BBC owns my soul.

At work today I was ordering a Doctor Who DVD for some kid and his mom and I said, "Oh, I love this show!" They then proceeded to geek out and ask me who my favorite doctor was.

And I felt really badly saying, "Um...the latest one? Because he's pretty?"

I'm a bad fangirl.

Meanwhile, watching a Doctor Who right now. Aww. I love it when the companions work together.

I watched this show a lot this past summer, and, if you been reading for, oh, a few days, you know that this past summer? Notsomuch with the fun. So it is a testament to the greatness of Doctor Who that it can still make me feel happy.

Or. Really. Maybe it's just the pretty.

Dear Retail Establishments Everywhere,

It's February. It's Wisconsin. It's very definitely winter and will be definitely winter for a few more months.

So even if I did want to wear a rattan floral-print wedge heel (which I don't think I would, because, unless you're Heidi Klum, and I think we can all agree that I am not, wedges are a horrible look), I would look pretty silly in one until the middle of May.

And some of us have been stumbling all over the east side (and I do mean stumbling- I wiped out in a crosswalk the other day) in boots that seriously need to be replaced but NO, you cannot find shoes that have an actual toe.

Well, that's not true. You can find adorable round-toe pumps with a little bow that you don't need but buy anyway and you know what, not the issue here!

So, Retail Establishments. I'd appreciate it if you would keep real shoes around after Christmas. Thank you.

Love,
Kathleen

Thank God for the United States' issues in the Middle East.

Because they, my dear reader, earned me a 110 on my exam this morning. Oh. Yes. Not only an essay so good that it earned all the points, but ten extra. Plus a "superb" and a "wow" on the cover. *sigh* I love it when I get "wow"'s written on my tests.

I'm not kidding.

You ever want anything from me?

Write "wow" on an essay I've written. I'll write the check/kill your boyfriend/hit the floor faster than you can add the exclamation point.

Yes. I want an exclamation point.

(Then I took and Ireland test and I think I promptly ran out of time. Whatever.)

Our babies would be Catholic!

I love it when Stephen Colbert does his show with ashes on his forehead. He didn't this year, and it's a little bit sad. I think it's adorable.

Ignore the fact that he's married. And twenty-four years older than me. And lives in New York. And has politics that I find morally reprehensible. And I don't know him.

Shut up. I've had a very long day of studying failed Irish revolutions (Oh, so many. Too many to count.) and writing a paper for Cuba that is, I am not even going to front, five pages of COMPLETE AND UTTER CRAP.

Not bad writing, per se, but yes, I am going to spit this analytical essay out in two hours I don't care you gave me next to no guidance and I have more important things to do. Like, TLC's afternoon lineup.

All I can say is that everything I learned last semester in Northern Ireland had better still be in my head tucked away safely underneath "Depressing Irish Failures: Remove When You Are Too Tired To Focus". Because that is the only way I'm getting through this.

I can sing the Preamble if you want.

Today started kind of poorly. I noticed that the gentleman taking the gifts up at Mass walks exactly like Grandpa did in the last few months. And from the back he looks almost the same. I know it's stupid, and it's been seven months tomorrow, but it's weird stupid stuff like watching some guy you've known your entire life stumble that brings everything back up. So then I was tearful for the rest of the morning.

Except when the a woman whose kids I used to play with when I was little told me I looked really cute. That was okay. :)

But then I got to school and found out that Dr. Crain talked about Schoolhouse Rock. And even may have recited the lyrics. And the image of him forcing his children to watch it even though they don't like it makes me smile so hard.

Oh, and I really miss Schoolhouse Rock. I could sing all the songs RIGHT NOW. But I won't. Because that would be weird. Conjunction Junction (What's your function? Hooking up words and phrases and clauses...) I'm Just a Bill (yes I'm only a bill, and I'm sitting here on Capitol hill.). God, I loved those. My little brother would wander around the house singing "Shot Heard 'Round the World" when he was four.

(Yes, I'm my mother's daughter.)



