Sporty

The homily spoke to me this morning. Not that I necessarily got more out of it than usual (or that I didn't! It was very good! Sorry. That came out totally wrong.), but it made me smile.

First, covenant.

Um. Hello. Jewish Studies major. I am all about the covenant. I freaking love the covenant. (I like mine more. Because I get eternal life and the Eucharist. But the original- still pretty good.) In fact, I could even carry it through to the twentieth century and tell you about a bunch of rabbis who think that because of the Holocaust there could never have been a covenant in the first place...but I won't. Because it's depressing and I happen to vehemently disagree.

(Of course, I'd love to tell you why I vehemently disagree too...but that's kind of heavy for a Sunday afternoon and it basically ends with the above- my new and everlasting covenant is better.)

Second, there was quite a lot of sports talk.

Stop laughing.

I'm not a huge sports fan. You know this. I really don't care that you can hit/kick/throw/I'm sure there's something else you could do to a ball. I really don't care that you get paid more than many small nations to do so. I go to baseball games to people watch and drink.

But...the Olympics have been on. And I love the Olympics. I love tearful sports triumph stories and feeling very nationalistic and Bob Costas and all that! I love that!

Which is why I think that, had I been born yet, I would have been glued to the television during the 1980 US/USSR hockey game. Because I love to cry. And I love to beat the Russians.

I'm sorry. Sometimes the Polish in me cannot be quelled.

I actually watched a movie about it, once. I know. Shocking. Well, until you realize that it was the 2004 film "Miracle" and costarred Eddie Cahill and I was sixteen and very into CSI:NY at the time.

But I still watched it. And I'm not going to lie, I got a little bit teary at the end.

So. I'm mad that Canada won this afternoon. But at least it was better than the Russians.

It's really too bad I was -7 years old in 1980.

I apologize...

...for the lack of post yesterday. I know, you were disappointed. But see, there was figure skating on until really late at night. And there are four things that I'll stay up past eleven for- sequins, power ballads, tearful sports triumph stories, and Johnny Depp.

Thankfully, the ladies figure skating final provided three of the four. Not bad. I'm not going to lie, I was hoping that the little American twit would fall on her face. She wouldn't have to really hurt herself...just screw up enough that Dead Mom Girl could get a medal. And she did! (Screw up. Not fall. Whatever.)

Yeah. So there was that. And then I fell asleep. Which was hardly worth a post anyway.

Oh! I know! I wanted to talk about National History Day! And some observations I've made!

(I don't know why I'm still using exclamation points!)

This weekend is kind of crazy hectic because for some reason the deadline for applying is roughly six minutes before the start of the competition so I have to finalize the program and make 400 copies and then HAND STAPLE on the covers because they haven't figured out how to make the machine do that yet and make room signs and judge badges and oh, yeah, can you inscribe these 368 certificates of achievement by tomorrow morning while you have your actual job and a paper to write?

I mean, I don't mind. Because they're paying me more than I would make being a prostitute.

(I think. I don't really have a whole lot of experience.)

But as I was using a glue stick like a six-year-old to make exhibit signs this afternoon, it occurred to me. They've only had the grant for an assistant (me) for two years. Which means until two years ago, my boss was doing all this menial stuff by herself. I'm sure she really felt the Ph.D. was worth it when her hand was cramped from writing out a certificate for the eighteenth Mikayla of the day (SERIOUSLY. There were a LOT of kids named Mikayla/Michaela/Mikala, etc. in the early '90s.)

She probably felt similar to the guy who has to share her office with four other people. (Colleen: I'm sure he feels really good about himself. Sitting at a desk next to the 22-year-old who doesn't even have a bachelor's degree yet.)

Yeah. I'm kind of overwhelmed and I'm paranoid that I'm going to forget something major like the exhibit tents or I'll wake up on Saturday and I'll have forgotten something for all 368 contestants.

What? I'm paranoid.

(But being paid for it.)

However, my alternative for this weekend was the confirmation retreat. So while I am kind of going crazy and I can't move my right hand because DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO WRITE (NICELY, NOT ALL SCRAWLY) 368 FREAKING NAMES A LONG TIME THAT'S HOW LONG, I'm pretty sure I'll be getting significantly more sleep.

