Veni Sancte Spiritus

In keeping with my major life goal to keep you up-to-date on the mundane happenings of my life,* you should know that my TA preference form arrived a few days ago. I got to rank my top four choices for next semester. And...there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I mean really. You expected me to react normally to this? Are you new here?

I knew what my first choice was. (And I did everything but write smiley faces next to it on the form.) But after that, no clue. Like, I could have thrown darts at the page and probably come up with a fairly decent offering.

And it's not like I didn't know this was coming, I've been looking over the classes since March when I found out I was offered the TAship.

I just didn't know. Some things had a really great schedule but required me to talk about sex to 18-year-olds for five hours a week until December (Um. Eww.), some had kind of good topics but there were tons of TAs and I'm deeply antisocial...no clue.

So I prayed about it. I don't do that a lot. I get the point of prayer and it's awesome and I'm totally into it...I'm just not very good at it. I get wicked distracted and end up figuring out what I have to do that day instead. I'm so totally not a meditative person. A few months ago I was listening to a woman who was a doctoral candidate and had five or six kids (I can't remember, I was pretty busy dry-heaving in the corner because I WILL NEVER BE THAT CAPABLE.), and she said that while she rarely had time for long meditative prayer you know what with the billions of kids and three hundred page book she was writing, she did find it very helpful to say a really short prayer "veni sancte spiritus" (come, Holy Spirit) whenever she was going crazy.

(Again. Children. And a doctoral dissertation. I'd be drunk. All. The. Time.)

Anyway, I thought that was totally awesome. First of all, Latin. Big props. Second, even I could pay attention for three words.

So I've been doing that since September. And decided it was a pretty good idea in this situation. I mean, Pentecost and all. It's kind of his season, right?

And...nothing happened. Monday passed. Tuesday passed. I woke up on Wednesday (the day I was going to turn in the form) and still had no idea what to write down. I may have yelled "The Holy Spirit's not working!" at my mom, and I'm sure at that moment she was thrilled that she gave up her law practice to raise me.

So I was freaking out and sat down to fill out the form. And I knew what to write down. I don't know how. It certainly wasn't a huge lightening flash moment, and none of the classes sounded any different when I went over them in my head. But I knew what to write.

So I have no idea what I'm going to get, but I think it's going to work out fine.

*Hey. You decided to be my friend.

My condolences.

I opened my e-mail this morning, and there was a message from the history department secretary giving us the sad news that *Blank*'s mom had passed away and she had a card for us to sign. It was sent to everyone associated with the department.

The normal first reaction from someone who admittedly had to Google *Blank* because she had no idea who he was* but was a fairly decent human being possessing a warm heart would be something along the lines of, "Oh, how awful. I'll keep his family in my prayers."

My first reaction? "HOLY &*#% I'M ON THE FACULTY MAILING LIST THAT IS SOOO COOL."

Yeah. I'm a horrible person.**

*History professor, specializing in race relations and African-American history. Well. That explains it. If you didn't talk about a pope or a western European king, chances are I avoided your class like the plague.
** I promise, within three seconds I responded like a normal adult. My deepest sympathies, Dr. *Blank*.

Found.

I feel that, as a functioning* member of society, I need to comment on the Lost series finale.

Lost and I had a very complicated relationship. We were hot and heavy for the first few years. It premiered my junior year of high school, and I was all about Lost. I remember joking with a friend of mine that our life goals were based primarily on whatever was on TV the night before. So the day after CSI we were going to be chemistry majors and become investigators, Mondays after Boston Legal, we were pre-law. Anyway, we were so into Lost that every Thursday morning we considered storming Concordia's advising office to figure which classes would best prepare us to be stranded on an island with Matthew Fox.

The second season premiere? I left a funeral.

I'm not even kidding.

(Incidentally, I'm pretty sure my degrees in history and Jewish studies do just about that...)

Like many couples, things got busy. We just didn't have time for each other. When the time slot changed, I just couldn't do it anymore. I had already been seeing CSI:NY, and I was fairly certain that my relationship with Gary Sinise that show was going places.

