sitting in some class this morning thinking, "Hmm. I should write this down." But I didn't, and obviously now I don't remember what it is.

I have end of the semseter brain. It's kind of like pregnancy brain, but without the screaming child at the end. You just get another 18 credits on your trasncript. Less adorable, but also easier to take care of. Multiple papers and projects and presentations and yeah, I'm burned out.

And also freezing. Really. Really. Freezing.

So I'm going to go watch Bones (Season 3 on DVD! WHEE!!!) and go to bed. Good night.

I know I'm inordinately shy, but...

...okay, so you know how at Mass sometimes (especially during the week) some churches do this thing after the petitions where people can say their own special petitions? And they're usually just for kids and parents and abortion and such, but sometimes they're hilarious because you'll get a totally random save those in Russia one? (Yes, there is a whole story that goes with that. It involves a priest yelling. It's interesting.)

Yeah. Those.

Well, this morning I was sitting in church- not my church, and these people are vocal. I mean- LOUD. Screaming, usually. And really, really conservative. The day before the election there were so many for exactly the same stuff that finally the priest was like, "Okay, moving on." Anyway. We got the usual shouting about abortion and then one that kind of made me smile about how the Democrats are going to ruin the country and honey, if we could survive the moral decay that was the Clinton administration, we can survive anything.

But then this one guy prays for more healthy sex within marriage, and the end of sick sex within marriage.

...

Yeah. It got really quiet. Really fast.

I mean, I get where he's coming from and all but...wow. Awkward.

Anyway. That's my story for today.

New career goal.

So I just read this amazing book, The Reincarnationist. About a guy who is having flashbacks to the year 391, when Christianity was taking off in Rome mostly due to, you know, Theodosius killing everyone who refused to convert.

(This is the precise moment when my father will throw up his hands and bemoan my "indoctrinated" state somehow ignoring the fact that I am a damn good Catholic and even go to morning Mass occasionally and yes, I think you can do that and also find some moral quandaries in the Crusades, but NO! I am just a brainwashed product of the public education system. Even though I spent precisely six months in public education and the rest of the time at the freaking dining room table so if it's anyone's fault it's your wife's, Dad.)

Anyhoodles, he thinks he's been reincarnated, and has to save his 391-girlfriend from dying (she was a vestal virgin, which they apparently take seriously and buried her when discovered that she was more vestal than virgin- oh snap) or a bunch of people in the current period will be killed. Or something. It's very complicated. There are stones, and art pieces, and a guy named Malachai.

Disclaimer: I don't believe in reincarnation. At all. Totally not. So Mom, calm down, I'm not going to hell. Even though I think the Crusades may have been a slight overreaction to Muslims capturing territory in Anatolia.

ANYWAY. The main girl character is a ridiculously young archaeologist (excuse me, did you start your dissertation in high school?) who discovers this tomb that redefines history and the time/space continuum and yeah, that's what I want to do now.

What? It's slightly more plausible than Queen of England.

My people are an inside people.

I'm fairly certain that the reason my family ended up in the United States was less a hope for a better life and more a the famine cottages? Got a little drafty.

So imagine my amusement at having a twig snap back and end up in my mouth while I teetered through the woods in heeled boots. Or rather, imagine Colleen's amusement, as she was doubled over laughing.

It was fun and there were pictures, which will be up tomorrow probably because I actually have a day off!

Which I am thrilled about if only so that I can begin my paramilitary editing and footnoting and get that out of the way before I have to devote this week to my presentation on where the ancient Israelites came from (Beats me with a stick. Canaan? Maybe? I don't know. Ask me something New Testament.), because Yahweh knows it won't get done Thanksgiving week.

Yes. That is my terribly exciting, glamorous life. IRA and Biblical studies. Woot.

Johns Hopkins should do a study on me.

Fridays are deeply unhealthy days for me. Physically, emotionally, psychologically. Everything. I usually spend the day at a place that it kept at a temperature where we could hang meat in the living room, usually balancing on a ladder that should not be a ladder anymore, not eating, having several mental breakdowns, and then by the time I get home I'm so mad/sad/hurt that I drink. A lot.