I used to be a psych major.

In Psychology 101, you learn that the brain can really only store seven pieces of information in your short-term memory at at a time. I'm choosing to believe this is why I cannot remember what Origen, Hippolytus, Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom, and Augustine said about the Jews. Except that it wasn't nice.

(Side note: Try saying "Chrysostom". It's fun. Seriously. Say it. Isn't it fun? I think it's fun. But then again, I need a life.)

I'm also having serious trouble keeping my not-ritually murdered victims straight. I'm good with William of Norwich (1144), but I get very confused about Hugh of Lincoln (1255- good to know), Simon of Trent (1470-something...probably), and Andrew (-ol, -eas, -something else entirely that I've forgotten) of Rinn. Him I remember because his body was exhumed and carted around on his feast day and you know what? THIS is my problem with visions and miracles and stuff. Because frankly a lot of that stuff smacks of European superstition and I am neither European nor superstitious.

(Although I swear there was a ghost in the lady's room at the King's Arms Tavern. No. For reals. Colleen will back me up on this.)

Yeah. I don't know where I was going with this. Except typing it helped me remember some stuff. (John Chrysostom said five things- the Jews were like diseased rats, worshipped Satan, their synagogues were brothels, killed Christ, and they were looking out for any chance to kill a Christian kid they could find.)

(But his name is fun to say.)

(And he was pretty big in the spread of Christianity in Antioch.)

(Still. You could have been a little bit nicer.)

Three Things (Okay. Kind of four. Maybe Five. Tops.)

I had a meeting with my thesis advisor this morning, and wow! He actually looked at me a few times! I know, right? Emotional growth. Because for the first few meetings, he refused to make eye contact, preferring instead to stare at the wall and lean backwards in his chair so far that I was really nervous that he was going to fall and wow, I so do not need this.

But he looked at my face a few times today. It was pretty cool.

He also said that my paper was wonderful and he had to grope for issues. Aww. Now I really care if you fall backwards and crack open your little head.

***

We're doing the Reformation in my class today. And the doctrine of purgatory is taking a hit. And it's annoying me to no end. Because I love purgatory. And I really feel that it should be explained properly.

Also. I'm like 90% sure the professor is drunk.

***

I get to use the department copier again. This is tremendously exciting, because I love making copies. Almost as much as I love spiritual purification.

I also got to chit-chat with the adorable professor who shares my boss' office. I freaking love my job. More than I love spiritual purification.

***

I'm probably going to need some time in purgatory.

***

I'm saying novenas that the plumber is at my house fixing the dishwasher as we speak (write?). Because I seriously dislike this whole "hand-washing" thing.

***

I think there was a bonus sixth item. But I don't remember what it was. Sorry.

Unholy.

So...there's this ice dancing couple.

Now, I must admit. I don't like ice dancing. It's slow and boring and there aren't any cool jumps and I'm not even that fond of pairs skating, so yeah. Dislike. Except that it is ice skating and on a night when there is nothing except curling or something ridiculous like that, I'll take what I can get.

ANYWAY. This pair are brother and sister. Which is cute. I mean, at least it seems cute. Until you watch them skate and molest each other in front of millions of people and then it's just...strange.

I love my brother. I really do. We're quite close. I have never felt the need to dress in spandex and cling to his leg on the ice, though.

I think that's a good sign.

Meanwhile, if you're concerned about my dishwasher- it's still not fixed. Tomorrow. Hopefully. If you're concerned about my hands and how I look like a fifty-year-old from the wrist down- I'm like this close to just slathering petroleum jelly on them.

Housewife from hell.

Okay. I wouldn't make a good housewife. You might think I would. I don't really like to work. I wear skirts and lipstick a lot. I vacuum unironically in high heels.

(I don't know why my only frame of reference for housewife is June Cleaver. My own mother hasn't work a skirt since, I think, she was pregnant with me. And she's a lovely woman.)

But I wouldn't be. Because I may have to wash a dish occasionally. And I really don't like doing that.

We've always had a dishwasher. So while I am actually responsible for the dishes, this mostly involves just collecting them from around the house and putting them in the dishwasher. And then letting it clean them while I Facebook stalked.

