Thoughts during the MTV Movie Awards

-Kate Winslet being a Nazi is kind of funny.

-Megan Fox scares me. No. For reals. She's not pretty. She's just scary.

-Twilight Guy looks like he wakes up and is immediately weary of his pretty. So weary that he cannot even shower.

-Twilight Girl is SOOOO over this.

-High School Musical Girl is not over this, and is PISSED that Twilight Girl won instead.

-Ben Stiller is too old for this.

-Really. Way too old.

-Anyone else get the feeling that the Harry Potter cast didn't show up so it wouldn't be supremely awkward when they bumped into Twilight Guy backstage?

-Why is Hayden Panettiere with Zachary Quinto?

-WHY IS ZACHARY QUINTO SMILING AT HAYDEN PANETIERRE?

-Why do I care?

-Did they honestly just congratulate Heath Ledger for winning best villain? They congratulated a dead guy? Nice, MTV. Really nice.

-You know what? I'm too old for this.

In general...

I spent the last three hours at work today not actually working but being the camera girl for Jen Lancaster- which is pretty fun. I heard a wonderful story involving a regular and some guy and some lesbian lover of hers for twenty years and how they all tried a three-way relationship and it didn't work and now she can't move to Florida and whatever, lady, I just wanted to know if you wanted lemon loafcake. I went out to dinner. I got to wear my pretty Wal-Mart dress.

I refrained from banging my head into the desk when someone preordered the sure-to-be instant classic "A Pilgrim in a Pilgrim Church".

I think this counts as a good day.

Musical health class?

Has anyone seen Grease 2? Because we're flipping between that and Walk the Line (and Joel Osteen, becase my sister wants to be a preacher's wife despite her Catholic faith. She does enjoy speaking in a Southern accent, though.), and I'm confused...and intrigued. We just got through the health class number (who knew you could rhyme so much with "reproduction"?) and it appears that there is next to no dialogue. Just some amazing musical numbers featuring high school students who are taking Metamucil.

I think I may have to actually watch this all the way through.

And I'm NOT in therapy.

My head- it's a scary place sometimes.

(And not just because it sometimes think that law school would be the best way to go for me despite the fact that the rest of my body is going "FRICK NO WE DO NOT WANT TO WORK PAST FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON!". True story- I walked past a place this afternoon that closed at three and resolved to come back tomorrow for an employment application.)

No, because now that Grandpa's house is almost completely finished (I know! Right? It's only been TEN FREAKING MONTHS! So if you know anyone who wants to rent, give me a call!), I kind of...um...really want to move in. Like, now.

Not only do I not want other people living there- although I emphatically do not. I don't share well. I never have. Those joint Christmas gifts with my sister when we were little? Screw 'em. The joint birthday parties we did for a few years? Gross. I don't like people using the bathroom attached to my bedroom- and it's the guest bathroom in a house that I don't own. I have repeatedly attempted to find a way to obtain sole custody of children when you're still married because I don't think I'm ever going to love anyone enough to trust them with my children- even if half of their DNA came from him. So other people wiping their gross little hands all over the walls I bled on, cried on, threw things at in frustration painted? NOT COOL.

But I want to live there. I'm going out after work on Saturday. I'm not going to lie, part of the reason I accepted is that there won't be enough time to go home and I'll have to change and get ready there. I've done that a couple times now, and I love it. I mean, yes, I'm using makeup out of a bag and I have to stay away from treatment-less windows because the women in that neighborhood have a median age of 85 and are huge gossips- and I'd hate for the entire group to know that I wear (*gasp*) black underwear sometimes! But it's still almost like I live there.

(AND IT EVEN MATCHES WHORE.)

I find myself stopping to refill my water bottle or use the bathroom, even if I'm just going home. I go for walks in the neighborhood because there are small roads that lack both a.) big trucks, b.) big trucks going incredibly fast around curves, and c.) rabid dogs who like to follow me home and hump my leg. It's just so much more peaceful.

I have developed into an adult at the socially acceptable time, and so I haven't spent a whole huge amount of time daydreaming since I was, oh, twelve, but whatever little story is running through my head at any given time? Probably is set in that house. Last winter I had to stop and pick something up on my way home from school and it was dark and as I was letting myself in I caught myself thinking, "Hmmm...I'm going to have to leave the porch light on...this is kind of spooky."