ETA: Watching President Obama's address to Congress. A few notes:
1.) He's very good at the public speaking. Halfway through I forgot that I am diametrically opposed to him on nearly ever issue.
2.) I remembered, just so you know.
3.) What, did Scalia want to stay home and watch a movie or something? You have better things to do?
4.) The new Treasury Secretary looks like Gary Sinise from the side. I don't think Gary would take a job with the Obama administration. But I know I'd watch more press conferences.

The issues with Nazim continue to multiply.

I'd like a lab report grade please. I am not exactly sure of my chemistry prowess and I am .002% away from losing my honors bracket and I DID NOT WORK THIS HARD FOR MAGNA CUM LAUDE DAMN IT. So I'd like a grade.

*ahem*

Sorry. I get a little crazy about the whole chemistry thing.

Just chemistry, you ask? Oh, well, of course not. In fact, I'm having some issues in Cuban history too, would you like to hear about them?

I thought so.

1.) It's Cuban history.
2.) I hate Cuban history.
3.) I refuse to believe that Castro is really a warm fuzzy human being.
4.) No tests. Just papers.
5.) Papers are only worth half the grade, the other is this weird ambiguous "participation".
6.) The professor refuses to define a.) what participation is, b.) how much is required, and c.) how much this will actually count towards the grade.
7.) There's a paper due next week.
8.) I have to write a cohesive analytical essay about all four incredibly disparate sources.
9.) The thesis must read "This paper argues that..." I'm sorry. Are we in the fourth grade?
10.) She speaks way too slowly and doesn't even pretend to bs an answer to questions. That greatly annoys me.

Oh Lord. If I don't do well on the paper I'm dropping the class. I can put up with anything for an A (See last semester, when I was lectured on socialism twice a week by a rabbi who seemed to find my drivel appealing and spewed praise all over my papers, aka Hebrew Studies 249.), but there is no way in hell I am losing summa cum laude for this.

I am such an old woman

I really want them to stop singing songs from Slumdog Millionaire and just do Best Picture already so I can go to bed.

It's embarrassing.

I will say that when the camera panned to Brad and Angelina while Jennifer Aniston was presenting? Best moment of the night. Oh, the awkward.

Okay. They're still singing. I'm not sure why.

Typical Saturday Night at Chez Morena

John: I'm probably a little bit hard on myself.

Me: *snorts*

Mom: No, really? You all are like that. You're crazy. And your father and I never pushed you guys into ANYTHING. We've been nothing but supportive. You *pointing at me* couldn't talk and we thought you were brilliant! But no, John's horrible at guitar, Colleen's horrible at everything, and if Kathleen doesn't get an A she's worthless.

Me: No, we do this all to ourselves. We know that.

Dad: What are we talking about?

Mom: How psychotic the children are.

Dad: Ah, yes.

Mom: I mean God knows we never pushed you into sports!

Everyone: *laughs*

Dad: Thank God you guys never got into soccer. I did not want to go to all those games.

Freakin' Fabulous

I read Clinton Kelly's book Freakin' Fabulous today and I think it was around the time where he wrote about spending 40 grand on a master's degree in journalism and his pet peeve being people saying "try and" instead of "try to" that I decided I definitely want to be in a sexless marriage with him. We clearly are soul mates.

I had a rather unfabulous day otherwise. I pulled tack strips up off the floor without damaging it or my eyes. I discovered that you should perhaps check the box of flooring before the gentleman shows up to install it to make sure that it's NOT THE WRONG COLOR.

And then I decided that being able to play with nails without blindness and deciding that "%&*^ it, the flooring and the guy to install it are RIGHT HERE, this is a lovely color yes, I totally think it looks good with the counter. Excuse me while I go dry heave in the corner," is, in and of itself, kind of fabulous.

(Yes. There are pictures. They'll be on Facebook...sometime. Later. Fabulous needs to go to bed.)

TGIT

Just in case anyone was wondering, the week you have two tests and papers and I don't know, EVERYTHING else? Not a good week to recover from a cold. Because even though thanks to the good people at Vick's you won't feel that decapitation would be more humane than one more second with your current head, you will feel like the work it would take to, like, stand up, is just way too much to even contemplate.