At least until yesterday. When that whole side of the kitchen decided to explode and spray water and you know what, I kind of stopped paying attention because it was boring and stressful and What Not To Wear was on.

So I'm not totally sure what happened. But I do know that both the sink and the dishwasher are out of commission and everyone in the house dealt with that by...not doing any of the dishes from yesterday? And then not doing any of the dishes from today? So by tonight we had no silverware left and it took me FORTY FIVE MINUTES to wash all the damn dishes and now I can't feel my fingers they're so chapped?

Yeah. That's what happened.

On Monday Plumber Guy is coming out. Thank goodness. I love Plumber Guy. I am generally in favor of all people who come to my house and make major convenient appliances work. I don't care if you're gross, stinky, creepy, or all three like that guy who wouldn't stop talking to me about my underwear but whatever, he fixed the washer. I would have given him a pair if he'd asked. Hell, I would have modeled it for him.

But I especially love Plumber Guy. He also came to Grandpa's house a few times, most notably on the day when we were tearing up the carpeting. Except the carpeting refused to be torn...and there were tears and perhaps some less-than-ladylike words and I may have threatened to tear my cousin or something, look, I don't really remember, it was a very stressful time. But Plumber Guy came out and helped us and actually ended up tearing up most of the carpeting. And then told us lots of juicy stories about his dysfunctional family.

So. Plumber Guy. If there's ever anything you need, I'm your girl.

Except the underwear thing. Because that was just weird.

I don't think anyone is reading this.

Because Facebook is being dumb and not actually importing my posts even though my settings page assures me that they are doing so. Yeah. Sure, Facebook. I believe you. I'm still mad from that time two years ago when you sent out bumper stickers to EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY FRIENDS when I HADN'T ASKED YOU TO.

Anyway. That's probably okay. Because I have very little to contribute. Because I have been doing very little except a.) sobbing quietly about graduation, b.) sobbing quietly about being accepted into at least one graduate program, c.) doing school work so that I will be able to both graduate and actually attend that grad program, and d.) watching the Olympics.

Oh. You would like to discuss? Okay.

A.) Well, you know about this. I got an e-mail telling me to order my cap and gown and I almost shorted out the keyboard. So there's really not anything to add to that.

B.) Happy tears! I promise! But I'm so relieved and yet really scared but still relieved because I have been irrationally fearful of losing my e-mail address and not being able to wear a UWM sweatshirt (not that I have one- funny thing no one ever talks about when you change sizes- YOU HAVE NO CLOTHES LEFT.). And now neither of those things has to happen unless I choose them. Well, I can still wear the sweatshirt. Regardless of where I go. Because they accepted me. So that's not sad. If they rejected me I would just walk around all day in shame. So that's not cool. What was I talking about? Oh, grad school. The emotional roller coaster continues!

C.) I'm so sick of Judeo-Christian relations that honestly, if I didn't have the Eucharist? I'd probably become a Zoroastrian.

D.) Dude. The Olympics. Are amazing. Even though they keep having the figure skating on really late, like, TEN THIRTY and I cannot stay up that late because I've probably been up since five thinking/writing/studying about Judeo-Christian relations. However, I have decided to marry Evan Lysaczek, horrible hyphenated last name be damned.

Hmmm. I think that's enough for today. I need to go memorize some stuff about allegations of Jewish ritual murder in the medieval period for two different tests on Thursday. (Can I just say? NEVER EVER CONDONED BY THE CHURCH HIERARCHY. *ahem*)

And by "memorize some stuff about Jewish ritual murder", I mean watch ice dancing.

So many questions...

This morning I received the following email from the liturgical ministry coordinator at my parish:

Dear Kathleen,

A step has be placed in the sanctuary under the presider's chair.

Please be aware of this step and try to avoid tripping over it.

Um. Yeah. I'll watch out for that. I mean, I'm not sure what ministry requires you to be underneath the presider's chair, and I'm even less sure that I'm involved in it, but sure. I'll be careful.

Sacrifice

It's Ash Wednesday. I love Ash Wednesday. I'm pretty much totally on board with anything remotely connected to liturgical seasons. And solemn ones? Dude. Sign me up.