For God's sake, I have the nursery decorated in my head. I'm 21, single, and decidedly not pregnant. (Can one be decidedly not pregnant? Or decidedly pregnant for that matter? Whatever. I'm not.)

So. In my head, it doesn't make a difference that I have essentially no job, no car, no career path for the next nine years, and unless the pay for a barista goes up considerably in the next six months, no hope of changing any of these circumstances for a little while. No, in my head I'm picking out furnishings.

(Not wallpaper. NEVER, EVER WALLPAPER.)

But! The fact that in nine years I will have a piece of paper saying, "Hey, you can give her a job shaping not-so-young minds and she knows a crapload about the Troubles-

(OOOH! I have something to say about that, but it has absolutely nothing to do with this topic, so will you stay with me for a tangent? You will? Oh, good. Okay. I was watching the BBC news the other night because I'm a little bit sick of the American economy and that's all the US news organizations will report on, and one of the stories was about how there is now an investigation into why, exactly, a Catholic man was beaten to death outside his house, and this isn't the first one recently either. Is it starting again? Because Dr. Crain will be very sad if he has to stop ending his Northern Ireland class with the whole, "But now there's peace. And that will be enough." Okay. Tangent over.)

-but more importantly can make a mocha that will knock your socks off!" if we don't find somebody to rent it. So while I'll be locked away in the basement to prevent me from hissing at potential renters, it is a lovely house and if anyone wants to rent it please let me know!

(I'll be the one doing my makeup in a recently furnished bathroom that's not mine.)

Night at the Home of Old Vacation Memories

Went to see Night at the Museum 2 today, and it was quite lovely. Funny, stupid, Owen Wilson. Good times had by all.

Particularly those of us who have spent a ton of time at the Smithsonian museums, especially Air and Space, my mother's most beloved of all museums despite the fact that walking in the door gives me hives.

(At least I have never ended up sobbing in the bathroom. That was the Wright Brothers' Museum.)

(It was a bad day.)

The Wright boys make an appearance as well, which caused Mary to curl up into a little methods-induced ball and start freaking out about her paper grade and I got a little ill thinking about the abovementioned day...but other than that...

And the National Gallery of Art featured prominently as well, even though they changed the name to the "Washington Art Museum" for some reason. That made my little art history soul squee.

There were several...inconsistencies, however. (No, not the exhibits-coming-to-life inconsistency.) The gift shop at Air and Space is not in the main room, it's kind of in the back and most of it is in the basement. And the National Gallery of Art is not a part of the Smithsonian museum system.

This is why it closes three hours earlier than everyone else and I end up with twenty minutes there at the end of the day but we had four hours to stare in contemplation at the first plane to fly in March of 1953 or something.

(I'm not bitter.)

So now I want to go on vacation.

Dear Big Daddy,

Hi. It's me. Kathleen. Well, you'd probably know me as "Kathy" because despite the fact that I was one of your only fifteen students, you never got my name right.

Yeah. I'm not going to lie. I spent most of the semester hating you. I had lots of things to do with my Monday afternoons, and spending three hours every week listening to you talk about Post-Modernism but not really because if your graduate students couldn't understand it- well then! Neither could we!

You struck me as kind of like a perv. The Playboy, the lesbian article with graphic physical descriptions, when you said your five-year-old posed like a pin-up...yeah, weird.

You wore a pair of earrings. That's really weird.

Gradually, I warmed to you. Mostly after you wrote loving comments on my paper.

By the end of the semester, I was crying because the class was over.

(Although to be fair, I was crying about...oh...just about everything that week.)

However. If you continue to withhold our final grades for the class, I will be forced to consider you a mean pervert again.

Honestly, man. It's been two weeks since we turned in the papers. They're only 7-10 pages, hardly being handed a stack of master's theses, and you even got to read them beforehand, so you know what they're about.

Does your partner-of-an-ambiguous-gender really require that much attention that you need more than two weeks to grade FIFTEEN papers?

So. You're on notice.

Love,
Kathleen (Not. Kathy.)

Role Model

Okay, I'm in the middle of parties and movies and cemetary-going and four loads of laundry, so the only thing I have for you this afternoon (except that once again- Ewan McGregor: Hotter When Celibate) is a lovely little item about Brooke Shields from People.com

Brooke Shields announces she would have lost her viginity sooner.

A.) Who the hell cares when Brooke Shields started having sex?

B.) Yes, Brooke. You are truly a role model for young women everywhere.