But tomorrow I have off. And I can sit on my hardwood floor and talk about the Penal Laws until the installation guys decide I'm crazy and decamp for more normal work conditions. And it shall be sweet.

Oh, and this has nothing to do with anything, but that kind of hot guy from Eleventh Hour? Could tell me to have a second-trimester c-section any day and I'd be all, "Sure, sign me up. Hold me till the pain goes away?"

Damn my parents' responsible decisions.

This morning, I'm sitting in Cuba waiting for class to start and trying to figure out exactly how long I can hold my breath or something, you know, very important things, when this adorable guy walks in to talk about some program or something. Ooh. A good day.

Even better- it's not one of those bleeding heart societies where if you pick up garbage alongside prison inmates we'll give you a letter of recommendation. It's a scholar program where you can spend the summer working daily with a faculty member on research and you get a $2800 stipend.

So I would get paid almost three thousand dollars to NOT MAKE COFFEE ALL SUMMER.

(Ignore the fact that there is pretty much nothing I would not do for $2800.)

And he even was talking about how this is such a good program for those who are thinking about going to graduate school because it breaks down the daunting Ph.D. program into doable portions and I really felt like raising my hand and asking, "So you start to dry-heave when thinking about your preliminary exams too!?!?! Can I have your neurotic, over-achieving babies???"

Of course, all cannot be well in paradise. He finally gets to the qualifications, and apparently this program is only available if you are a first-generation student (parents don't have a bachelor's degree), a minority, or have received a Pell Grant.

Huh. I'm paler than the moon, the state of Wisconsin seems to think I can pay for my education (although that is far from the case), both my parents graduated from college, and my mom has a law degree.

You were so close I could taste you, $2800.

Excuse me, I need to go craft a carefully-worded e-mail to convince this guy that little white Catholic girls from the North Shore need money too and damn it, IT IS NOT MY FAULT THAT MY MOTHER HAS A DOCTORATE.

*sigh* She's so selfish.

It's Tuesday, I'm going to whine about chem.

No, I promise that I won't threaten to get pregnant by tomorrow afternoon. I think that upset my parents the last two weeks I did it. And I don't think pregnant women are discouraged from suspending a paper covered with dots in water. Which is what we're doing tomorrow. Yeah, I don't know either. But I'm guessing he'll make us wear the damn goggles again.

No, I just opened my e-mail and there was a message from the TA telling us that we didn't need to submit a formal lab report, just answer the post-lab questions and put your name on it. A message sent at 5:15 tonight. For a class tomorrow morning. Okay, Nazim. Is there a reason you could not have mentioned this last Wednesday? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to format math equations into a Word document? Very hard, that's how hard. It took me a good hour in methods when I could have been changing my Facebook status a fourth time. So you are getting a formal lab report, because I am not redoing it.

That is all.

I'm paying eight grand a year for this.

In the past two hours of methods seminar I have:

1.) Checked Facebook.

2.) Updated Facebook status first time.

3.) Answered one question and thus got my participation points for the week.

4.) Found primary source for next week.

5.) Went back to Facebook.

6.) Checked to see if my library books had come in.

7.) Updated Facebook status second time.

8.) Typed lab report and e-mailed to self.

9.) Updated Facebook status third time.

10.) Stalked every single one of my Facebook friends. Okay. I don't have a lot. Whatever.

11.) Contemplated hurling myself through the plate glass window because surely hitting Harford Ave. at terminal velocity must feel better than a three hour seminar when you have a cold.

12.) Studied for Israel test. Still don't know what year the USS Chesapeake was boarded. (Oh. 1807. Got it.)

13.) Wondered why this weird guy across from me is wearing vintage military garb. Not that it's a bad thing- I don't want him to find this and find myself on the top of his hit list. Really n ot.

14.) Wrote this entry.

I'm thinking we'll go back to Facebook now.

*headdesk*

Can I get some NyQuil hooked up to an IV?

Possibly? Because I think that may be the only thing that would make me feel better right now. And it has to. Because I have lab reports and Israel tests and chem tests and prelab questions and GRE crap and oh, my Lord, I just want to go to bed.

