*Is dead*

48-hour plan was completed in just 49 hours, which is pretty damn good given that I completely ignored any and all of the actual work involved in said 48-hour plan.

It's finished save for three pictures and a bulletin board, which will be done tomorrow because apparently the wall screw is just WAY too involved to be done hours before 10:00, but whatever.

And now I'm exhausted and feeling sick (Phantom Baby did not pick a good day to appear), and I'm going to bed.

Snaps for me.

(And my mom, who did most of the work.)

Dare I say it? I may go back to being the most normal one in the family tomorrow!!!

Maybe. Those pictures aren't up yet.

In flux.

Okay. 48 hour plan is in place. 48 plan was in shambles earlier this morning when we discoveredt hat we neglected to realize that there IS NO INTERNET IN THE FREAKING KITCHEN WHERE THE COMPUTER IS GOING!!!!! Then the 48 hour plan was back on when we realized we just needed an adapter. And then the 48-hour plan as back off when we realized the ELECTRONICS DO NOT WORK MUST MAKE BROWNIES.

So I made brownies. And then almost finished the room.

And the wallpaper? I love. So much more than I will *ever* love my husband.

I can't wait to finally move in.

Ooh, also??? It looks like Borders and Best Buy had a love child that threw up all over. What with all the books and DVD sets and all.

Ooh, and also squared??? If I lent you David Starkey's Six Wives will you please let me know? Because I can't find it, and I don't know where I could have put a 750-page Tudor tome.

(Oh, who am I kidding. I could have put it like sixteen different places with all my other 750-page Tudor tomes.)

(I still want to know about it though.)

(I'm really tired and haven't eaten today and am going to go to bed now, mmkay???)

They should have thought about this before comingling their crazy obsessive genes.

There is now a mover coming tomorrow, and wallpaper has been bought, and bookshelves have been moved, and I have a 48 hour plan to transform the den into my new bedroom and dammit, I will not be stopped by school or work or any other obligations I may have had this week!!!

My mother and her Ritter genes are now thoroughly disgusted with me, as they would prefer to wait and talk about it at least until after the presidential election. The one in 2012.

(I kid. She's being awesome.)

(But she is a little sick of me.)

(Okay. A lot sick.)

This is why I wouldn't actually be a good lawyer.

Oh dudes! I cannot wait. Boston legal goes to the Supreme Court!!! Like, the real one! Not the lame-ass one I get to vote for next Tuesday.

(Side Note: Wisconsin sucks.)

Shockingly, I know, the real justices didn't want to appear (BOO!!! POOR FORM!!!) so they went with look-alikes. Which is kind of amusing in and of itself.

But if I were on the Supreme Court? I would be the annoying one going, "OMG you guys, we, like, HAVE to do it!!! We have lifetime appointments, we can afford to look a little foolish! DAMMIT I WANT TO MEET WILLIAM SHATNER YOU WILL NOT RUIN THIS FOR ME, SOUTER!!!"

(You know Souter would be the stick-in-the-mud who wouldn't want to do it. I'll bet Scalia was all over it.)

And then Roberts would probably just be like, "My God, I did not sell my soul to the devil to work with this bitch. Seriously. Who appointed you?"

Can't wait for April!!!!

'Twas Pink

Note: I am not evil incarnate. I love my grandfather. And yesterday's entry was not intended to be malicious. And he was very nice. Just letting you know.

I didn't have to yell at anyone to sit down and shut up, I got to roam the playground with Mary and Colleen until late at night, and Colleen even did her Tyra strut, so I guess the Easter vigil was a success.

Also some sniffling and tearful "OMG WHAT ABOUT NEXT YEAR NOES DON'T GO!!!"

Other than that, I mean.

We decided that:

1.) 12 years is a really long time.

2.) We're really old.

3.) It's a damn good thing no shows are ending this season because Colleen wouldn't be able to handle the added emotional pressure.

4.) This transition will go much smoother if the new priest is a Father-What-a-Waste.

5.) I'm probably going to hell.

What? It was late and we were giddy. And also Colleen had been hitting the boxed wine. It's still probably a good think Grandpa doesn't have internet access.

I kid, it was a beautiful Mass, and I actually liked it better without the baptisms, because if felt like people weren't focused on one person, but rather on themselves and the whole community. If that makes any sense.

So even if this was the last Easter vigil we have, I'll know I've been blessed to have such wonderful friends to share the last six years with.

This morning came really early, though, and then I got wicked tired at Daddy's parents' house, possibly because of the large quantity of meat available. So I am going to go enjoy some brand new sangria and a Manhattan because hey, Christ did not die so we could drink water.

Also? No school tomorrow. Shh!! Don't tell UWM. They don't know yet.

Maybe this is why he doesn't like me.

My grandfather is coming with us to Mass tonight, and I just know he's going to be all whiny and annoying and wanting to leave early and dammit, I am not leaving early so you can just sit down and shut the hell up.

*ahem*

Holy Saturday! Yay!

Far fewer cogs.

Things may actually be creeping forward re: Sister Smoke-Out 2008.



I know, right?



I finally got my parents to figure out where all the furniture was going, because I, quite logically, realized that if we know exactly what rooms need to be cleaned out, there will be far fewer rooms for me to facilitate.