C.) Obviously, the way to become okay with your looks is to do it with the first guy to come along. That's why anorexia is almost never present in sexually active young teens.

D.) Seriously, who wants to know when Brooke Shields is having sex???

The 40-Year-Old Dependent.

Had a minor meltdown today. Just a teensy little one. When it appeared that there are no loans available for graduate school if you are listed as a dependent for tax purposes. And yes, I am. Because I've been busy PAYING TUITION FOR THREE YEARS and WORKING EIGHT HOURS A WEEK. OF COURSE I'M A FREAKING DEPENDENT I CAN'T AFFORD TARGET.

So I had a brief dark moment of the soul when I wondered exactly how old you can get while still being claimed by your parents. 21 is okay. 25 is a little weird. But I'm hoping- praying- that I'll have Ph.D one of two by the time I'm 30. And while I probably still be living at home because I can't really take my term papers to the grocery as legal tender, it's even more pathetic to have the IRS think you're pitiful.

Then I stress-ate like four cookies and got massively ill.

And realized that if you're in graduate school, you automatically lose the dependent status, even if you technically still receive a substantial amount of support (like, say, all of it) from your parents. Fear not, I will be able to get a loan. Oh. That's good.

Ugh. The emotional taxation of that little exercise was way too much to handle. I spent the rest of the day watching Law and Order: Criminal Intent. Because Goren and Eames do not care that I have no money.

It's over.

You know my fantastic soul mate Meghan McCain? Well, I don't really care that we can have sleepovers and talk about small government and fiscal responsibility and omg did you see "Fox and Friends" this morning???

Now it will never work.

This afternoon she posted the following tweet: "On a sidenote, me and all my girlfriends might be a little too enthused about the jon and kate premier monday. Were planning food and drinks already for it."

Really? Do you mean you and your friends planned drinks? Because that's not what you said. You said that you previously planned food and drinks.

CONTRACTIONS PEOPLE LEARN TO LOVE THEM.

Thus ends tonight's episode of the Grammar Nazi.

Illogical.

CHEM AND METHODS GRADES ARE STILL NOT UP ON PAWS AND I AM NOT AMUSED. God. UWM. I love you. I really do. I appreciate that I can afford (haha...kind of) to get an advanced degree at your campus, which is totally a much better academic institution than a lot of people give it credit for. I love Pacific Wraps. I love the Grind. I'm not okay with you only offering scholarships to AIDS babies from Asian and/or Aboriginal backgrounds whose parents did not attend anything other than a bush school but tell those of us who grew up in the North Shore and have parents with advanced post-graduate degrees to figure out some other way of paying for it I hear truck stops are relatively safe? but I'll get over that. I AM NOT OKAY WITH YOU NOT POSTING MY GRADES FOR A WEEK AFTER FINALS.

After all, how will I be able to gauge my worth in the world if I don't know how I did in Chemistry 106???

We're beginning to watch Star Trek episodes, because that's just the kind of nerdy family we are. This means that I shall generally embarrass myself by fangirling every member of the cast except Mr. Sulu because, well, I know now that he's not interested.

This will be ultimately disappointing because, unlike my sister, I prefer new Mr. Spock to old Mr. Spock. In fact, if I were in a relationship with new Mr. Spock (and why the hell not, he is not, in fact, married to a Dixie Chick and really what else was stopping us?) I'd make him wear the ears and shave his eyebrows and possibly only dress in blue...

***THIS JUST HAPPENED:***

Me: Remember the Vulcan PMS episode? I'm going to figure out which one that is...
Colleen: Yeah, go to wikipedia and type in "Nurse Chapel"...
Entire Room: *erupt in laughter*
Me: Amok Time? Is that rig...
Mom: Yep. That's it.

My hair is filthy. I should really wash it before work tomorrow. Meh. Too much work. There is Trek goodness to be viewed. Pigtails tomorrow, I guess.

Wow. This was disjointed. But I'm really focused on the television right now.

Only two?

Unacceptable items:

1.) Dogs.

I don't like dogs. I know a lot of people like them, and that's just fine and dandy. I, however, am not one of them. From my perspective? There was a reason the Romans left them outside.

Look. Okay, I know that little dog isn't actually going to hurt me. I get that. I'm not stupid. But whenever one runs at me I get the urge to scream like a little girl and jump into the nearest pool of water in the hopes that I can lose the mangy bastard.