I also enjoy creeping people out, and walking around campus all day with a cross on your forehead is a really good way to accomplish that.

I'm quite bad at giving stuff up for Lent. Not actually the giving up, because I tend to stick to something once I've decided to do it. (Eight-year-old me gave up Nancy Drew books. Oh, that was a long six weeks.) But finding something to give up. I don't really do food or anything, because I feel like there's nothing I enjoy enough or consume with enough frequency that it would really be a sacrifice. And if it's not a real sacrifice, then isn't it kind of just a New Year's resolution? I feel badly co opting the Son of Man's suffering and death because I've been feeling bloated.

(I will say this- having a fast day while PMSing? NOT COOL. Yes. You really needed to know that. Hey. You clicked onto this page. You knew you were probably going to get something that was way too much information.)

Last year I gave up buying coffee and lunch at school, which was fantastic. But I have so little time this semester that I can't buy anything...so that's out.

I know someone who is giving up Starbucks. But my GPA would plummet because I'm only good at studying if I'm at Starbucks, and I don't think Jesus wants that.

So I'm going to steal my sister's idea and try to lessen my use of God's name in vain. If you have any better ideas, please let me know. We can do a soft opening on Lent this year.

I'm better at trying to do things to increase my spirituality or focus more on my faith during Lent. I try to pray more. I already go to Mass pretty frequently, but I think that's a fantastic thing to do during Lent. I feel like this year I have so much to be thankful for that I should really try to be a better person.

But before I start being a better, less shallow person, I need a pretty cardigan to wear over a dress. So if you have thoughts on that as well as the whole giving-up thing, I totally appreciate it!

Acceptance

I got in.

I don't even care how I'm going to pay for it, or whether anyone else takes me, I have somewhere to go in September. So it's all okay.

Thank God.

Happy Valentine's Day. That's an oxymoron.

I spent the day writing a paper about Vatican II. Paul VI is a really great date.

And...I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell.

So. This is another one for the books. I'll see you all tomorrow.

High school with PhDs.

So I was stalking the guy who shares my boss' office, because you don't know when my knowing where he got his PhD could come in in handy, and I came across the website "ratemyprofessors.com". This is truly an academic website. You can tell because there's a section for "hotness rating."

Oh, internets. Hours of fun ensued.

I now have read countless reviews of my favorite professors, my most hated professors, and random people I pass in the hallway.

On one of my professor's pages, the top comment was "Dr. *Blank* is amazing. He is brilliant and handsome."

And...I kind of wonder if he didn't log on and write that himself?

Because I know if I was a professor, I would totally comment on myself. And they would all be something like, "Dr. *Blank* is brilliant and also stunningly gorgeous. Rarely does one witness the combination of beauty and brains with which God has gifted her. Also, she looks like she spends a lot of time on her hair, and I feel like I can comment for the class when I write that we all appreciate it."

Just so that the actual comments that read something like, "This prof is so dumb. She doesn't grade good at all. I hardly did any reading at all and got a c so I guess thats ok lol," weren't so gutwrenching.

Not totally normal.

I'd like to ask you to put with some more thesis talk. Because it's keeping my mind of the fact that I feel like throwing things every single freaking day when I get the mail because THERE'S NOTHING THERE OH MY LORD YOU ARE TRYING TO KILL ME.

*ahem*

This is much more normal.

Okay. Kind of.

ANYWAY. I'm almost finished with my thesis. I'm up to about forty pages, and I've written three of the four chapters, and have printed a draft that I'm making my mom read. And my sister. And my advisor. Hell, do you want to read it? Because I'm so freaking happy about it I'm going to start handing it out on street corners.

Well, no. I'm not. Because it's really long and we can't just keep printing copies willy-nilly, I am poor do you hear me? I'm taking off work tomorrow to church crawl.

ANYWAY AGAIN. When I printed it off- such a good feeling. I usually get attached to my papers anyway, but this one? Is really long and really pretty and about theology and wow, I love it so much. I could make a lot of analogies that would be pretty funny and probably make my mom mad, but I'm not going to because I link to this on Facebook and while I don't think my priest actually reads this, he could, and that would just be awkward.