(Side Note: Daddy dragged me up to the attic a few nights ago, in order to tell me what he wanted done. Which mostly consisted of "straightening up". Which makes no sense. And everything I was supposed to straighten? Was covered in bugs. Um. Yeah. No. So I haul myself back up there yesterday, all bright eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to facilitate. Hah. No. I grouped the holidays together, and then kind of figured that since NOTHING WAS GOING UP HERE ANYWAYS, Daddy probably would think it was clean. Mom agreed, incidentally. And let me tell you, for a man who didn't notice when his entire bedroom was changed for an entire week? He caught on to my less-than-complete "straightening" job in like two minutes. Yeah. That was a pointless story.)



Okay. Anyway. Before, there was this whole huge thing where for some reason both attics and the basement had to be cleaned, and my parent's room, and the hallway for some reason that I haven't figure out because the computer can't go both places, but whatever, because the furniture all had to be moved to undisclosed locations. Now, the huge sofa that, excuse me, wasn't making it upstairs anyway is just being tossed (*squee*), half the furniture is going to Colleen's new larger room, and the other half is going to become a "hearth room" in the kitchen.



Except, you know, lacking a hearth.



But I'm thrilled about this, because our kitchen is kind of just a shit hole where people pile crap and then yell at me when I repile the crap someplace else where no one will see it. And the kitchen table is a very large receptacle for this crap. And now it will be gone. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.



So now really the only cog is cleaning out the homeschooling stuff, which Mommy Dearest has promised to do soon. And then I can wallpaper and move the stuff. *squee*



And there will be a ceiling fan estimate next week sometime. YAY!!!

But then yesterday Mom came up with an issue. Apparently, her entire dating/courtship/engagement took place on her parents' couch in the family room. And now we won't have a family room! OR a a couch!!! And where for the love of God will we court!?!?!?!

After I stopped laughing, I hastened to assure my mother that this wouldn't be that big of an issue, because, um, has she met me? And she's all, Oh, but you might find someone tomorrow!!! And I'm all, yeah, but I wouldn't want to bring them back here the day after!!!

And then she was all, "But wait! What about like after Easter dinner? You're not going to send him home when the rest of the family leaves!"

Um. Yeah. After Easter dinner, I'm bloated, drunk, and going to be really pissed that I have to go to school the next day. He'll be lucky if I let him come at all and don't yell, "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE I HAVE TO BE IN HISTORY IN TEN HOURS AND DAYTON IN 48 I LOVE YOU BUT LEAVE THE THE HELL ALONE!!!"

And we wonder why I'm single.

No allowing for taste.

I read Pattie Boyd's autobiography this morning (Colleen read most of it a month ago, but checked out after George Harrison- that's really all she was interested in.) and wow, she was really stupid.

And Eric Clapton was an alcoholic sociopath. Apparently.

So now I have added to my life's goals to stay away from creative types with access to lots and lots of e, because damn, that will screw you up.

Real Plantagenets bring you bloody victories over ancestral enemies on the battlefields of France. Richard II brought England the pocket handkerchief.

I read The English American today, and I highly recommend (I also finished Morgan Llywellyn's Irish Century series, but that deserves it's own discussion). Except I think I may be pregnant, as I got really over-emotional about everything having to do with babies, or adoption, or adopted babies. Which, as the book was about an adopted baby, was quite frequently.

And I fell in love with the coat the woman is wearing on the cover. It's so pretty. I want it. I wonder if I contacted the publisher if they could send me a website???

Ooh, and a signature fragrance!!! I has one!!! It is called Inis, and it is from Ireland (not known for their fine scents, but whatever) and pretty and relatively inexpensive and supposedly smells like the sea.

I wouldn't know, because my entire experience with the sea consists of exactly one evening wading into the Atlantic somewhere in Virginia after visiting some military base because something happened there, and I don't recall any scents at all except for the rotting coastline and a lot of teal t-shirt shops.

I expect that the Irish sea smells better.

One day, I shall thank her in my book.

Colleen was rifling through my DVDs this afternoon and picks up one.

Imladris, Possible History Major: *sarcastically* "Ooh, History of Britain. Exciting."

Morena, Actual History Major: "It's actually quite interesting."

Imladris, Possible History Major: "Wait. This ends in 1200. How can it be the history of Britain if it ends in 1200?"

Morena, Actual History Major: "That's just the first volume. There are five. It's like 15 hours long."

Imladris, Possible History Major: "Wow. That's what keeps people like you employed."

If you're lucky enough to be Irish, you're lucky enough.

It's Saint Patrick's Day!!! And instead of ending the day bent over a toilet heaving up green beer like all those who declare themselves Irish for 24 hours, I'm just going to do a blog post. And maybe have some Baileys.

(Hah! Maybe!)

(It's funny 'cuz I'm a lush!)

Anyway, I consider myself totally Irish. I have a really Irish first name that shows up in songs all the time, I look like a freakin' leprechaun, and my skin is practically translucent. But then people find out my last name and it's like I forfeit any claim to the motherland.

Which isn't fair, because if my mother had listened to her mother twenty five years ago when she sat her down and said, "You realize your children's last name is going to be *Insert Ridiculously Difficult to Spell and Not That Pretty Name Here*?", we wouldn't have this problem. But noooo, my mom was all, "But oh, I love him!!!"

Pssh. Whatever. She should have thought ahead, that one.

(I love you, Daddy!!!)