(Dogs swim? Oh.)

I have, in fact, almost killed myself on several occasions freaking out about a dog. When I was about four I went batshit crazy at Maker's Mark and ran in front of a car. When I was eight my friend's dog had the nerve to be in the front yard at the same time as me and I ran into the road. This happened several more times when I was eleven/twelve at the farm (The horses were no problem for me, but those dogs? Scary.)

Imagine my dismay when a stupid dog decided to follow me home today. I managed to not freak out, and okay, I had to call my mom because it felt better to be talking and I figured if I was just walking along the highway talking to myself passing motorists would begin to view me strangely. But I didn't dart in front of a car or throw any rocks at the crazy thing (Seriously, it was dumb. Running down the middle of the road and all. Pssh.)

And I'm only 21.

2.) I'm still missing two grades on PAWS. And it goes down for maintenance on Saturday. And so help me God if I don't have my official GPA by then I will NOT BE PLEASED.

I'm pretty sure I got As in everything in chemistry (I have four As right now officially and methods is outstanding, but it should be an A unless Big Daddy decided that I wasn't one of his special students...I don't really want to think about that), and chem should be an A- which I'm actually okay with because the - isn't for anything stupid like I didn't show up or study or anything- I worked my ass off for the class, and I did all the stupid extra credit. So while I'm mourning the loss of my 4.0, it's not the end of the world.

Well. It kind of is.

It's amazing what you pick up.

Saw Star Trek again this afternoon, and wow! It's so much better when you're not looking for a quiet place to throw up! I don't know if it was the sick or the tired thing last time, but I understood like the actual plot this time- last time it was pretty much "zomg they're so young Spock is hot Spock/Uhura que? zomg so gooood!!!"

(Yes. I am articulate when I'm tired.)

This time there was, like, time travel and stuff.

Also decided that I shall go see Angels and Demons again on Monday because Mary and I traditionally do a movie and the inaugural Memorial Day movie was even an Ewan McGregor flick and well, I cannot think of any better way to mark the day than by viewing totally damning hotness that Colleen was mocking earlier. Whatever. She doesn't have to come. *sniff*

I'm pretty sure I'm still high.

Hey, remember that day last fall? Yeah. I don't do well with anything in the turpentine family. I just don't like things that are caustic and have major warnings about how dangerous they are unless it also comes with a Carlo Rossi label and a 7% alcohol by volume certification.

Imagine my delight then when today's task was using Goof-Off on the floors. All the floors. There was cursing. And crying. And more cursing and I may have damned several people to hell in my head, but hey! It was rough and the fumes, they get to me.

Especially since Goof-Off is not actually that fantastic a product. They neglect to mention that it doesn't work on actual drops of paint, unless you already attempted to wipe it up while it was wet, anything remotely old, and sometimes not so much depending on the grain of the wood. So if you've got a smear of paint on a perfectly smooth pane of wood that you wiped up within the last fifteen minutes? You are golden. Anything else? Not so much.

Particularly fifty-year-old paint on slightly damaged floors. Yeah, that...is going to stay for another fifty years.

If I could have seen straight at the end of endeavor, I would have been really angry. As it was, I was just nauseated and looking for a drink.

***

Re: Last night's fangirling of Meghan McCain. She was fantastic on the Colbert Report, but I think she could have laid off the eyeliner a little.

Whatever, I was five.

I am deeply fascinated by Meghan McCain. Infatuated, really. I want to be her friend. We can Twitter and be slightly overweight but altogether not hideously deformed together.

This is due, I feel, to a number of issues. I have always wanted to be a political daughter. It was my neverending dream as a child that my dad would ditch that whole architecture thing and run for prez in 1996- what, like he couldn't beat Perot? My little sister and I would dress up and play "Chelsea Clinton" which was less a game and more fevered "OMG CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW MUCH FUN I'LL BET SHE HAD THE REAL BARBIE CAR, NOT THE GENERIC ONE, AND A KEN DOLL WITH BOTH LEGS!!!"

(What. I was easily distracted from her father's seriously lacking policy issues.)

But that's not all. I seriously need some youngish Republican friends (other than Katie- but hey! She could hang out with Meghan and me too!) . It's a cold world out here when you have Bobby Jindal freaking out and being pissy in the corner while Obama is hanging out with the cool kids across the room and beckons you over, "Hey, you wanna join us? We've got beer. I mean technically, you bought the beer with your tax dollars, so you should totally have some!" And you have to reply, "Um...no...thanks. I'm just going to sit over here with my lemonade and try to keep Bobby from talking too loudly. But Meghan is young and not a fundamentalist and has gay friends and hey! I have gay friends too!