Well, we broke up too. I would occasionally run into Lost, on the odd night. But we had both changed so much that it was impossible to pick up again. I was in college and occasionally would forgo television to either study or go out with actual people,** they had moved to Tuesdays...it just wouldn't work.

But last night. Last night I tuned in. I figured that it was pretty cool that it was ending the week after I graduated from college, because I remember so clearly being seventeen and such a different person when it premiered- I had to watch. And...wow. It was...amazing.

I'm not going to pretend that I understood it, or that it was perfect, or whatever, but I will say that when each character realized their alternate(?) realities, I cried. Like, EVERY. TIME. Aaron and Claire and the baby made me a little teary. Kate and Jack caused embarrassing Titanic-like heaving sobs.

I made the mistake of watching it with my dad. My dad is...hard to please. I think he just doesn't like...complicated things. He was not in favor of the (awesome) ending. The show ended, my sister has tears running down her face and has completely abandoned her friends in the other room, my brother is manfully trying to comment on the implications of the ending but his voice is totally cracking, and I'm curled in the fetal position on the floor weeping.

"It was unfulfilling! I didn't get it!"***

What. The. Frick.

I could not take it anymore.

"You know what you just don't understand that was awesome and I don't care that it doesn't make sense the doggie came back and the first shot was of Jack's eye opening and it was beautiful and you don't even know just leave if you're going to be insensitive and could you possibly bring me a Kleenex or maybe a Xanax?" *sniff*

Honestly. I don't think he would have been happy if Damon Lindelof had been sitting here on the couch explaining the mythology personally.

So. It was the end of an era.

*And my "functioning," I mean delusional and possessing of way too much free time.
** Okay. Not frequently. But it happened.
*** This is also what he said after seeing Star Trek. Or, the Best Movie of 2009 Or Maybe Any Year Ever.

Dear Your Majesty,

Hi. It's Kathleen. Again. I know. We chit-chat a lot. I'm sorry. I really want to marry your grandson. And your relatives keep doing ridiculous things that I would never think to do, and I feel the need to share this with you, since I technically am still barred from marrying him.

(What? Like that Kate girl is going anywhere?)

ANYWAY. Today my issue is with Fergie.

I'm not terribly bright. I mean, okay, academically I do fine. But I have to drive to Sheboygan Falls this morning and I am flabbergasted by the fact that it's THIRTY-FIVE MILES from my house. My father, incidentally, finds this hilarious. This was us last night:

Dad: *almost kills himself laughing so hard* *What? He hardly ever exercises.* Where...*chortles*...where did you think it was?

Me: I don't know. There...*points vaguely north*...kind of? Like just past Wal-Mart?

Okay. You can't fault me. I mean, I'm not a true Ozaukee County girl. When I was dragged here literally kicking and screaming when I was eleven I refused to learn any road names or indeed look beyond Target because I was So. Not. Staying. Here. Uh. Nonono. This was merely a stopping point before I left when I went to law school.

Um. Yeah. I don't know how, exactly, eleven-year-old me anticipated being able to pay for law school or the fabulous apartment in the North Shore that she also had furbished in her head. Suffice to say that 22-year-old me is still living here. With student loans. And not in law school.

My point was that Wal-Mart? Was about as far north as I figured I ever needed to go. I mean, I-43 curves, y'all. I don't need to deal with a whole lot beyond that.

Except turns out I do. And MapQuest and I are having a fight. Ever since they erroneously told my parents that Mequon Country Club had all sorts of entrances and then, shocking, it doesn't, and I was called in the middle of the night because they couldn't get to John at post-prom and you know what? Why do I even have a phone in my bedroom if it DOESN'T WORK???

Wait. Where was I going with that?

Oh. Right. Why I should marry William.

I would, once again, never do anything like this.

Love,

Kathleen

He's so ashamed of me.

I have a little brother. Well, I say little. He's 17. And bigger than me. He's in a band. He's ten times cooler than I ever was in high school. Or hell, now. I'll bet next year my students are going to be all, "Dude. This chick blows. But her brother looks like a good time."*

But in my head he's three years old and doing tricks with his pacifier.