I am actually Irish genetically, some percentage that I can never remember, even though my mom and sister who know these things have told me over and over again but I'm just "Whatever, give me the Baileys," along with German and Polish and Scottish, even though no one will admit it. But here's the thing- the German was beaten into submission fifty years ago. I'm pretty sure by the time my mom was conceived the German genes had given up and didn't even bother making the trip to the zygote.

And Scottish? Why, what have you heard?

But my mom really raised me, and her mom really raised her, and dammit, culturally, I am Irish. I came home from the hospital in an "Irish Baby" onesie, the only music that would calm me down was Irish-American music, I go to Irish Fest twice every year, my mom used to carry me around describing Waterford, Belleek, (and Wedgewood, which is totally British, but I'm ignoring that. Although I do really connect with Britain. I'm pretty sure one of my ancestors hooked up with and Englishman. Do you know where Sligo is? It's like right next to Ulster. And we all know I'm a whore for an accent. I must have gotten that somewhere.) and I really like potatoes, like, A LOT.

In a recent development, I'm going to write my master's thesis on something about Irish/British relations.

(Although I wouldn't hold my breath for the publication. Six weeks ago it was the crusades.
Me: Oh, I love the crusades!!!
Aaron: Which ones?
Me: All of them!
Aaron: Even the fourth?
Me: Oh. Damn. I forgot about that one. Okay, notsomuch with the fourth.
Aaron: Ha! I outhistoried the history major.
Me: Shut up. I need to go study.)

I've been reading about Irish history a lot recently, and it's made me thrilled that I am first and foremost an American and live in a country where I am a free citizen, but it also has given me an incredible respect for the Irish nation who struggled and continue to struggle even today.

My family jumped ship during the 1840's (because I'm pretty sure they flippin' loved potatoes, too) and missed the whole Easter Rising, Irish Free State, Home Rule thingy (although we did have a relative who was totally in the IRA, which is freaky, actually), but they were there for the revolts in 1603, the Battle of the Boyne, the United Irishmen Uprising in 1798, and certainly felt the effects of the Act of Union in 1800. I can't imagine living in a country and then being told, "Oh, btw, it's not yours anymore. You're British now. Congratulations!"

(Except we've already established that I'm a whore for an accent.)

So yeah, I'm not sure where I was going with this, except to be all "Up with Ireland!!! Whoo!!!" I think I'm going to go inquire about the Baileys.

(Oh, don't worry. It's only 1:30.)

(Give me a couple hours.)

(My Irish eyes will be smiling!!!)

My goodness, 8:49 already?

Hmmm. Almost time for bed.

I get to sleep in tomorrow. And I am terribly amused by this.

I am not amused by the enormous amount of cleaning I've done today, including getting all my stuff out of both attics, sorting through every single piece of clothing I own, coming up with three huge bags to give away and five huge bags to throw away, and then actually cleaning a good chunk of the attic and not hurling large, heavy things at my sister who "omg, didn't put anything in the attic EVER" well then WHY THE HELL IS YOUR SHIT ALL OVER, HUH!?!?!?

Oh, and I worked all day.

I'm definitely going to bed.

Although, I do kind of want to name my daughter Layla.

When I got to work today (well, okay, first I set up the food apparently completely wrong, which earned me a harsh warning from my contemporary whom I was trying not to bodily harm, but after that), I was immediately handed a sheaf of papers and sent to the biography bay.

The biography bay is my baby. It's kind of the shittiest job, because it's huge and we never have any of the titles, so you have to roam the store looking for anything that looks remotely non-fiction and has a main character 'cuz hey! It could be a biography!!! So when I started working in books about a year ago, Pam took advantage of my naivete and now the biography bay? Is mine. Every time I work, I fix it up.

Today it got overhauled. Which I guess was good, because some of the books had been there since last summer. But it was a major pain-in-the-ass, because we had NONE of the books. And as Borders Corp. is probably a little bit sick of my fascination with 16th-century British monarchs, the pickings were a little bit slim.

So my biography bay? Is now a homage to Eric Clapton.

I guess his autobiography didn't sell that well, because there were a billion copies in the backroom, at least until I dragged them out and artfully arranged them. That's actually kind of weird, because I've heard how amazing it was from two separate people in my real-not-work life within the last two weeks. But I digress.

It's almost as thought I've heard more than one of his songs.

Now I've had my glass of sangria and Colleen's, because she decided mid-sip that she doesn't like sangria and my Lord, I am not the kind of girlw ho lets something like that go to waste!!! And Wedding Crashers is on, so I'm going to go.

Catholic Kitty

see more crazy cat pics

I lied.

I know, I know, I was going to do a whole 600- posts how far we've come my growth let me you show you it, but...um...I'm really tired.

After six exams and two papers in the last week, I'm kind of at the end of my rope. Exam #5 this morning went well, except that I could have written a better one. Like not a better answer, but a better exam. It completely ignored the entire American Revolution/War with the Colonies (pick a side, any side), two of the essays were about the EXACT SAME THING, and the entire contribution to Napoleon? Was one stinking battle hidden in side a larger essay question. Poor form. But I knew everything (well, okay, except for the part that said, "And what would Cannadine have to add to this? Sue me, I didn't read all four hundred pages. Pssh.), so I was kind of just spewing hopefully not-random tidbits for 75 minutes.