And yes, she said that she voted for Kerry in 2004, which is an almost unforgivable offense because SERIOUSLY? KERRY? But I can get over it, because I love her clothes and she uses eyliner which is, again, seriously lacking amongst Republicans.

She got into a fight with Ann Coulter about how bitch crazy she's become. And I respect that something fierce.

Also I have always harbored a desire to be named Meghan. With an H. I don't know why.

So while I have never compared leg hair with her, as my sister did in a dream that is chronicled in a remarkable Facebook note that I can't link to because her profile is locked down like the Pentagon, but if you know her you should totally go read it, I think Meghan and I are basically soulmates.

And tonight? Tonight she's on the Colbert Report. Yes. Now she has my name, my party affiliation, my penchant for empire-waisted dresses, and gets to be on my favorite show ever. It's almost worth staying up until 10:30 for.

Hey, it's a whole thing I never even thought about!

MY STUPID GRADES STILL AREN'T UP ON STUPID PAWS.

And I am reacting quite rationally. Obviously.

(My chem final grade is up on D2L, however. Oh. It's not pretty. This is me--->ME. 4.0<--- that is my hopeful GPA for this semester. The massive gaping chasm in between them? Chemistry. Stupid. Stupid chemistry. That's okay. I'm trying to tell myself I'm not a bad person because I didn't get an A in chemistry. It would have been SO AWESOME THOUGH. Gah. Hatehatehatehate.)

Other than that, I discovered today that a.) spray paint is rather messy, b.) I don't like spray paint, and c.) scrubbing the shower at Grandpa's is as bad as scrubbing the shower at home but with stress and bitterness added on top. Fanfreakingtastic.

The spray paint was cool for like two seconds, and then not so much once the wind shifted and it looked as though I had just spent a shift in the coal mines.

Giant Sucking Waste of Oxygen

I have nothing tonight, internets. I feel as though I'm wasting your time. But here are some various and sundry items that I can comment on.

-In this week's Entertainment Weekly, there is a comment about how while the position of camerlengo actually exists, he is not as powerful as Ewan McGregor in Angels and Demons. Also, presumably not as attractive.

-In other news, I'm still stalking Ewan McGregor. Go watch the video of his interview with Craig Ferguson. I laughed and I laughed.

-In more other news, you can visit my cave in hell. It'll be the one that's flaming and has my name on it.

-My grades still aren't posted on PAWS. This is not a horrible offense, actually, because I only took the last exam forty-eight hours ago, but what the hell, Cuba woman? You've had my paper for ten days, and I know you're not really reading it. Just slap an A up on there and make us all happy.

-I probably will not get an A in chemistry due to the fact that the lab practical was quite possibly the most impractical thing ever.

-It's all Nazim's fault. I blame him for my lack of 3.9 as opposed to 4.0.

-I got tipped today and for the first time since September I didn't have to save the money for parking. Ahh. Freedom is sweet.

- I still need $900 so I can take Jews in Wisconsin. It's too bad I don't actually know any Jews in Wisconsin, because maybe they could give me some money.

- I'm tired now.

You're welcome, underemployed people.

(Like me.)

Colleen and I cleaned the closet today, because it was getting difficult to climb the pile of stuff in the middle of the floor in order to get to dresses or jackets. So, in case you don't have anything better to do with your Saturday, you could swing by our local Salvation Army and take a look at every single piece of clothing I have owned (not necessarily worn) since the mid-nineties. Ignore the fact that we moved here in 1999. I'm pretty sure I moved most of the crap and still didn't wear it.

Five little evening purses. More tote bags than I can count. A pink purse that I apparently paid $23.50 for even though it isn't that pretty. An inexplicable vial of Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds perfume (when were either my sister or I a 70-year-old woman?).

Oh. Lord. The velvet. We could clothe most of Ozaukee County with velvet.

But it's okay. Because I've spent most of today replaying all of Ewan McGregor's scenes from Angels and Demons in my mind. Most notably the one where he gets all crazy and rips off his Roman collar. The rest of the movie was pretty mediocre, but I was fangirling like crazy for him. Even if his "Northern Irish" accent was laughable when it was actually occuring and otherwise, he just sounded Scottish. Whatever. He's pretty. I'm off to watch Star Wars.