Yep. It is a damn good thing I got my paper finished this morning, because my analysis of the Anglo-Irish War right now? OH MY GOD SHUT THE FRICK UP AND DEAL, IRELAND.

Did Britain ever die and leave you with wallpaper that needed to be peeled, but only after you stop crying about the note you found behind the security system because you seriously miss Britain like a lot? No. Did Britain ever send a loser handyman to your house an hour late only to tell you that he can't do what you waited around for hours and hours but hey, this door is totes okay? No. Did Britain ever give you weird infections from Christ knows what is behind that wallpaper that just got shoved up your nail bed? Nooo.

Ethnic cleansing? Violated civil rights? Internment? Please. Ireland, call me when you have real problems.

It was a good day.

I aced a test and stole like seven spoons from the union so I didn't have to go to Target. Score.

Oh! I read Celine Dion's 291-page French Canadian wet dream autobiography! Holy awkwardness Batman, she never really left that whole teenager thing behind, did she?

Learn to handle your inappropriate crushes, is all I'm saying. We all have them. Part of being a big girl is dealing with them in an appropriate way. I usually just go "Haha, this is kind of funny. Moving on..." I do not usually convince myself that he is in love with me because he is talking to me/isn't talking to me/is screwing his wife/isn't screwing his wife/is French Canadian (I'm sorry. It's funny.), and then attempt to jump him with my newly found "mature woman" smile.

No, I'm not kidding.

This, children, is a fantastic book and one that everyone should totally really like, right now.

And I forgot to send out my cards.

Okay, it was Roe v. Wade day in constitutional history. It happens in every constitutional law class- you devote an entire day to an issue that is not a constitutional issue and should never have gone before the court in the first place and when it did was decided based on a case that was also poorly chosen and ruled upon.

(No, I have no opinions. Why do you ask?)

Which meant that I had to sit through a fantastically awkward debate that I never actually participated in because hey, I don't talk in class about normal things. You can bet that I'm not opening my mouth to talk about anything that requires me to say "uterus".

Hell no.

Anyway, not the funny part. The professor was talking about how there is a pill available to induce an abortion up to fifty five days after conception, and this guy behind me pipes up, "Oh! But it's not 100% reliable. Believe me, I know!"

And the entire class just turned around and looked at him and then burst into laughter just like, "Excuse me?"

It was scary and amusing at the same time.

I need a break.

I have a tension headache and that causes me to clench my jaw and then that hurts even more. Gah. Hate. Oh, and I burned popcorn earlier, so the house sort of reeks of burnt stuff. And Oust. because the smell was bugging me so much I walked in a circle with the can held above my head.

It's been an interesting day.

All the writing about paramilitary groups- it's getting to me. My professor said that in Germany they made a "Terrorist on Board" maternity t-shirt, because they're so reminiscent for the days of paramilitary groups. Which made me think, 1.) I want one. Just to see what would happen. I really, really want one, and b.) how much does Germany suck now that extreme left-wing student groups are a good time requiring maternity wear?

I seriously need to get out. Or have a drink. One of the two.

Dear Village of Whitefish Bay:

Um. Yeah. We've had a complicated relationship, I know. I mean, you have drivers that are crazy. But on the other hand, you have Bayshore. Which I love. Or rather, loved. When I wasn't poor and considering prostitution as a viable way to pay for my graduate degree(s).

Recently, we've been okay. But this morning, we had a problem. See, it's Monday. I have a lovely Monday routine. It involves your Starbucks. Frankly, I would maybe have to drive into Lake Michigan on the way to school on Mondays if I didn't have an overpriced cup of milk to look forward to. (I didn't say it was healthy, I just said it was lovely.)

Except this morning. This morning, dear village, you decided to have road construction. Now, I'm not too pleased with the fact that you decided to tear up Silver Spring when clearly you should have realized that I use it quite often because Capitol Drive is scary, man, and I like laughing at the crazy people doing yoga on the bluff. But okay, I can forgive you. Mostly I'm mad at myself for always forgetting until I end up on Silver Spring and then have to turn and take weird tiny little roads past schools I didn't even know existed to pick up Colleen on Fridays, but whatever. My Starbucks was always okay.