SO. I'll just say it's a really good feeling.

Seriously. You wanna read it? You can totally read it. I have lots to say about ecumenism.

I'm not even going to try to connect these for you.

I'm very tired. And the attempt to remedy that with quite a lot of coffee is just making me sick. So. I'm going to be disjointed. And you're going to like it, dammit.

I was sitting in the library coffee shop this morning rifling through my bag to find something. I don't remember what. That's not important. But I had to drag out my multiple folders full of documents that I'm using for my thesis and I almost started to laugh.

I've always carried a rosary. I don't whip it out whenever I have a free twenty minutes.But it's just kind of something I think is kind of nice. I used to think was kind of silly.

Well, if that's silly, it's downright ridiculous to have a copy of all forty printed pages of Lumen Gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution of the Church, with you at all times. Which I have for the last three weeks. Because you don't know when you'll have a few free minutes to work on that new chapter! Ooh, wait, I have Dei Verbum too. Par-tay.

Also, I'm pretty sure that when I'm kidnapped by a serial killer and the members of the BAU show up at my house and search my computer, they're going to think I'm a crazy person. Because the last google search I did was, I am not even kidding, for, "Not praying for the Jews on Good Friday."

Oh, shut up. I remembered that something happened a few years ago and the prayers changed and whatever, but I couldn't remember the details. Don't judge me, I'm working on very little sleep. And lots of coffee. And did I mention the no sleep thing?

Finally. So. You know the Holton Hall Curse of Awkward? Yeah. It gets better. Because, dude, the guy who shares my boss' office is ridiculously adorable. Okay. Perhaps not objectively. But in a very academic way that, you probably already figured out, I'm totally okay with.

So. That's the end of heading into the office on a Friday in flat shoes and a sweatshirt.

Oh, who are we kidding. I never wear flat shoes.

Wednesday

Ah, Wednesdays. They are, in theory, my day off. I don't have class, and I generally don't have the same kind of obsessive-compulsive need to do something productive like on Mondays because it's Monday! And people work on Monday!

(Dave? Anybody? Nobody? Honestly. Hilarious movie.)

Of course this usually means that I am available to run errands, shuttle people to and from school/work/whatever, I don't ask and as long as there's not a sign that says "crack den" on the door, I'm good, just tell me what time to pick you up, and do massive amounts of school work that I've scheduled myself to do because Wednesday! Is your day off!

So yeah, it took a couple of weeks to sort that stuff out, but today is pretty free and clear. I've organized the errand running, am way ahead of the game on the the whole thesis thing (Dude. Yesterday I was all about that thesis. Seriously. Paul VI would have been proud. Probably not about my use of the word "dude" in conjunction with his life's work.), and just have to reformat footnotes for a paper.

Can I just say that I'm horrible at footnotes? They slow me down, and so I rarely have them formatted correctly for a rough draft. Or worse, I just write from memory and then have to go back and spend a week citing everything I should have cited in the first place because I myself have very few original scholarly thoughts on Vatican II except ew, I do not want some priest sticking his fingers near my mouth so yay! for Communion in the hand!

And that's not very scholarly. Or even really related to Vatican II, because it was strictly a whiny-American phenomenon but whatever. I am. So on board. (My guess? They are too. Seriously. It's gross.)

Anyway. I forgot where I was going with this. I know I wanted to publicly urge John to BUY AN ALARM CLOCK. Wednesday is late start day at GHS. It has been for about three years. This is not new.

And yet every Wednesday there is some alarm clock malfunction that prevents the child from rising at the appropriate hour and then he's pissy and rushed and not at all pleasant. When I urge him to a.) buy an alarm clock or b.) tell someone like me or Dad to wake him up, he says that a.) he doesn't need one/his works fine/he can use his iPod and b.) Dad tells him he's 17 and should be able to organize his own life.