(Also? This is another reason I will be the most unpleasant pregnant woman. Ever. I'm only ever going to have one kid. Because whomever I trick into reproducing with me is not going to want to get near me again. Ever.)

Anyway.

I'm just going to go get the bottle and a straw.

Dear Hallmark,

You suck and I hate you.

That is all.

Love,
Kathleen

Maybe it's a good thing we ran out of money for London.

My sister and I had major plans to spend two weeks in London last January. At least, until we actually figured out how much it would cost. And then we cried a little and drank a lot of Bushmills.

But it strikes me that if we had gone, our trip to the British Library would have gone something like this. I would have been all "Magna Carta! It's like eight hundred years old! The world's first "consitution"! Signed by the one and only King John!" and Colleen would be like, "Pssh. Whatever. Paul wants to hold my hand."

And because I'm a pushover and I still have a deep-seated fear of her (even though she stopped throwing Ken dolls at my head, like, four years ago), I'd probably spend the rest of the day looking at Beatles lyrics and never even get to see the British Museum.

(When we were planning our trip, and I was having a museumgasm over the most amazing museum ever, Colleen scrunched up her nose and went, "You can, like, drop me off at a coffee shop before that or something, right?")

I am not a 30 Rock fan.

For no reason, except that I haven't ever really watched it. It's kind of ridiculous. I mean, half of tonight's episode was kind of disgusting, and then the other half involved Salma Hayek and Alec Baldwin going to a Mass for St. Valentine at night? Where they stopped to have confession? I don't know, but I would think that somebody on the staff would be like, "Um, no not how we do things..." Right?

But it's okay! Because Jon Hamm guest-starred. So I'll watch anything. Hell, I'll even buy the DVDs of a show about depraved, greedy, misogynistic jackasses. Because he is very pretty.

My exhaustion. Let me show you it.

Oh, internets. I would like for it to be Saturday. Right now. A lovely day, when I can sleep past 5:15 and not spend an hour standing in a lab wearing goggles FOR NO REASON while measuring your own foot in centimeters.

(Yes, they made us wear goggles.)

(Yes, it did look as ridiculous as you think it did.)

(Yes, I considered dropping the class.)

I had quite a lot to do today, like the math portion of the GRE, another annotated primary source bibliography, bank, library, etc. I did...um...none of it. I got home, made sure that I knew an electron was a negative and a proton is positive and that's about it. I even left the kitchen dirty, which I never do and I feel terribly about, but, eh, cannot deal with it right now.

Is it May yet?

Beat me senseless, I'm Irish.

Blatently stolen from Colleen, but what can I say? Dr. Crain is very inspiring.

William of Orange: Hey guys. I'm back.

Parliament: Who are you again?

William of Orange: William. Of Orange.

Parliament: Oh, right. our "king". Hey, where you been, man? Louis' been like, tearing up the continent.

William of Orange: Um, you sent me to Ireland? To put the smackdown on James II? I've been chasing that whackjob Sarsfield all over?

Parliament: Oh, right right right. So, how'd that go? *snigger*

William of Orange: Well, he's Irish. I won. But I've got this thing I need you to sign, just to make him shut up.

Parliament: But, this says we're not going to enslave them?

William of Orange: Yeah. We don't really need the slaves. I mean, the West Indies aren't that big, and Cromwell pretty much just dumped a shipment of them like fifty years ago...

Parliament: But...but, they're Irish.

William of Orange: ...

Parliament: We hate them.

William of Orange: ...

Parliament: A lot.

William of Orange: ...

Parliament: We need to enslave them.

William of Orange: Why?

Parliament: Oh, God, you are so not English. Will someone please explain to newbie why they are inherently inferior and should be thankful to us for curbing their deeply disturbing popish tendencies?

William of Orange: Whatever. I've got some serious hair-curling to get to. Can you just sign this so I can get back to my arranged marriage? I've got a college to found.

Parliament: Um, yeah, I hear what you're saying. I do. But here's the thing, we were kind of thinking of going a different way? Like, we actually drew up this thing, and we kind of need you to sign it.

William of Orange: What is it?

Parliament: Just a little treaty. Taking all their land and telling them they can't read anymore.