Because here's the thing- there's bonus points available. So you can never really do well enough, because that extra percentage of population increase? Could totally get you more points! This is like FREAKING HELL for someone crazy conscientious like me.

So at 9:14 I was still writing about how much of the world's industry Britain controlled in 1850 (40%, in case you were wondering.)

And then my hand got really stiff and I could barely get my ring off.

Exam #6? Well, after the 75 minute marathon essay session, I didn't really care. And I knew most of it, so I'm just ignoring it and praying for a curve. Because if I fail? Work is going to be really awkward. "Hi. I'm the girl you failed. Prepare to die."

I just got home from work where people yelled at me because they refused to believe that the short story by Truman Capote was the book that inspired Breakfast at Tiffany's (YES IT WAS I'VE READ IT AND THERE IS LOTS OF SEX AND PERHAPS YOU SHOULDN'T BE GIVING IT TO YOUR TEN-YEAR-OLD, BITCH!!! *ahem*), and called me to ask me what 25% off of a $19 CD would be.

Yes. I received a phone call, looking for math help.

Now I'm going to watch TV and go to bed and then tomorrow I am going to force myself to find something halfway decent and pretty to wear to Easter and Colleen's graduation (my lack of self-esteem!!! Let me show you it!!!) before all the things with anything resembling a sleeve is gone.

Vive la spring break.

Your real Post #600 will come tomorrow.

For tonight I am snarly and tired and going to bed. But I can recite an incredibly detailed history of the American revolution and Napoleon's entire military career as well as the the countless rebellions in Ireland (my Lord, they would not let go!!!). Au revoir.

Welcome to the Crazy

John took a quiz yesterday and flipped out- no, for reals, FLIPPED OUT- because he didn't think he did very well.

He got a 92%.

I'm flipping out because all of a sudden the professor announced that we have 400 pages of a textbook that will probably be on the exam that we didn't know about and the exam is on THURSDAY. I freaking loved that guy before. He gave me a 100. I wanted him to be my new daddy. Now? I want his blood.

Because much like my whole 4.0 issue, once you get 100, anything less looks like failure.

But tonight this does not matter, because it will be spent watching my Celine and drinking and celebrating a deceased person's birthday. What? We're Irish. It makes sense.

DVD Chronicles

Note: Sensitive individuals may wish to not click on the link in the bottom paragraph. Just warning y'all.

You remember my DVD player, don't you? Of course you do. It's pretty much my only friend. Well, this time it swallowed a Family Ties DVD (NOES!!! I MUST HAVE YOUR '80'S GOODNESS!!!!!!!!!!!), and then promptly died. And wouldn't come back. Even after I painstakingly disconnected everything and unscrewed all 16,000 screws and then screwed them all back and ended up with two left over.

So I went and bought another one. Again. I'm giving up soon and switching to Blu-Ray.

But the most amusing thing was this morning when I was bemoaning the fact that I was going to have to do all that unscrewing and my dad looks up, all concerned, and says, "You know you should unplug it, right?"

Um. Yeah. I know I'm a history major and all, but I didn't realize my family thinks I'm stupid enough to stick a metal rod into an appliance coursing with electricity.

OMG, y'alls, had so much to do today. Three tests to study for, two essays to write, an entire house that was filthy, apparently no towels (I got this from the screams of anguish coming from the bathroom this morning, and the unkind replies when I helpfully suggested that maybe if someone other than me knew how to wash the towels, we wouldn't be out all the time), and I wanted to clean out the basement because I've been told I cannot even think about moving any furniture until everything I own is completely not touching any communal areas such as the basement or attics.

But I got it all finished, and only checked Facebook six times while writing the essays, and OH MY GOD DO YOU KNOW HOW DIFFICULT THIS WHOLE GRADUATE SCHOOL THING IS GOING TO BE FOR ME!?!?!?! And I even finished hauling my shit out of the basement.

Major issue re: the whole moving downstairs thing, though. The room? Has no ceiling fan. The room? Is on the first floor. The windows? If left open could allow in rapists and murderers and all sorts of other dangerous types that totally live in Grafton. Morena? Is not pleased.

So now I need to figure out how much a ceiling fan and an electrician to install said ceiling fan (Daddy: You sure I can't do it? Mom and I: NO!), because I have to pay for it and I'm really, really broke.

But I can't decide if I like the idea of not having any moving air all summer long and possibly breaking a sweat or being hacked to teensy pieces and served on toast point (What? This is Wisconsin. We do weird shit here.) less.

I'm thinking the Gein route would take hours, maybe. All summer with my bionic sweat? Not fun.

LaX

I spent the day at Starbucks.

Yes, I need all that crap.

I could do without this crap.

John is not amused by the situation.

Saturday night, drinking sangria

Me: Why?

Colleen: Because it's Saturday!!!

Hells yeah. My ridiculously inebriated ancestral blood needs no reason to enjoy an inexpensive Spanish wine.

I think I may stop studying, though. Because between the pull of Monty Python and the sangria? I can't even pronounce the Battle of Leipzig, much less figure out what it signifies.

ETA: According to Wikipedia (where I like to get all my historical information), it was the seminal battle in Napoleon's career, when he lost for the first time to Britain, Prussia, Russia, and Austria, and then tried to off himself using diluted poison. Huh. Interesting.

Oh God So Sick

I was handed a twenty and dropped at a Starbucks for two hours. And now I want to die. A horrible, over-caffeinated death.