Anyway, throughout our lives, I have served mainly only to embarrass him. When we were little I was fond of dressing him in old bridesmaid dresses. There was that period where I made him to my errands for me.** When he hit puberty, I became very fond of talking about all stages of the menstrual cycle because it's fun to watch his entire face turn green.

Lately, I've taken to yelling "Seminary!" at him at random intervals. Because so help me God, that kid will end up at St. Francis de Sales if I have to hog tie him.***

(YES, I said hog tie. I live in Grafton.)

ANYWAY. Yesterday he had a not-senior-picture photo shoot, because it was free. And he had a tux. Because he's going to prom. See? Again with the much-more-popular than I ever was thing.

So he's doing his thing, looking adorable, and I'm totally turning into my sister. Seriously. He looks awesome. And I mean that in the least narcissistic way possible, because I've been told we all look alike even though I don't see it. So I'm basically squeeing like a fangirl and my mom is crying because her baby! Is grown up! And standing with one hand in his pocket casually! With his jacket slung over his shoulder!****

And then I leaned down to my mom and whispered, "He's going to be such a Father What-a-Waste."

She laughed really hard. John, upon learning of this a little bit later? Not so much.

Whatever. That's my boy!

*No, I don't know why my students would know my brother. Except that it works in that paragraph.
**That ended sometime last week, I think
***I'm all in favor of legitimate vocations. Unless you're my brother and will marry someone I don't like who may want to take jewelry that's going to my daughters. Then I'm going all medieval on you.
****Okay. That pose annoyed me a little. It was a little bit too suave. Clearly this guy had never seen John go down on a plate of lasagna.

Life skills.

So my family is taking a vacation relatively soon.* Like, alarmingly soon. My mom is the one who plans family trips. She's just...does. She always has, and I'm guessing I could be married with three kids and she'll still call and be all, "We're leaving on the 14th, do you guys need a microwave for the bottles?"

Well, this spring has been kind of hectic. John's confirmation, my graduation, and the whole general-life-being-difficult thing kind of took up a lot of time. And so we kind of maybe don't totally have places to stay in most of the cities we're going to be in. So. This week my sister and I decided to help. She was going to figure out the things that we were going to do in the cities, and I was going to find hotels.

Because Civil War history doesn't make her want to kill herself, and I really don't want to come home from this trip a size larger and reeking, so I can find places with a treadmill and laundry services.

It was a good plan.

I mean, really. I'm 22, I'm technically a graduate student,** I could probably find a few hotels.


Except it turns out that there's a reason my mother plans trips. She's really good at it.

I found one hotel, in Washington, D.C. Based solely on the criteria that they had a Starbucks in the lobby. And I think they were located kinda sorta close to the Mall, maybe. I think. Except they were completely booked. Then I got bored. And went to have lunch. And...my mom found the rest of them.

But I did hover over her shoulder and whine like a five-year-old, so I'm pretty sure they all have laundry services.

I know, this is very interesting. Aren't you glad I'm the only person left in the world with a blog?

*I'm being nonspecific so you don't come and steal my 13-inch tube television. I know. It's temping. Although if you wanted to do so, and enjoy some wicked cool non-HD programming on me, you could just head over to my sister's Facebook page, where she has occasionally stops foaming at the mouth with excitement to update her status with the number of days left.
**I'm not trying to be obnoxious. I JUST LOVE SAYING THAT.

Class of 2010

Oh, internets. Are you bored? Do you want to eat up a few days? I have an awesome plan for you- graduate, have a rather large gathering, and then post eleven thousand pictures of it on Facebook. And before you know it, it's Tuesday. And you still can't look at a cookie without wanting to throw up.

It was awesome. It really was. I know graduations are supposed to be all anticlimactic and whatever, people, I don't know what you're talking about. Except for the fact that I looked like a troll in my cap and gown, I frickin' loved it. I've never had one, and this totally made up for it.

Also, there was a lot of food and quite a few presents, and I am also secretly a six-year-old and I love presents so this was quite awesome.

I can't wait for May of 2012.