William of Orange: What?

Parliament: I don't think they liked the reading thing that much anyways. I didn't see any books when I was over there. Just sign it, okay? Again, we're the GOOD GUYS. Good, Protestant, God-fearing but not a whole lot guys.

William of Orange: But I don't think I can, I mean, I told this Sarsfield guy I'd sign this one.

Parliament: Okay.

William of Orange: So can you sign mine?

Parliament: No.

William of Orange: But I'm not signing yours.

Parliament: Yeah. No.

William of Orange: So how is this working?

Parliament: Um, we were just kind of being nice and asking, since you were here and all. We don't really need you so much. I mean, you're not even English.

William of Orange: Hey! Not nice!

Parliament: ...

William of Orange: ...

Parliament: Okay. This is awkward now. Well, see you later!

William of Orange: Wait, where are you going?

Parliament: That land is not going to seize itself.

William of Orange: But I told him...

Parliament: Oh, honey, I'm sure he knew you were only our fake king.

William of Orange: I don't think so, he was like crying and everything.

Parliament: Don't worry, buddy, we've got it. Why dont you go try to impregnate your wife? I mean, God knows that sister of hers is never going to get a man. And we really don't need another Restoration situation going on.

William of Orange: But...

Parliament: Okay! Bye!

And I thought History 242 was worthless.

Oh, methods. It is a damn good thing that it's a seminar, because I do not think that I could handle this more than once a week. Today I learned that my professor subscribes to Playboy (Seriously? Subscribes? And they gave you a doctorate?), looked at pictures of UWM from the 1970s, and stared at the wall for a good half hour while I was supposed to be researching something that took about three minutes to research. Oh, and Facebook. Always Facebook.

We were ostensibly learning how to use the Special Collections website. This is, quite possibly, the world's most boring website ever.

Except. Except for this. Yes, UWM has, in it's very own room, 425 nurse romance novels. I spent a considerable amount of time going through them and making my lip bleed because I was biting it so hard to keep from laughing, and after considerable debate, I have decided that this is my favorite. Who will win her heart? The man with the mission on Earth...or the one who would walk on the moon?

I could die from the cheesy.

Items of Note from Work Today:

- The handy pocket version of "The Declaration of Independence and Constitution of the United States" is on the biography/memoir bay. Um. Definitely not.

-Sanjaya of American Idol fame has a new autobiography, "Dancing to the Music in My Head". I checked. If a 13-year-old knew what a wet dream was, this would be it.

- It was bluegrass day. I hate bluegrass day. I had (willfully?) forgotten that it was the second Sunday, and, oh, I almost started to cry when they brought out the banjos. Then I thought of many different way to kill them, probably using the banjos.

- I saw my music professor. It was weird.

- I saw my old piano teacher. That, too, was weird, especially because I couldn't remember the terms on which we ended the lessons so when she went, "Oh, it's too bad you couldn't continue!" I had to do this, "Oh, yeah, I know, but, you know, stuff..." thing. Then I got home and was informed of the actual circumstances and yeah, it wasn't my fault. So I shouldn't have had to have been so awkward. I'm sorry, that made no sense. Maybe to Mickey. Maybe.

- I was running to pull Edgar Sawtelle for the sixteenth person and there was this really hot guy standing in poetry. Immediately, I began thinking, "This is unbelievable...there are never any attractive people in Borders...you know how in movies and books people always meet intelligent, attractive people in bookstores? Ha. Haha. No. That doesn't happen. We just have weird people who can't spell. But this guy! Really cute. And okay, he's looking at poetry, which annoys me, and he's probably pretentious, but at least he can read! Maybe he's an English grad student and we can compare student loan bills! Clearly we're made for each other. We can name our children after literary characters! It will be perfect! Oh, wait. He smells. Like, really bad. Okay. I'm not having kids with you. At least until you take a shower."

It was kind of an interesting day.

I have researched this thoroughly.

In an effort to stave off staggering boredom and, you know, not study for my upcoming Israel test, I compiled a Facebook album this afternoon of old pictures.

And I have come to the conclusion that I was one damn cute baby.