Why I Cannot Work Retail For the Rest of My Life

Tonight? Instead of working? I read Sex in Space with Aaron and laughed and laughed. Or at least until he read what I guess was a particularly interesting part, laughed so hard he had to put the book down, and then refused to tell me what it was because, "I'm just enough older than you that it would be creepy."

Then I had to hit him with a season of The Tudors, which I was ostensibly shelving.



Also? I feel a little bit badly about the previous comments re: the nuns in Ohio. Because our nun now has three broken ribs and is quarantined. And I'm clearly going to hell.

Instead we're driving to Lacrosse in the middle of the night. Yay.

Oh, boo hoo.

The news is doing something about how there has been a rash (2) of armed robberies around the Marquette campus. Please. That's like before breakfast at UWM.

In other news, is it sad that I'm happy I'm going to be on spring break for this?

I don't think so. I think it makes me intelligent.

Tonight brought to you by my Advil Cold and Sinus addiction.

It's official. Huckabee just gave the longest concession speech in history. It was longer than many celebrity marriages. I loved the part when he started thanking people who were totally immigrants even though he wants them all thrown out along with their natural-born citizen children screw jus soli!!!

Perhaps a man who wants to change the constitution to "reflect God's laws" maybe wants to read that part of the Bible where Jesus hung out with the unfortunates. Maybe.

Meanwhile, Hillary and Obama are still bitchfighting. And McCain is off hugging W. I guess.


One more thing before I go finish Eureka Street and fall asleep (Shut up, 8:50 is a perfectly normal time to go to bed. I have a very busy life.) You know Ohio? With the nuns and the nunnery and did I mention nuns? Just got better. Because now the nuns are suffering from a flu epidemic.

So we get to go visit our nun in her little room in the assisted living facility. Which is in the building without a cafeteria (if the nuns can do anything, it's cook.)

Let's break this down. Hours in a room, with an ailing nun, without food, in the place where nuns go to die.

Maybe I'll bring along my history notes, because the Catholic oppression in the UK c. 1800? Is more uplifting than this weekend is looking to be.

Oh, I lied. One more thing. I heard about this in two separate classes before noon this morning. Maybe I should shut up defending my school so much.

The promised thoughts.

Two things before I get to the Other Boleyn Girl Or Worst Tudor Movie EVER.

1.) I just got an e-mail from my music professor talking about the midterm, and apparently there is going to be a listening thing at the beginning. And now I'm a little bit scared, because the music we've listened to in class has been stupid and "This is bluegrass". So I'm not sure what the questions are going to be about those. Is this bluegrass? Or who sang this and what year was it released? Oh, well, I'm over this and I can't wait for it to be over. So yeah. Pray for a curve.

2.) I took an online art history exam, which was blessedly free of "OMG WHAT THE HELL WHICH CATHEDRAL IS THAT CAN'T BREATH DYING NOW", but comes with a whole new set of anxiety, of the brand-new variety "OMG INTERNETS YOU HAD BETTER WORK OR SO HELP YOU GOD!!!"

Yeah. That was fun. Because I do so love to put 30% of my grade in the hands of my laptop that's been carted (and maybe dropped a couple times) all over the east side.




So, Other Boleyn Girl.

Or Movie That's Kind of About Mary and Anne Boleyn But Really Not and Rocks Fall Everyone Dies.

Colleen left saying it was so depressing that it only could have been sadder if they ate baby panda sandwiches. Haha.

Anyhoodles, I'm not even really mad because it was wrong (Although that started bugging me by the end. Especially when Henry calls Mary back for her counsel. Yeah. Henry VIII was so kind and cared so much for women's opinions that he often called on old flames for judicial advice. Please.), but it wasn't even wrong like the book. They changed almost everything, took away Mary's narrative voice, spent the first hour making Anne a bitch and the second hour making her the BESTEST SISTER EVER OMG, and then added a completely impossible rape that not only decidedly DIDN'T HAPPEN but didn't even fit with the the story.

And hey half-assed the incest. Please. If you're going to do incest, do it right, dammit. Although the moment when the entire audience (who clearly didn't read the book) realized it and went "Eww..." together was pretty awesome. :D

But I still didn't hate it. I guess I'm enough of a girl that I can be distracted by pretty dresses and crowns.

Finally- Mary didn't take Elizabeth in and raise her. Really, really, REALLY NOT.

And also? Catherine of Aragon kicks ass. I want to be her.

Thoughts on The Other Boleyn Girl are forthcoming...

...but for now I will just say that wow, I should never not read the FOJG message boards for a couple of days.

Because I guess when the JG of FOJG shows up in a video entitled "I'm F****** Ben Affleck"? The grandmas do not react well and some major shit goes down.

Meanwhile, I laughed and I laughed.

Oprah's Book Club must die

Because every time she updates, I get 16 billion housewives foaming at the mouth and I want to start throwing things at them (preferabbly something like a harder, more intelligent book. Maybe in hardcover.)

An because she picks such weird titles, it took me a couple times to get it, too, because everybody would rush up to me and be like, "OMG NEW EARTH WHERE IS IT!?!?!" and I'd be all, "What? Leave me alone. God, I'm trying to shop here." They should have specified "The Bright Orange Book that People Are Buy Up Like It Will Show Them The Way Out of Their Loveless Sexless Suburban Marriages", and then I would have been able to tell them right where it was.