I've had very few accidents, so...

I got my financial aid package today, and wow, they totally just took away one of my loans. That was apparently need based. And I'm not needy enough. (Ha!) And my extra class is costing $900.

I think it's incredibly insulting that I get knocked out of the running for every single need-based award simply because I can't afford to pay rent. Honestly. Do you think I'd be living at home and depending on my parents if I didn't have to? If I had $3700 just lying around at the end of the semester don't you think I'd, ooh, have a car?

And also. Do I have to point out? I HAVE A FREAKING 3.9 GPA.

So. I need a new job like pronto. One that has me show up more than one day a week. But it has to close before 6 pm and I won't be a waitress. Any suggestions?

One More.

I'm doing...well, I haven't broken down in tears in the last twenty-four hours. Even though art history is over and I freaking loved art history. However, tomorrow is the chemistry final. This is easily the worst of the bunch because it's the only class I'm not securely in "A" territory, but I'm close enough that there's a shot that I could get one and seriously, do not screw with my head like that, possible 4.0.

I really need to calm down.

I did have a dream about art history last night. And it was weird.

By Friday I'll probably be a Jewish Studies major.

Oh, goodness. Between the exhaustion, the stress-eating, the unexplained pimples, and my unbelievable ability to cry at the drop of a hat, I'm either pregnant or it's finals week.

As the pregnancy thing would require either some spastic genetic mutation or the second coming of Christ (unlikely, given my propensity to swear), it's probably just finals.

I seriously do not know what is wrong with me. I'm just a mess. I mean, I get the being sad about classes I like. No, the end of Ireland and Israel probably didn't need to invoke tears and queries as to whether the professor needed a babysitter this summer, but whatever, I loved those classes. And I loved art history, and Dr. Counts, so yeah, that makes sense.

But methods? I freaking hate methods. I hate that damn class. The day the professor got food poisoning and had to cancel was the happiest Monday I had all semester. But when we finished up today I wanted to cry. Seriously. I was this close to adding his section of 600.

I think the worst was when I got the mass e-mail from the former director of undergraduate studies in history announcing his replacement. Let me set this up for you. I don't know this guy. I met him once, and our entire conversation was pretty much, "So you want to be a history major?" "Yes." "You have at least a 2.5 GPA?" "Yes." "Okay. Where's the form?" Not exactly a long and storied relationship. And even if it was, he's not going anywhere. The position of director rotates through the staff, a different faculty member is the director every year. The new director is a guy I actually do know. He's my thesis advisor. He lent me one of his books. We've had a heart-to-heart about John Paul II.

So. To recap. I don't know Old Guy. Old Guy's not really going anywhere. I know New Guy. The entire position is basically a person to sign declaration of major forms. But when Old Guy sent out that e-mail saying that he was forwarding us New Guy's information and that he was honored to have served us this year? I'm not going to lie, my eyes started to water.

Okay. I seriously need a drink. Or a nap. Or some prescription drugs. Or all three.

BECAUSE I JUST CRIED OVER AN AMBIGUOUSLY GAY MIDDLE-AGED HISTORIAN WHO HAS HOMOSEXUAL BONDAGE POSTERS UP IN HIS OFFICE. But he said I'd be an asset to any MA program. THIS ISN'T NORMAL.

(The posters are alleged. I've never seen them. But I can kind of believe it.)

Maybe independent study isn't such a good idea.

Author's Note: Channel 12 just advertised their news for tonight by saying, "Former Archbishop Rembert Weakland has a stunning announcement- he's gay." No. What? Knock me over with a feather. Did no one else get that from the whole hey, I had sex with this man and then paid him off a few years ago? Just me? Oh, how I love local news.

It's exam week, and I didn't have anything today. So I spent the entire day doing very important things like staring at the wall and stalking my liturgist on Facebook.

Things I Did Today:

1.) Went to Target.

2.) Discovered that I am so short that miniskirts are regular skirt length on me.

3.) Went for a walk.

4.) Spent awhile on Facebook.

5.) Read a few books (Silk Figures- awesome).

6.) Watched the Jeff Goldblum episodes of Criminal Intent.

7.) Decided I love Jeff Goldblum.

8.) Contemplated leaving my hair wet and curly because oh, God, so much work to straighten it.