Until this morning. When they were closed because they had no electricity because there was construction right in front of it.

Not okay, Whitefish Bay. NOT OKAY. I don't care that it's mildly inconvenient to drive around, but YOU DO NOT SCREW WITH MY STARBUCKS, MMKAY??? I have a very long week ahead of me, and dammit, I need a venti skinny caramel latte in a Christmas cup.

Let's hope this is cleared up by next Monday, or I may have to take my business elsewhere. To the Starbucks up the road. Yeah. That'll show you.

Love,
Morena

It's Sunday night...

...and that clearly means I have nothing to say.

Except to Imladris: I do not appreciate the lovely little add-ons that you put on my shopping list. Perhaps if you spent less time reading stuff on my nightstand it wouldn't be so hilarious to you that yes, I buy deodorant (scandal!). I don't just go upstairs and borrow someone else's. And oh, my post last night was not riddled with grammatical errors. In fact, there were no grammatical errors and only two misspellings, which I think we can all agree is very good for me, who still has a problem spelling "definitely". (What? The spelling. It was never my thing. God bless her, my mother tried. It didn't work.)

Anything else? No? I'm writing a paper about the IRA. Very interesting. Absolutely crazy, batshit group. I freaking love it. I love that all the Irish-Americans totally loved them because hey! They're Irish! And they hate the British! So do we! Give us back our potatoes! even more.

When my mom was in Ireland in 1981 (or, looking back, Yeah, Probably a Good Thing You Didn't Go To the Beleek Factory Period) she was convinced that some distant relative they visited was a member of the IRA because they were weird and shady and perhaps showed up in a ski mask one day.

(I made that last part up, I don't know if he was wearing ski mask. But I doubt my grandmother would have noticed, what with all the Waterford there was to be purchased.)

I find that fascinating. I don't support them, but I really, really want a member of my family in a paramilitary organization.

You know, for street cred.

I'm not sure what street an IRA member gives you cred on, but hell, I want it.

Now, if only he'd open a credit card in my name...

HELL TO THE YEAH I GOT AN A IN COLD WAR. On both the paper and midterm.

This makes me deliriously happy and also confirms my suspicions that professors are drunk most of the time, because that? Was not an A paper.

This also confirms my suspicions that I would make an excellent professor. Especially since I spent this evening drinking sangria and writing a con law paper and frankly I think a little vino makes my constitutional analysis much, my better.

I'm going to kick ass at this whole professor thing.

Oh, and we figured out that I could add a fireplace for like five grade. Score. Now, I just need some guy who has five grand and wants to buy me a fireplace. You can contact me through this blog!!!

Taking Count

At the end of Friday...

-I still have no grade in cold war.

-I got no painting done, but did clean everything up in the house.

-I raked the front yard and not the backyard because oh, my, Lord SO MANY LEAVES WHY GOD WHY???

-I was called a "woman bartender" like six times.

-I was hit on like six times.

-I was asked if I was single, because (and I quote), "I'm not going home alone." Oh, au contraire, sir.

-I was paid off like a whore.

-All in all, a good day.

Grade Update

So you know that grade I talked about earlier this week? That I didn't have yet? And could be an A or a D?

Yeah. That one.

I still don't have it. THREE WEEKS AFTER THE DAMN STUFF AND I STILL DO NOT HAVE IT.

He misplaced the tests. So he'll try to e-mail us tomorrow morning with our grades, otherwise Tuesday.

Oh. My. Lord. I hate him. I hate him so much.

CBS owns my soul.

Criminal Minds? Reid's dad? My inner fangirl is going crazy.

And I have had a very long day of writing about the the book of Joshua and avoiding studying for my imperialism test tomorrow (I'm good with everything except the Sudan. Mohammed Ahmed did something? To somone? At some point in the 1800s? And then Charles Gordon came and killed a bunch of people? I don't know. Whatever.), so I needed a little bit of fangirl.

So I'm going to bed. Au revoir.