A cat after my own heart.

Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!

I'd like to contribute more, I really would.

But it's late and I'm tired and there were scary guys at work and then the police came and wow, doesn't *Local Town* only hire hot guys? and now I'm going to go eat chocolate and try to stay awake for Craig Ferguson, whom I really must remember to tape because OMG SO FUNNY but SO LATE WTF CBS??? so yeah, this sentence is over.

I give you, a cat. And a baby.


Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!

You have no womb. Where would you gestate it? Keep it in a box?

I watched most of Monty Python's Life of Brian this afternoon while spending an hour with Colleen's the flatiron trying to burn the oil into my hair in an effort to make it halfway presentable. I think it worked, but I burned my forehead and my back is killing me.

Anyway, the quote was funny.



So you know my entry yesterday? Well, in an effort to avoid the Asian-American history flashcards (Do you know who enjoys the whole internment thing less than the Japanese? ME, THAT'S WHO.) and the feminist crap I have to summarize by Monday (Shut up, it weighs on me, dammit.), I followed some of the links. And apparently, it's a thing. I can't believe I didn't ever notice this, because I read that blog, and this kind of hilarity is right up my little alley!!!

Now, I can't comment on the women other than to say, um, no, no, they're certainly not.

But the guys? I can't imagine a situation where it would ever come up, but even if I was, oh, involved in a drunken Dork version of "marry, *insert inappropriate term for coitus here*, or push off a cliff"? Um, like at least three or four of them are going off the damn cliff. I don't care what the rules are.

So despite the fact that my marriage prospects are significantly less attractive in the law school route (I don't care what Colleen says, Indiana Jones was an archaeologist and THAT'S CLOSE TO ART HISTORY DAMMIT!!!), *I* become considerably more attractive.

Hmmm. I shall have to weigh this in my decision.



I finally got Boom! Voice from the Sixties from the library, only a semester after I ordered it, but that's okay because I heart the sixties in all of their crazy glory, so I'm going to go read that and pretend that my parents' generation didn't irreparably harm my country and civilization.

Strike #397 Against Law School

I do not want to be a part of any career in which this man is considered a hottie.

I'll just sleep with my aging, verbose thesis advisor like any other self-respecting history student, thank you very much.

(Confidential to Mom and Dad: I totally won't.)

We officially share to much.

Colleen was flipping through channels and stopped on EWTN for a moment, just long enough to go, "Whoa! Father What-A-Waste! I just thought I should comment."

I laughed and I laughed.

Let the embarrassment begin.

I think I just said I'd make Lee Pace have sex with me, even if I had to resort to rape. Oh, it's gonna be a long night.

ETA: Colleen just announced that she thought Casey Affleck was wicked sexy. I laughed. Then Daniel Day-Lewis showed up and I spontaneously ovulated. Which is laughable itself.

I'm not naming names, but...

...at this moment, there are three movies on TV starring gentlemen that I won't admit to and will deny adoring and yet own almost all of their movies. (So I guess if you want to know who they are, just look at my DVD shelf.) Yeah, that's embarrassing. And I don't know what to watch.

Reached stultifying heights of dorkdom last night. I was waiting for Craig Ferguson to come on and flipping channels, when I came across CSPAN 2, and then I laughed a little bit because just that morning, Colleen was saying how CSPAN 2 was just stuff that was Too Boring To Put On CSPAN. But then I realized they were talking to the guy who wrote The Nine.

And then I watched for an hour.

It was interesting, and he was very funny and smart and not as liberal as the critics of his books would have you believe. But my favorite part was at the end when he asked himself a question, about who, if elected, Hilary Clinton would nominate to the Supreme Court. He prefaced his answer by saying that it would be a move of "Clintonian, Machiavellian genius", which made me laugh far harder than ANYTHING on CSPAN should, because I love the idea that SOMEBODY ELSE understands that THESE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY.

Anyway, he said that Hilary would probably nominate Obama. No, it makes sense. He was president of the law review at Harvard, taught constitutional law for eleven years, and it would get him the hell out of the way in 2012. He can't really complain, either-it's the Supreme Court.

It is Machiavellian. And Clintonian.

The Hopelessly Uncool Crowd

Every Friday on the back of my paper there's a little article with contributions from a rotating assortment of 20-somethings in my city who all talk about what they're going to do this weekend. Fantastic, fabulous things that usually involve lots of drinking and friends and probably some hooking up without any of the awkward designated driver stuff (Digression: Seriously. Am I the only one who thinks it is more trouble than it's worth to go out and drink? This is Milwaukee for God's sakes, you can't walk anywhere and we have like TWO cabs.)

And because I'm a masochist, I read it every week. And then every week I go back out into the kitchen and think "What the hell, why shouldn't I eat a brownie for breakfast?"

So today, I'm writing my own.

Friday I'll be eating vegetarian lasagna...at home. In my kitchen. While watching "Amne$ia" on FOX, because, well, I'm a bottom feeder. Then I'll probably fall asleep watching Best Week Ever because I suck and am inordinately tired for a perfectly healthy youngish person.