Take my advice, kids.

If you can, start hanging out with seminarians. Why? Well, lots of reasons. Mostly because it's really funny to watch someone in a Roman collar getting carded. No. For reals. Hilarious. But also, you'll probably get invited to their ordination.

Which I can tell you, having attended one this morning, is wicked cool. My hair still smells like incense, there was awesome music, I frickin' love Archbishop Listecki...I'm sure there's more. I know I came up with a list when I spent an hour telling my brother about it totally just because I wanted to share and not at all because I wanted to make it seem like THE MOST AWESOME EXPERIENCE EVER so much better than getting married to some girl I won't like.

*ahem*

You know what? It's like a really cool wedding, except you don't have to pretend to be happy for the bride. Skinny happy bitch.

I KNOW, RIGHT? I'm going to start going every year.

Tomorrow is my portion of the major life changes weekend. I mean, I'm really excited, but it's kind of nowhere near as important. The Holy Spirit will probably not be involved. When we would talk about it, the seminarian priest would be all, "Oh, we're celebrating your graduation, too!" and I'd be all, "Yeah, but I can't consecrate anything afterwards. You win. At life."

It's true. My degrees that I will be technically awarded tomorrow qualify me to be unemployed, not anything fun like hear confessions. (Which, can I just say? I would love.)

Oh. That's one thing. As cool as today was, he's never going to hear my confession. I don't care what the circumstances are. We're on a plane, hurdling towards the ocean? I'm good. I'll bank on a merciful God. There's not enough ontological changes in the world.

This isn't going to be pretty.

So. It's 8:08. I've already cried twice. I have a raging headache. I worked out for no reason except that it was an hour and a half that I probably wouldn't be crying. I should probably go dry my hair. Maybe. I don't know. My dad, who is the least sentimental person in the world, said, "Oh! I remember when you were all excited to go to kindergarten!" to me this morning.

(Yes. I know I'm coming right back. SHUT UP.)

Yesterday was...weird. I didn't want to do anything. I literally sat on the couch in sweatpants for like an hour. I don't wear sweatpants. In fact, they weren't even sweatpants, because I don't own those, they were workout pants and that was as slovenly as I could get. I really wanted cake. I came like this close to baking one, but then I figured it was way too much effort and would take away a good 35 minutes of my melancholy. So I told Colleen to pick up my brother and took a nap instead.

Then we had a weepy half-price frappuccino party. Which, I've got to say, Starbucks, I sure as hell would not pay full price for, but $2.45 for a venti is a good price to drown your irrational sorrows in.

I think the part I'm least looking forward to is my 3:30 class. I know I'm going to &*%#ing lose it after antisemitism, and then I have to go take an exam. Oh, great joy.

So. Um. This is going to be interesting.

Some Dos and Don'ts.

Okay. Attention, people of roughly my age. It has recently come to my attention that you have, like, negative idea of how to dress. In most cases you can put on sufficient items of clothing,(sometimes too many, and we'll get to that later) but they are almost entirely not appropriate.

So. For instance. You get an invitation to the honors convocation. It very, very clearly states appropriate dress is business casual. About a quarter of you got it right. Most of the business school. A few architecture majors. About half of Letters and Sciences (I sincerely hope I was in that half.) The rest of you? Notsomuch.

So. A few things.

-Real fabrics. They're awesome. Wear them.

-Anything from the Kohl's junior department is not business casual. I don't care if it's a neutral fabric. It's not. No. I promise. Don't argue with me. You end up looking like you're going to family court to attempt regain custody from your mom because this Miley Cyrus blazer says "I'm totally clean now."

-Dressier is better. Skirts are okay. I'm a big fan of skirts. They automatically make you look more put-together, even if they're cheap.

-And you need a lot of help in that department.

-I get that it's May and you were probably going for something spring-like and floaty. However. It's also approximately 35 degrees outside. So. You attempted to...layer?...the floaty-ness. And, um, it didn't work. Also. Floaty tube tops? ARE NOT BUSINESS CASUAL.