9.) Realized I look something like a muppet with curly hair.

10.) Ate way too much of the cake that was left over from last night.

Things I Did Not Do Today.

1.) Study for chemistry.

2.) Study for art history

3.) Eat a reasonable amount of the cake that was left over from last night.

I suck. Exam week never instills responsibility in me.

Something missing.

Does anyone else think that maybe Mia Farrow just forgot to eat for a couple of weeks? Because I kind of totally do.

Oh, Mia. Hunger strikes are never the answer. Did we learn nothing from Bobby Sands?

Wow. Someday I hope to be that lucky.

Today at work I checked out a guy who was buying porn. Not really anything special, that happens all the time.

But he had his son with him

His three-year-old son.

And then he said, "Okay, we have to go get a card for Mommy."

You, sir, are disgusting.

Yes, the original series.

Now that I am not mostly concerned with staying upright and not vomiting all over the brand new theater lobby, you will be favored with a more in-depth analysis of the movie last night. I know. You're thrilled. And no, I don't know what made me sick. It wasn't swine flu, though. No one freak out.

I am a huge Star Trek dork. I mean, I don't attend the conventions, but I pretty much meet every other criteria. I could recite many of the plot lines of all 73 episodes. (To be fair, most of them were the same. The Klingon/Romulan is attacking and Kirk has to descend to the planet to repopulate the species.)

So I entered the theater last night with trepidation. I was psyched. I am a whore for a fun summer action movie, and I was not expecting to be disappointed, but at the same time I didn't really want them to spit all over my fandom, which some movies have been known to do. (I'm sure I have examples. I just can't think of them right now. I can only think of Get Smart, and I loved that. Hmmm. Maybe I haven't been disappointed. Anyway.)

I was not disappointed. It was freaking awesome. It was exactly the right amount of interesting and kitschy and all the actors did a fantastic job. Eric Bana was actually ugly. That takes some acting chops. Scotty? Hilarious. Kirk? Gross and lascivious but adorable. Spock? And Dr. McCoy was awesome, even if I didn't recognize him as Eomer. Uhura kind of kicked ass, and not just because she was in the Pirates of the Caribean movies.

It was so amazing that there were several times that I really, really felt sick but I didn't want to leave in case I missed anything!

I want to go back.

One question. Why is it that I don't actually find Zachary Quinto attractive but I wanted to have Spock's little emotionless babies last night? Does that make me a bad person?

I'm pretty sure I'm losing it.

By the end of my Ireland exam this afternoon, I don't even know what I was writing. Seriously. I was getting loopy.


I will say that Star Trek= awesome, even with the non-canonical romance. The brand new theater with the ginormous screen and brand new theater smell that I saw it in? Makes me want to throw up a little. So I'm going to bed now.

I am so over this.

Yes, I have had "We Didn't Start the Fire" stuck in my head since Tuesday morning when we talked about the Ayatollah. I maintain that this is a perfectly acceptable way to study the Iranian Revolution (1979, the shah was run out on January 16, Ayatollah Khomeni took over, started yelling death to the infidels, hostages on November 4, yay theocracy!)

I also know all about how we backed the Mujahadeen in Afghanistan in the 1980s, pushing the Soviets out by 1989 and funding the Taliban by 1996.

Oops.

I'm going to bed.

Stay tuned for the breakdown.

I had a minor emotional moment (twice) in school today when both of my favorite classes finished and I loved those classes and I should not be this emotionally involved in the Northern Ireland conflict and why are you leaving me for four months God the last time we tried this people died and seriously is no one else moved by the power-sharing of the Good Friday Agreements???

*ahem*

Can you imagine what I'm going to be like next year? When I have to graduate and finish up Dr. Crain's classes? I'm going to be curled in a ball in the corner sobbing. My blue book will be runny with teardrops. It's just going to be embarrassing.

Meanwhile, I can't seem to study for those exams on Thursday. I think my fragile emotional state is to blame.

End of the Semester Weepies

It seems like no matter how much I complain (And, oh! Is it a lot!) during the semester, by December/May, I revert to the first grade when you're just devastated that school is over and how are you going to survive without this whole routine thing you've worked out? WHAT NOW GOD???

Big Daddy even made me laugh this afternoon when he said (in response to some kid asking what would happen if you missed one of the "mandatory" days), "Oh, I'll send one of my redneck relatives to your house and...I don't know...burn it down or something." I even kind of favorably reviewed him. Kind of. Maybe.