To which I reply a.) yes you do/no it doesn't because once again it's 8:05 and you're still eating breakfast/are you frickin kidding me you have full conversations in your sleep you are definitely not going to be roused by a tinny verion of Freebird that I'm pretty sure is constantly playing in your head anyway and b.) YES THAT WOULD BE LOVELY BUT OBVIOUSLY YOU CAN'T AND I'M THE ONE WHO HAS TO DEAL WITH YOU RUNNING AROUND LIKE A CRAZY PERSON AND FUMING IN THE CAR THANK GOD IT'S ONLY 1.8 MILES AWAY.*

*I'm being facetious. He's rarely fuming. And I like being able to take him. Since he didn't pick me as his confirmation sponsor, I feel we need time to bond.

Oh, come on.

Dear UWM,

It's snowing. Hard. Now, now, I know. I can still see grass, too. But I understand from the TMJ4 weather guy who is foaming at the mouth with excitement (Weather men, right? Can't they just do drugs like the rest of the world?) that it's going to continue snowing. Hard.

So while I understand that you have Very Serious Business to conduct and actually getting to campus probably won't kill me, getting home after the Class from Hell at 5:15 (Yes, the one professor who lives blocks away from campus is the one I don't want to ever see again. Maybe she'll slip on some ice. She doesn't have to break anything. Just a sprain would be okay.) very well might.

And I am SO NOT ALONE IN THIS. There are 26,000 undergraduate students. And I'm guessing like, oh, 26,000 of them DON'T WANT TO DRIVE IN THIS. And most of them have to. Because we're a commuter school. Which seriously cuts down on the seriousness with which I take your Very Serious Business that you need to conduct this morning.

So. Please. It's my last semester. I've paid you huge checks for eight semester and SERIOUSLY LET ME JUST STAY HOME.

Sincerely,
Kathleen

Decisions

Every Monday, I have a choice. I can get up at my normal (obscenely early) time and hang out on campus or at Starbucks (better- they don't make you pay for parking and there are people with real jobs there!) until picking up my sister, who actually has to go to class hahahaha I love being a senior. This gives me hours of uninterrupted time to do homework.

Or I can leisurely wake up when I feel like it, hang out at home, and just pick her up around noon. This gives me hours of uninterrupted time to drink (free) coffee, watch Frasier on Lifetime, and Facebook stalk people I went to grade school with.

Oh, internets. You can see where this is going, can't you? In my defense, I totally planned on doing that first one this morning. My bag is all packed and everything. Honest. But...fate intervened.

See, some friends and I had an eat-your-feelings party last night. (For those of you with normal emotional responses and a healthy relationship with food, I'll elaborate. That's when something bad happens and you spend the evening trying to make that something bad go away with pizza and brownie sundaes and (preferably) liquor, but Keelin was driving so we decided the carbohydrates would have to do the trick.) I was kind of tired this morning, and that whole driving to campus at eight o'clock thing wasn't happening. But still! I woke up at a normal time, and totally intended on sitting down at my desk and working.

But, of course. I didn't.

So. To recap. I do not have a grasp of whatever the hell that forty-page article on Jewish emancipation that I have to write a paper on tomorrow says, or any more completed on my thesis. I do have two new Taylor Swift songs. Because I am secretly a fifteen-year-old girl.

Bad, bad historian.

A few months ago, someone asked me what I want to be when I grow up. I replied, quite honestly, that I wanted to marry into wealth. But, failing that, I wanted to be an historian. It's quite a good career for me- lots of random details that no one cares about, getting to grade papers, force people to call me "Doctor"...lots of very awesome things.

Yes. That's it. I shall be a scholar!!! All set.

Well, last semester I joined Phi Alpha Theta, a history honor society. It was obscenely expensive and did absolutely nothing except allow me to write "Member of Phi Alpha Theta" on my statement of purpose for graduate schools. Oh, and a subscription to "The Historian", the monthly journal. Whatever. For what it cost, it should write a few papers for me.

The first issue came last week. And...it's really boring. Like, there are no pictures. There are four eighty-page articles and then about two hundred pages of book reviews. And...that's all.

Okay. I wasn't expecting Tiger Beat or something with a quiz about which Jo Bro is your fave, but I kind of figured it would be more like National Geographic.

But. Turns out. No.

THEN I realized, wait. I'm going to have to (attempt) to write one of those someday. Kind of soon. And then I decided that maybe that marrying into wealth thing had better happen after all.