-Boys. Facial hair. Get rid of it unless you possess enough testosterone to cover the lower part of your face. And then get rid of it. Because it probably looks horrible.

-Girls. Same thing.

-Your breasts? Did not maintain a 3.5 GPA over at least 40 upper level credits. Therefore, they are not invited to the gathering. Please keep them under a sweater.

-Another helpful use for the sweater? Covering that weird armpit fat that everyone, even skinny people, possess. Trust me on this one.

-Again, I cannot stress this enough- DO NOT GO TO THE JUNIORS DEPARTMENT. I love the juniors department. Nowhere else can you find jeans that don't have a 18-inch rise and relatively cute t-shirts for $6. But unless getting sunburned and/or wasted is on the agenda, please go to misses. Like the adult you (presumably) are.

-The point of makeup is to make you look like a more polished version of yourself. Not make us believe that you somehow took a vacation during finals week and got a wicked tan that made (just) your face eight shades darker than the rest of your body. We're honor students, remember?

-Same goes for your peroxide hair. It should at least slightly resemble a color found in nature.

-I'm looking at you, Peck School of the Arts.

Thank you, and have a pleasant day. I'll be looking to see how much you learned on Sunday.

Cute but stupid.

My hair is a near constant source of irritation for me. It has been since...oh...I was about two years old. At two years old? It was adorable, man. Bright red corkscrew curls? I looked like a frickin' china doll.

After Month 25? Meh, not so much.

It stayed red for a few years...then turned kind of blond...now it changes with the seasons and I don't even try to pretend to know what it is, but I did get wicked mad when I got mystery shopped and the customer said I had brown hair because HEY I DO NOT HAVE BROWN HAIR NO I DIDN'T ASK YOU IF YOU WANTED A REWARDS CARD BUT MY HAIR IS DEFINITELY KIND OF AUBURN SORT OF BUT DEFINITELY NOT BROWN.*

But the color isn't the problem. It's the fact that it's of a texture not found in nature. There are hue amounts of it. It's ridiculously thick and takes forfreakingever to do anything with.

Which brings me to my point, and the title.** Timing. I'm not good at it. Getting out of the house at an appropriate time is difficult enough for me, and when you add things like going near my hair it gets even more difficult.

For about a year, I've had the timing down for straightening it. Oh, it took me awhile. Months, in fact. See, I used to look like a Muppet. Yeah. Whatever-color-it-felt-like-being-that-day*** massive frizz curl as far as the eye could see.**** ANYWAY. I figured it out, and managed to work it into my routine.

Recently, for reasons that I've already been vain enough to talk about once, I've started curling my hair sometimes. I leave the rollers in for about an hour. So I figured just add an hour onto the time I already spend straightening, and we're good to go.

Except, remember, I'm bad at timing. See, I kind of forgot that I can't just blink my eyes ala Jeannie and the rollers pop themselves into my hair. I have to wait for them to heat up. And then put them in my hair. And that whole process takes a good half hour. And...I can't really do a whole lot while they're sitting there, because if I move my head too much they fall out. And...you know what, I'm just dumb, is all.

Well, I should probably wrap this up, because (shocking) I'm running late. My point is that I have the honors ceremony tonight. And I wanted my hair curly and pretty. And even on a day when I had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO until six o'clock at night, I am SO BAD at the timing that I'm going to be putting on mascara in the car.

*Not that there's anything wrong with that.
**I don't think I'm cute. REALLY not. But that was a line in a Frasier episode once and it really made me laugh.
***I've never dyed my hair, it just literally changes color depending on the day.
****I also weighed a good sixty pounds more. So, if you knew me before summer of 2009...I'd like you to forget that you did.

Like

I was fixing my Facebook privacy settings the other day, and glanced at my list of pages that I became a fan of liked.

And...they made me laugh.

A sample smattering-

"Don't you hate it when a party can't start until Ke$ha walks in?" I know I do.

"Milwaukee Jewish Federation" and "United States Conference of Catholic Bishops." Ironic, no?

"I was going to post a status, and then I remembered that I have family on Facebook." This is a quandary.

"UWM Libraries" I do read. Sometimes. When I'm not fanning Ke$ha groups.