The historian in me is thrilled, the citizen not so much.

But I'm trying not to be bitter. It's over, I'm trying to not to be bitter, and I just really, really hope that this doesn't go the way I think it might.

And also, I have been told by Colleen certain members of my family that my bitterness is bringing the party down. And I'd just like to ask Colleen certain members what the hell she thought we were going to do, we stuck an elephant head on you and put you on the corner of Port Rd and Hwy C?

ColleenCertain members are now on the phone with significantly more enthused friends.

I, meanwhile, have consumed significantly more alcohol than is probably healthy and yeah, I'm staying home tomorrow. Yeah.

But I am going to go watch his speech, because I am a historian, and I do realize that this is a milestone.

It doesn't make me any happier about it.

Just so you know.

Disjointed.

Um. Wow. I'm tired. I had, like, tons of stuff to do today, and I accomplished like, maybe 25% of it. But it was the important 25%!!! I got my major/minor out, figured out when I can take the GRE, and finally (?) decided that wasting hours studying and an entire Saturday and the $100 fee to take the LSAT for absolutely no reason would be pretty damn stupid. Oh, and I ironed the jacket I'm going to wear tomorrow.

The Biblical civ paper about the conquest vs. peaceful infiltration or peasant revolt models? Not so much with the "finished".

But it's not my fault! I had a whole little plan and then Colleen came home and the Spring schedule was released and then I had to drive all the way back to frickin' UWM which is, like, far man, and I dislike starting papers when it's already dark outside. (Shut up. I will too do well in graduate school.)

So yeah. Totes not my fault.

Tomorrow is a watershed moment, y'all. No, I don't mean because of the election. Because frankly I may be lazy and incapable of writing after dark, but I'm not stupid and I can see the writing on the wall. It does not say "McCain/Palin 2008".

No, tomorrow is the day I get my cold war paper and midterm back. Which totals like 60% of my grade. And I have absolutely no idea how I did on either of them. I knew what I was talking about, so it could go A. Or it could have been completely not what he was looking for and go D.

Thanks entirely to my Grandfather, I don't know, taking the tests for me from the beyond, I have managed to hold a sold A in every other one of my classes right now, despite the fact that major neural pathways have been damaged from paint fumes and I cringe like a PTSD victim everytime I see a catalogue advertising anything that you would put on an occasional table.

Yeah, I don't know how either.

Anyway, this is my last one and I'm freaking out.

I'm going to bed now. Good night.

My thoughts! Let me show you them!

So TLC is doing a show called "Purity Balls", which, as near as I can tell, is about how dads in the south dress up their daughters in low-cut dresses and then dance with them while forcing them to sign a pledge saying they won't have sex with anyone else.

(I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. But this show? Is creepy and judgemental and not nearly as fun as the preview looked.)

And wow, I have so many comments, but they can be boiled down to my basic philosophy that major decisions should not have to be marked by a ring/pledge/ball, and even the idea of marking it with a ring/pledge/ball infantilizes the person making the decision.

But that's just me. If you want to wear a chastity ring? Whatever doesn't blow your skirt up.

I'm going to go back to watching the crazy people destroy relationships with their daughters because she made a mistake.

Adventures in Retail

It's the holiday season, at least in retail. And that means that there is a ton of crap that you have to put up that sparkles and spins and is "gifty" (which, for me, means "anything I could find on the shelf").

This year, it appears we are featuring a DVD of a fireplace. Which it touted as being realistic. And now with a loop function! Because you know nothing kills the mood like the FBI criminal notice when the DVD starts over! But fear not, because now "this fire is eternal". And also, the package touts that the romance will never be interrupted by the fire alarm.

Excuse me?

What the hell kind of fires are you starting that your fire alarm goes off? In the middle of the living room? Because I'm pretty sure that's not recommended.

As though this wasn't enough hilarity, then we all got a recall notice for some cookbook because they explained how to cook a turkey incorrectly. The book was called (I kid you not), "How to Have the Best Holiday Ever".

Salmonella!!!

So now I don't know how to have the best holiday ever. And damn it, this year was going to be so fun anyway.