Then, as you can see from every picture of me that's not tagged, things kind of got awkward there for a few years until about age 18, but birth to four was good!

Dear Siblings,

It's your sister Kathleen. I just watched a particularly incensing episode of "Real Housewives of the OC", and have some issues I need to address. Not that I actually think either of you would do anything like this, but much like when my professor told us how her husband broke her inherited china and there was nothing she could do about it because it was half his and I came home and made Mom change her will so that whatever loser I end up marrying can never get his hands on anything familial, it's all about security.

(And separate bank accounts for insurance.)

(I hate living in a marital property state.)

(Unless he has more property.)

(And he will. I'm going to be a history theology professor.)

(Actually, I'm okay with marital property.)

(Anyway...)

So. If Daddy ever gets diabetes and loses his sight and Mom starts shrinking due to some horribly fast form of osteoarthritis and you move to California to wear inappropriately low-cut tops given your saggy boobs and work with your ex-husband who you seem to think still finds you attractive even though he doesn't and you're not and then come back to Milwaukee to whine at them about never coming to see you in LA and then tell me that I will be stuck in Wisconsin forever if I don't move right now and who is going to take care of them then, huh? and then have a softly-lit soliloquy along Lake Michigan about how you don't miss your life here?

I. Will. Kill. You.

Oh, yes. I don't care that I am infinitely cuter than you and you are any evil witch with some weird facial growth and an inflated ego. I will snap and kill you. And you know what?

It will be a painful death. It will be slow. It will be creative. You will definitely be awake for it. It may involve Daddy's white blindness stick thingy or Mom's medication.

The police? Will probably be on my side.

So. Just putting you guys on notice. Don't pull any Jeana shit.

Sincerely,

Your loving and slightly homicidal sister

So over UWM.

Today on the bus ride home I was treated to a discussion between the bus driver and a seemingly random passenger about her current child custody issues and upcoming trial. I couldn't figure out if it was their kid, or just hers with some other lose.

Oh, Milwaukee County Transit System. How dull my life would be without you. Usually the UWM bus is pretty normal, because it's all kids who still live with their parents in the North Shore, but today! Today, you did not disappoint.

I seriously need to go somewhere else for graduate school.

Always listen to your mother.

I spent several years at Concordia during high school. The plan, on both my parents' part and mine, was to treat that whole experience like high school. I wasn't getting credit for the classes, and I wasn't upset that I wasn't getting credit. It was just like a private high school with way more work but a really pretty coffee shop in the library. Oh, and once President Bush showed up for commencement. That was pretty cool. It would have been cooler if I had stayed with Stalker Boy and gotten to go...but we all make decisions. I decided I wanted my thighs unfondled.

However, I took several years of science classes. While I inherited many things from my grandfather, such as his nose and German peasant hips made for bearing children but not so much for the creating them, his scientific acumen was not among them. I'm not going to be building any nuclear weapons. I suck at science. This was a huge undertaking that required both my parents, Grandpa, several different textbooks, a year's supply of Kleenex and hell of a lot of bourbon.

I worked really hard, but I did two semesters of chemistry and two semesters of biology, and I managed to do quite well.

After this was all over my mother, quite intelligently, told me that, hey, you should probably take the CLEP test for those classes, because you took college classes and you got nothing out of it. I kind of ignored her, because oh! Studying for the test! So much work.

So I didn't take them. And now I hate myself. My God. I had nothing going on. I was SIXTEEN. What, was CSI too pressing that week? All I had to do was show up and take the damn test and I could have gotten college credit for science, and I wouldn't be in the sucking hole of evil that is Chemistry 106.

Honestly. Today I considered pregnancy as a way to get out of the lab. It was a dark moment, but Grandpa's dead now and can't help me when I don't know what the difference is between fission and fusion and, more importantly, why do I care?

Although he probably wouldn't be too pleased with me whoring around to get out of a class. I'm guessing.

Adventures in Microfiche.

Methods is supposed to be like your proto-thesis. It shows you, in a painstaking and retarded way, how to write a long paper. Please ignore the whole how did I make it more than halfway through college without knowing how to write a freaking paper aspect of it all.