Saturday morning I'll be washing my hair, drying it with two different towels, and spritzing it (YES IT IS A PROCESS STOP JUDGING ME) ignoring my blues lyrics that I'm supposed to write (and no, not because I'm in some band, but because God HATES ME THAT'S WHY) and probably bake some more brownies. Or coffee cake. Because my mom said she wanted some and dammit, she is ill and I should help her, right??? Then I'll probably watch some Family Ties on DVD because there is nothing I love more than an '80s sitcom that deals with pressing, real-life issues like the fact that Mallory maybe wants to sleep with her boyfriend who's in college and does NO ONE REALIZE THIS IS STATUTORY RAPE!?!?! Then I'll go to Mass and try really hard to avoid hitting my grandfather with something heavy, like perhaps a hymnal or maybe a candlestick. Hey. I was a server for eight years. I know where they keep the good shit.

Sunday could go two ways- I could work all day, which would suck, or I could pawn my hours off and probably repeat Saturday except without the hair washing because that much cleanliness? Cannot be good. Sunday night I am expecting to get roaringly drunk and watch the Oscars and then cry when Johnny Depp doesn't win. Oh, and eat some brownies.

I don't think I'll get published.

Did go see Definitely, Maybe this afternoon, though. A few thoughts.

-I flippin' love stories about how parents meet. They're flippin' adorable.

-So is Ryan Reynolds. And Abigail Breslin. And Isla Fisher. Indeed, the're all flippin adorable.

-Kevin Kline is really old. Dude.

-Was not amused that there appeared to be no reason for the divorce. None at all.

-There was a trailer for the new Indiana Jones. I don't care that he's old and decrepit. I'm going. It looks awesome.

-There was a trailer for Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day, and holy Christmas on an oceanliner is Pushing Daisies Guy hot.

Red Letter Day

New pictures on Flickr, including a couple from the Super Bowl party when I was drinking entirely too much out of entirely too little interest, and that may be why my cousins look like shapeless blobs. But go check them out.

Not really a fantastic day, but several rather fun and not unpleasent things occurred, and as I have nothing else to talk about except how unbelievably pissed I am that Lost keeps drawing me back in Kate raising Aaron, wtf???, you're going to hear about them.

-Last night I got a letter from UWM saying "OMG UR SO SMART COME GET CERTIFICATES PLEASE?!?!?" Or rather, I received sophomore honors and can go to a boring ceremony on some random Sunday afternoon which I won't because, hello, boring and SUNDAY AFTERNOON when I could be watching Crossing Over or American Justice or maybe even a Snapped marathon, but still cool.

- Got my hugely stressful essay (as in, one huge-ass essay) test back with a...wait for it...100. As in I got every single point you could possible eke out of that damn essay and everybody else got like B-'s and I am thrilled, dammit. And my Lord was the professor taking his sweet time getting them back to us, going over the grading and doing the "Chin up, you'll do better next time!" speech and whatever, old man, I just want my damn test!!! When he was handing them out and said "Kathleen...{mangled last name that's totally not right}? Is that right?" I just went "Yeah," and grabbed the book. But is okay. Because I'm smart!!!

-Mostly likely did not fail environmental geology test, as it was ridiculously easy and not nauseating at all. Whew.

-Actually saw Hot TA. And he smiled at me. Although that may have been more of a "Response to the Crazy Staring At Me With a Look That Says 18 Months Ago She Wanted to Have My Babies SOOOO Badly" smile than an "OMG I want you to have my babies!!!" smile, but hey, I'll take it. Incidentally, he's put on weight. Not a lot, but still. Which isn't bad, because I do not like to be in worse shape than the person I'm lusting after. I can't obsess over David Beckham. It would be too depressing. And make the brownie sundaes I've taken to living off of seem less normal. I don't think Hot TA would turn down a brownie sundae anymore.

-My hair looked good. Enough for it's own section.

-SRSLY KATE RAISING AARON???? WHAT DOES IT MEAN!?!?!?

New room?

I live at home.

That's not a complaint. I'm owning it, I'm not that old, makes financial sense, family issues, blah blah blah. And guess what suckas? In five years when you move back in with Mom and Dad because you have exorbidant student loans and no jobs? I'll be moving into a nicely appointed appointment ALL BY MYSELF. So yeah, I'll talk to you then.


But anyways, the only part I'm not absolutely thrilled about (except for the fact that my parents decided the Boonies was a good place to settle) is that I do actually share a room with my little sister. Which is embarrassing. A little bit. It worked fine when we moved in when we were 11 and 9, but at 20 and 18? Notsomuch.


So I don't remember why I was whining about it (Oh wait. Yes I do. But in the interest of family relations, I'm not mentioning it.), but I was whining, and my mom's all, "OMG IDEA!!! Do you want the den?"

I think I was offered this once like a bunch of years ago, but then The Crazy moved in (person, not thing, which currently lives with us) and I was an emotionally scarred child who didn't want to sleep on the first floor ALL BY MYSELF OMG.


But now it's sounding pretty good. I could repaint with paint that doesn't have little clouds, buy wallpaper that doesn't have horses, and have doors that actually closed. And did I mention it's connected to my bathroom, like a real grown-up bedroom!?!?!


(And room for a bookshelf. Which is massively exciting, because my book situation? Has gotten out of hand. I now have every single mass market paperback piled on the ends of shelves, and then two stacks of unread books on a table downstairs.)


(Ugh. And I'm getting another one from Amazon today. Will I never learn?)


(But that's not the point.)