By the end of the afternoon I had gotten the review of my paper, and boy, was I having warm fuzzy feelings about him then! As Katie and I were discussing this afternoon, if you are a professor? The esteem in which I hold you/how attractive I think you are is a direct correlation to how well you grade me. I don't care if you're the nicest person in the world, you give me a B? I hate you and you probably murder babies and little kittens in your time off. Awful person but give me an A? I love you and are you doing something different with your hair because it's working!

Case(s) in point- Dr. Brusin. Socialist rabbi. I showed up to class every day wearing a crucifix and dragging my backpack with the McCain button on it. By the third A? I was ready to convert to Judaism. And possibly vote for Obama. (I never thought he was hot though. I'm crazy. Not delusional.)

And Big Daddy? I don't care that you spent a huge chunk of the semester talking about how Playboy could be considered a primary source and that once you said all women could be lesbians and none of us can figure out if you're gay because you keep saying "partner", wear a braided wedding band, but used the pronoun "she" once. You said you "really, really, really liked" my rough draft and said I'd make a good graduate student. If you are straight, will you marry me? (Um. On second thought. Not enough alcohol in the world.)

And well, let's just say that there are a myriad of reasons why I'm not going to apply for a student coordinator position, but one of them is that if you consistently give me over 100% and say you'd be honored to write a letter of recommendation for me? There is nothing, including alienating the rest of the faculty, I wouldn't do for you.

As it is I have to keep my mouth shut next semester.

I'm not even mad at my art history professor for not getting our quiz grades back to us, because he got busy ripping up carpeting this weekend. Oh, Derek, honey. Take all the time you need. Do you need help with tack board? Because I kind of kick ass at that. Extra credit?

I'm possessive, it isn't nice.

Oh, Mamma Mia. How you speak to me.

Okay. Going to be nice now.

I'm very tired, freaking out about exams, and I'm convinced that The Artist Formerly Known as The Boy has swine flu. Icky icky icky. Oh, and I can't skip Cuban history because I did it last week. *headdesk*

People are annoying.

Ugh. Lord. Like the person who wanted art deco books. But not just any art deco books, he "really preferred American pre-war art deco". Okay. I'm an art history student and I'm not even that pretentious. Go watch PBS and listen to NPR and leave me alone, okay? You almost made my sweet manager cry because she didn't know what you were talking about. And also? You just asked for mystery recommendations because you really like Dan Brown. ANYONE who finds anything remotely redeeming from a literary or historical or anything-other-than-Ewan-McGregor-and-I-had-an-afternoon-to-kill perspective about Dan Brown? IS DUMB.

Or the woman who asked me why our sandwiches were advertised as focaccia bread when it was clearly ciabatta. I don't know. I cut open the packages. That is my extent of the involvement with the sandwiches.

Or the mother and daughter pair who were looking for books about Anne Frank and were slightly concerned about getting it approved when I showed them The Diary of Anne Frank. "Are you sure you don't have a biography?" Um. No. I'm fairly certain that this, one of the most beloved books of all time, will be okayed by the teacher.

*headdesk*

UWM may be under the impression that I'm going to law school.

I may have told them that when I was a naive 17-year-old who didn't realize that I'd, like, have to be a lawyer then in order to pay off my $100,000 of debt, and I may have never changed it even after my mother helpfully threw things at my head until I realized that I DON'T WANT TO BE LAWYER.

(She totally did not do anything of the sort. When I would have bimonthly meltdowns about what graduate school track to pursue, she would very helpfully place a pillow under my head so that the banging wouldn't hurt my little confused skull. And then she's tell me that she had, in fact, gone to law school. And she had, in fact, been an attorney. And I would, in fact, want to kill myself. I finally started listening to her.)

Anyway. Now that Souter has decided to go hang out in the woods with his boyfriend dog, there is a Supreme Court opening. And I would love to fill it.

So. President Obama. I know we haven't exactly been on fantastic terms for the past hundred days. I may have had to get drunk the night you were elected and maybe said some things to my sister I regret deeply. But you could totally appoint me! I'm cute, and personable. The Senate Committee would probably let me through (meh, at least I won't swear at them in a Sicilian dialect like Scalia).

Also, I kind of feel like there should be a total turncoat appointed. Because it would be major judicial poetic justice. Ahh. My favorite kind.