"James Roday" and "Archbishop Timothy Dolan" I really liked Dolan, but I really like Psych, too.

"Hand Sanitizer" I liked it before H1N1.

"UWM Jewish Studies Majors and Minors" They gave me an award.

Strange Women Lying in Ponds Distributing Swords as a Government System"

"Golden Key International Honor Society" They still let me in. Despite the Monty Python groups.

Your old grandpa...

Grandpa was really fond of saying, "Your old grandpa's really proud of you." He wasn't the kind of guy to, like, jump up and down and squeal and hug us when we accomplished something, but he would pat us on the arm and say, "Your old grandpa's really proud of you."

(Well, he usually hugged us, too.)

I've (obviously) thought about him nearly constantly since he died, but it's been really hard these last few weeks because I know that he would have been thrilled that I'm graduating, and he would have loved participating in all this stuff.

(Senior honors convocation on Monday? We would have had to pick him up several hours early.)

This has been kind of an emotional week, though, and I've really missed him.

On Wednesday we found out my mom was okay, again. And no matter how many times we go through that, it doesn't get any easier. It was never easy for him, either, and that, at least, I am thankful that he doesn't have to suffer anymore.

Yesterday afternoon we found out that my sister won an essay contest- one of only three students from the entire University of Wisconsin system. I, of course, jumped up and down and squealed and hugged her because while the OCD may be genetic, the reserve is not. (See: My entire internet career.)

And then I thought about Grandpa. He, more than almost anyone in the world, would understand what this award meant to her. How she has managed to handle herself with grace and dignity and maintain unbelievable academic standards that are higher than my own often while going through absolute hell I definitely don't understand, but I think he could. And he would have been thrilled.

Today I received the graduating major award in Jewish Studies. He would have a.) found that hilarious, and b.) been thrilled. The ceremony was great- my favorite professors were all there and one said things that made me cry and one made me cry because he's not going to be my professor anymore and seriously, my grandpa's gone and I know it's been like eighteen months but I DON'T CARE HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ALL OVER THIS CERTIFICATE.

*sniff*

But you know what? His doctor was there.

I know. It seems dumb. But Grandpa loved doctors. More than most people love their children. He especially loved this one doctor.

I know, dumb, right? But the fact that his guy just happens to be on the board and I never knew it because he uses a nickname and he was there and he hugged me and congratulated me? Well, the omg-really-you-liked-my-Zionism-paper-that-I-thought-was-crap? tears? Met their match.

So thanks, Grandpa.

Anything to add, Cardinal Stritch?

The grad school decision(s) is/are behind me. Everything has been figured out.


So. When I got the mail this afternoon, I really didn't pay much attention to the Marquette envelope. But, you know, I do so love getting mail that doesn't include death threats from Capital One, so I opened it.


And guess what? In a letter dated May 3, 2010 (as in, two and a half weeks the- apparently almost- universal grad school acceptance date of April 15), they offered me a complete scholarship.


The day after I signed a TA contract with another place.

Thank you, guys. That's great. FANTASTIC. I really appreciate that.*

I'm not mad. I'm really not. It's still not as great a package as UWM offered me, and can you even imagine the tears if I WASN'T COMING RIGHT BACK? Yeah. I didn't think so. It's just..really? REALLY? MAY THIRD???

I think I'm going to save the letter and keep it with my decision from Stritch. Which should arrive sometime around the beginning of August.

*And also I'm probably going to have to get my PhD from you guys. So we're totally cool, right? Right? I mean, I'm kidding. Totally.

List. Part the...oh, I forget.

Things I Have Done Today:

1.) Had tortilla chips and an embarrassingly large number of cookies for dinner.

2.) Cried about the end of the semester. Twice.

3.) Bought lots and lots of clothes.

4.) Saved more than I spent!

5.) Got Kohl's cash!

6.) Sounded like a Kohl's commercial.

7.) Gave a presentation in Holocaust theology.

8.) Wrote a kick-ass thesis and introduction for my intermarriage and conversion paper.