Our problems began with with the topic. I had to pick a 20th century US history topic. One that could possible have academic primary sources related to it. So we're talking more "the NASA missions particularly regarding the impact of Cold War foreign policy and ensuing detente" and less "Johnny Depp's early work and it's physiological impact on teenage girls."

I don't like modern US history. I tend to think that if my mom could be considered a primary source because she was functioning and autonomous when it happened, it's not history. I finally settled on Watergate, and so this morning I ventured into the bowels of the library looking for the microform/fiche room, where I was planning on throwing my citation at the librarian and then curling up in the corner and possible crying because I don't feel like looking through US Senate documents at 8:00 in the morning I just really want to go get a muffin before class.

Turns out the Nixon papers aren't kept in the same way the others are. So the librarian drags out this huge drawer thing and goes, "We need more information."

I don't have any more information, lady. I just need a primary source to get me through this week so that I can go back to my online database work next week. Give me something that says "Watergate". That's all I need.

Finally I just grabbed some slides of the Senate hearing on wiretapping and scanned them into the computer. They're sitting in my inbox right now, and I'll probably deal with them later. When I get the stench of old library that really is overdue for a renovation out of my nose.

Why isn't everything online? WHY? It would make my life so much easier.

Dear Village of Whitefish Bay:

Hi. It's me again. We've had this discussion before. I thought you heard me. But I guess not, as Silver Spring is closed. Again.

Whitefish Bay, I do not appreciate this. I do not enjoy my morning commute from freaking Grafton, and usually by the time I make it like six communities south I am so not in the mood to attempt to avoid road workers and the like. I understand why you feel the need to close it, because frankly, I think you actually made it worse last time, if possible, but could you not have waited until summer, when I didn't have to drive it every single day?

(I can't wait to leave UWM. I don't care if I can't afford t live there on my own, I'm moving in with Hypothetical Gay Couple and going to Stritch RIGHT DOWN THE ROAD. I'm sure they won't mind. Actually, they may mind my inappropriate attachment to the counter. But I'm sure they'll get over it.)

(But I digress.)

So, Whitefish Bay. You are on notice. Please have this cleared up quickly. Like maybe by tomorrow morning. Thank you.

Love,

Kathleen

Even the half-time show is boring this year.

John: Can I throw away your biology homework?

Me: My what?

John: Your biology homework. I found it in the pad of graph paper I'm using.

Me: Um. Yeah. It's dated 2002, you can probably toss it.

John: Okay. Did you know that the fish's breathing slowed down in cold water?

Me: Apparently I did.

Oh, Advanced Biology with Mrs. Anzia. The best class of my brief foray into ninth grade. Almost- almost- matched by American Government, appropriately taught by her brother. Thank God Mr. and Mrs. Brogelman reproduced- their offspring are the only reason I made it through one year of high school. :P Then I found out that one of them married my then-pastor's niece, and wow, the number of times that has made me smirk...

***

This morning some Phantom music popped up on my iPod, and I had a little fangirl squeal over it. This was particularly appropriate as I believe there was a Super Bowl when I escaped by going to see Phantom. That got me thinking about all the other ways I've avoided the Super Bowl-drinking at Mickey's is a perennial favorite, and I know I missed the whole Janet Jackson thing while I was at the seriously overlooked cinematic gem Win a Date with Tad Hamilton (Remember Kate Bosworth? Whose only claim to fame was hooking up with Orlando Bloom for a few months?).

Of course, that made me try to come up with ways to avoid it this year. It would be significantly more difficult, as the party is at my house, and, you know, I do want to celebrate Cousin #2's birthday. Hmmm. Maybe I'll just read if it gets to be too much. I tend to read during a lot of sporting events.

It's been twelve years since eight-year-old me sat in a box at the Bradley Center and read The Dollhouse Murders during some game (Soccer? I think? Or maybe hockey? I don't know. There was summer sausage and a couch and my cousin's friend on whom I had a serious crush and people generally left me alone for two hours- I wasn't focused on the game so much.) and my family is still talking about it.

Or maybe we'll just go with the perennial favorite. I saw a fresh bottle of Maker's Mark in the kitchen...