Valiantly representing 50% of the Center for Jewish Studies' Gentile population.

So...it turns out I'm reading at Mass on Holy Thursday. If you check back to...oh...any Holy Thursday since I've started this blog, you'll find an "omg love it so much Latin incense oh my!" entry. Because...um...Latin. And incense. I really like those two things.

(Funny story- I almost made my First Communion on Holy Thursday. Eight-year-old me, who, incidentally, was totally on board with the whole Latin and incense thing, thought that would be pretty cool. We knew the pastoral associate at the time, and she figured that we could do it. But then I chickened out and decided to do it with the rest of my class. I kind of regret that.)

Anyway. I still love it. And the first reading? Appropriately- Passover! And I cannot even tell you how thrilled the Jewish Studies major in me is!

Except I will- A LOT THAT'S HOW MUCH.

I think Katie needs to come. It'll be a party. Well. A solemn party.

Say Yes to the Dress

I'm kind of a TLC-reality show slut. It began, of course, with Jon & Kate Plus 8. I was ALL ABOUT that show. I had a favorite kid, for heaven's sake. (Aaden. I loved Aaden.) Then they broke up and started fighting and it just got depressing and...well, then it was cancelled, so I got over that. I love What Not to Wear. SO HARD. I aspire to being wealthy enough to hire Clinton Kelly to just live in my house and dress me every morning. And make me laugh. And remind me to send thank you notes, which I'm horrible at doing.

(If you've given me a gift in the last five years, and have yet to receive a thank you note? Sorry. My bad.)

Do not even get me started on I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. I think if Jesus were going to watch something, it would be this show.

(I never really got into 17 18 19 Kids and Counting. Or, as I like to call it, He is Not That Attractive Why Do You Keep Having Sex With Him I Don't Care That That's What God Wants.)

Another good one is Say Yes to the Dress. It's not my favorite, but it's on right after What Not to Wear and I love it when they go crazy and burst into tears. (Sad, not happy. Happy just makes me sad.) Tonight there's a huge woman who wants a "sexy" dress for the reception as well as a pouffy one for the actual ceremony.

I have a myriad of problems with this. One- seriously, the woman is way too big for those dresses. Second, please don't ever use "sexy" when you're talking about your wedding. Look, obviously you're thinking, "I want to look hot." But you need to say, "I want to look beautiful and innocent."

It's all about being a lady.

(Stop laughing.)

I don't like the whole idea of two dresses, either. And not just because it's a huge waste of money, but it's your wedding dress. I'm not married. I'm not engaged. I've never planned a wedding. And I do place much more importance on the marriage than on the ceremony, but you get to wear this dress for a matter of hours. Why would you want to cut that short to put on a different dress? It makes no sense.

Neither did this post. I'm sorry.

All monotheism, all the time.

I'm a little bit comparative-religioned out. (Yes, it's a verb.) Every single one of my classes deals with Judaism or Christianity or how Christianity is mean to Judaism or...I don't even know, I don't keep track anymore. I just traipse from class to class without much distinction because they're all saying THE SAME DAMN THING.


(First century Palestine. I. Am. Over. It.)


(Except this morning when my professor was talking about mandatory celibacy and said, "Eh, it's one of those things that you can do. Or you can't handle it." And my lip is bleeding because I was biting it so hard to keep from laughing out loud. That was pretty interesting.)


And the thesis. Oh, my goodness, am I over Vatican II. Or, at least, I should be. But I'm not. And that frightens me. I'm kind of on a thesis roll, because I want to finish it pretty early this semester so I can turn it in as the final paper for most of my classes have more time to devote to the rest of my studies. I think about it constantly. I drag my computer and bag of sources around with me because hey! I could have a free fifteen minutes sometime today! An dammit, I could write a good paragraph about John XXIII in that time.

Fortunately, I'm almost finished with the Hi-I'm-Catholic-And-My-People-Have-Been-Horrible-In-The-Past Chapter. I'm not an angry Catholic. I'm really not. I understand that the Church is made up of human beings, and they have made some (astounding) mistakes in the past. And I do understand that, in many cases *cough*Pius XII*cough* things have been taken out of context and blown out of proportion. And none of it changes my belief in the resurrection of Christ or the doctrine of transubstantiation.