9.) Downloaded Glee's "Total Eclipse of the Heart"

10.) Listened to Glee's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" approximately 583 times.

11.) Regretted being born in 1987 and thus too late to enjoy the love anthems of the '80s.

Things I Have Not Done Today:

1.) Had anything remotely nutritious to eat.

2.) You know, something that may help prevent me from bursting into tears at the thought of graduation from a place I'M COMING RIGHT BACK TO.

3.) Seriously, you guys. It's embarrassing.

4.) Behaved in a responsible manner at Kohl's.

5.) Whatever. Kohl's Cash!

6.) Got yelled at by the auditors in my class. Like the kid after me. Poor kid.

7.) Wrote the ensuing 7-10 pages of my intermarriage and conversion paper.

8.) Gotten tired of listening to Glee's "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

9.) Developed a sense of shame about sharing this all with you.

Um....

I have been so productive today. I know, right? Amazing. I did my financial aid stuff, I returned everything I needed to return, I found clothing that is slightly more appropriate for late June in Savannah than my normal I'm-going-to-wear-long-sleeves-and-attempt-to-distract-you-from-my-pasty-pasty-arms-with-my-breasts wear, and even looked into a job. Although I'm not sure it's going to pan out because, funny thing- when you tell them right off the bat that you're leaving in the middle of August, chances are most places don't want you leaving for three weeks in the middle of June. Huh. Oh well.

The one thing I haven't done? Written my paper. The last paper that I have to write for my undergraduate career. That I really, really need to write.

Oops.

But the clothes! That was fun!

Oh, I did laundry, too. You're jealous, aren't you?

I'm sure you don't care.

Oh, internets. It's been a few days, right? I know. You missed me. I have had very important things to talk about. Like how I want to just start hanging around the Jewish Museum, and I'm really upset about the end of the semester, and I got an award for Jewish scholarship which I find amazing and funny at the same time...and my hair. Because I figured out that if it's going to look the way I want it to for graduation I need to be in the shower at four-thirty in the morning and wow, that deserves a post all it's own, I think.

Oh, you wanted to talk about those things? Okay.

-I went to a lecture on Tuesday night because it was given by a guy who could tell me he was giving a lecture on how much I suck and I'd be all, dude, sign me up. Is there an admission fee? Can I bring my mom? ANYWAY.

When I go to these lectures, I'm always in the minority. I was at one at the JCC a few months ago and realized that I was the only person in the hall who still ovulated. Yep. Believing in Christ's resurrection and still getting my period? Definite minority when you're in Jewish studies. But this time I had company! I dragged Katie and there was even another student who showed up.

So I don't know where I was going with that except that it probably grossed out any family members who read this and oh, yeah, I really had a good time and I wish the Dead Sea Scrolls were going to stick around forever because I freaking love going to lectures that don't have anything to do with FDR or the British partition of Palestine!

-Psst. Come here. Closer. I'm about to drop some knowledge. Do you know what I just figured out? THERE ARE TWO WEEKS LEFT IN THE SEMESTER. I know. I know. That's four classes that I have left.

This? Is not cool. I am really, really not okay with that.

(I'm okay with the work being over. I have one paper left to write and let's just say I'm taking applications for someone who wants to write 7-10 pages about Jewish intermarriage and conversion in 19th-century Berlin. I'M KIDDING. I would never plagiarize. Don't take away my award. Or if you do, do it because of the whole resurrection thing I wrote about up there.)

So. More tears.

-No. For reals. I did. And you know what's funnier? They gave the other one to the only other Catholic in the group.

So. Again with the dropping the knowledge. You want to distinguish yourself? Find an obscure major and work really hard and then you'll get to hang out at awards ceremonies where it's basically you and your friend.

Oh, you wanted a real job? Sorry. Can't help you.

-I have to be at the US Cellular Arena at 8:15. You don't (hopefully) know where I live, but it's FREAKING FAR. And this (if this wasn't the internet you would see me furiously gesturing to my hair) DOESN'T JUST HAPPEN.

*headdesk*

That's all.

Oh. Except that I got the best graduation gift in the world last night.