But it's still depressing to be all, oh, yeah, sorry about that. My bad. We'll try to keep a lid on the pogroms from now on. And we're almost totally over the whole plague thing.

Honestly. I had to read Martin Luther's On the Jews and Their Lies for a class and I was so excited because ha! The Lutherans aren't so nice either!

And we get Mary. So that's good.

I really must do copies.

I opened my laptop this morning and it did weird things. NOT constantly connecting to Facebook hahaha, Mom, but turning weird colors and freezing and doing all sorts of other things that made me almost scream out loud in the middle of the library coffee shop.

(You think I go to the library to study? Hahaha. No. They have muffins here!)

This was distressing. Because I can't totally afford the coffee I just bought a new computer right now and please, baby, just work until September for mommy, okay? Then my (hopeful) Grad PLUS loan will replace you! But shh! The federal government thinks I'm using it for tuition.

And...then I realized that it had the only copy of my thesis on it. Okay. My thesis is just a senior thesis, and I realize it's only about twenty pages long right now and it's not like losing a doctoral dissertation or something, but dammit, I do not want to write those twenty pages again. I get kind of lazy about backing it up because, ugh, so much extra work. And since I threw my flash drive in a bottle of water (don't ask) at the end of last semester, that hasn't exactly been an option.

I quickly began bargaining with God. Seriously, just let me e-mail it to myself and and I'll do Your work, I promise. Little AIDS babies in Africa? I am there. With clean water. Hell, I'll even go to South America or something, and You know how I feel about humidity.

Apparently I need to get my malaria shots, because I was able to back it up, and restart the computer, and the weird colors went away and I don't have to rewrite my withering critique of John Cornwell's Hitler's Pope.

Although that was fun. I do so enjoy railing on angry ex-seminarians.

Just FYI, I'm stopping at Target on the way home. I obviously need a flash drive.

There are advantages to being a stalker.

There's this one professor that I pretty much stalk. He teaches everything I like and he gives me A's. He's lucky I don't follow him home.

Anyway. I've taken probably four classes with him in which he discusses Palestine in the first century, and I've seen the series From Jesus to Christ, where I'm pretty sure he gets most of his ideas, so I could pretty much give the lecture that I'm listening to right now. This isn't a terribly bad thing- it frees me up to do very important things like contemplate the ceiling and balance my checkbook and pick at my nails. You know, academic stuff.

We're doing the four major groups of Jews in Palestine right now- Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, and zealots. (There used to be five, but we lost the scribes since last semester. Whatever, they were just hanging out in the temple, killing time.) I really like this part of the lecture. Because the Essenes are basically hippies and typing "Sadducees" or "Pharisees" just makes me want to finish, "they would not dance and they wouldn't follow me."

But my favorites are the zealots. Because they're basically the Irish of first-century Palestine. Honestly. They're all crazy and dude, the British Romans are totally jealous of our awesome potatoes Temple. They're SCARED of us. Please to have home rule independence?

Ah. I also kind of love it when Britain Rome gets fed up and puts the smackdown on the Irish Jews. I know I shouldn't. But I do.

Ooh, we're on to Holy Week now. I should probably pay attention. Pilate the Roman Thug is about to get all philosophical and what is truth? in John's gospel. Exciting.

I don't need a platypus.

Note: I had to Google "platypus" to find out how to spell it. Shh. Don't tell any graduate schools.

I know that God likes to laugh because during horrible weeks when you'd really prefer to just crawl back into bed, preferably with a very large bottle of Maker's Mark (Or whatever turns your crank; I'm fond of the very unladylike bourbon myself.), and completely ignore stuff going on around you like school and your thesis and the fact that you don't know where you'll be in September and why hello there, PET scan, you haven't made me nauseous with fear in a few months, good to see you again! you get pimples the likes of which you haven't seen since high school when Ugly Betty premiered.

(Okay. So it wasn't that long ago. The young can be stressed, too.)

Note the Second: That was one sentence. Shh. Don't tell any graduate schools.

I suppose you could think that God is cruel. But I'm an optimist. (Stop laughing.)

Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to go steal my little brother's Proactiv.