Teensy weensy little baby problem. You know that emotionally scarred child? Is now an emotionally scarred young adult. And those clouds? She painted with her mom. And the horse wallpaper? She picked out because horses were her absolute favorite things ever. And the doors closing? Well, okay, there is no downside to the door.


So I can't even think about doing this until spring break because you know those family issues mentioned above? Means that I'm the only one who can do the work unless I ransom my cousin and frankly he takes enough heat from the earlier generations. I shall have to think about it.

But would you like to know my major objection? If I move downstairs, Colleen will get my room. And, well, if you've ever met her? It's tantamount to the British troops pulling out of Normandy, leaving the Paris of my beloved room open to her Nazi disorganization.

I don't think she'll kill any minorities though.

In which I am accompanied by my Empress and do my civic duty all the while compromising my principles. But I did have a muffin.

Obscenely early trip to GHS when I had to physically restrain her from leaping from the car and telling several passing students that SHE WOULDN'T BE THERE TODAY LOSERS.

As though that wasn't enough, I was under strict instructions from my mother to "omg don't show her anything not pretty, do you think you can find a hot guy to show you around? what do you mean you don't have time for lunch maybe you should skip a class so you can show her that there are many fun lunch options ONLY PRETTY PEOPLE DID YOU HEAR ME? IF SHE LEAVES IT'S YOUR FAULT!!!!"

Or, you know, something like that.

I was not able to find a hot guy to take her to lunch, but I did manage to take her to a class with a blue urine story, which surely must count for something. And there was muffinage.



Then I voted- whoo!!! For someone I disagree with almost completely and I actually felt a little teensy bit ill filling in the little box but it's okay! I'm alright with it! I like being a sabatour! No! Really! I'm fine!

(I am pretty sure that my grandfather would tell me I was going to hell though. Which is why I didn't talk to him about it.)

But as I was leaving the town hall, Colleen like jumps up behind me and goes "Who did you vote for!??!?!" When I informed her that frankly it was none of her damn business, she looked seriously disturbed for a moment before screeching like a howler monkey about how I seriously need to tell here what it wasn't HILARY WAS IT?!?!?!

(No, it wasn't.)



Now I've been doing reading and shit for like five hours and dammit I'm tired!!!

Um, yeah. No shit. Perhaps I should publish a paper "Undergrads Like Those Too!!!" and forgo this whole "capstone" thingy.

(Which I've been having an existential crisis about lately anyways. But that's another entry.)

Lol. It's a cat.

moar humorous pics

46 days is pretty good.

I did not update yesterday. *tear*

But I'm not crazy about it, because I am not crazy obsessive like everyone else in my family.

And also, I'm going to be out of town several days next month and, well, I'm really cheap, and lugging my laptop to Ohio and wandering around the hotel room trying to get a free wi-fi signal so that I can let you all know that my hair is still frizzy and I DON'T LIKE OHIO? Notsomuch.

Now I'm tired. And there is vegetarian lasagna, and lemon cheesecake bar, and SANGRIA OMG, so I'm ging to go.

Too tired to blog

But on our way home tonight my parents were talking about this legendary local priest who- how shall we say this?- fell from grace in the mid-80s.

Apparently, he would give up sex with his mistress for Lent, but come Easter Sunday (Colleen: Eww! That is a holy day!!!), well, according to my father, he would not be denied. *snicker*

And DAMN, that does not happen though anymore.

It would just make life so much more interesting, n'est pas?


moar humorous pics

It's no longer Murphy's law, it's MINE.

Apropos of nothing, Elisabeth Hasselbeck's brother was sworn in by the Chief Justice a couple of days ago, lucky bastard.

That would happen in my family. I would toil away in law school and spend the summer studying for the bar and then get sworn in by some flunkie on the Wisconsin Supreme Court who probably ignores confict of interest rules.

My sister would probably go away, fly through law school, get drunk the night before the bar but pass anyway, and then end up getting sworn in by John freakin' Roberts, Judicial Wonder Boy and jurisprudential badass.

And I'd have to show up in an ill-fitting dress and sit with my parents and pretend to be happy for her.

But hey, I could console myself with my vastly smaller student loans and the fact that I'd still be around to pick up my brother from high school.

(And no, I don't know why my brother is still in high school in this hypothetical where my sister and I are in our late twenties, but that's the way it is. )

(I couldn't link directly to the video, but it's under the Hot Topics: K Arthur Filarski link. My favorite part? When they compare him to Darrin from Bewitched. Haha.)

Blah

I was going to do a whole thing about American Idol and politics and something else that I don't remember, but then I got home and made my mom redo her will because no way am I having whatever loser asshole I end up marrying getting his cheating, grubby little hands on MY INHERITANCE.

*ahem*

And then got into a screaming, crying fight over open vs. closed caskets with my sister.

And now I'm really tired.

If anyone would like to offer novenas around eight tomorrow, I have an essay exam that I kind of haven't been able to focus on. So yeah. My extensive viewing of The Tudors is going to have to carry me through.

Today has been canceled due to debilitating headache.

Because I stupidly thought, "Ha! No headache today! I'm not even going to bother taking Advil Cold and Sinus!!!" and romped out the door.

An hour later I was suffering through an interminable British history lecture while my eyes were glassed over, my nose was spewing puss all over my notes, and I felt as though I had either the worst hangover ever or a knife shoved into my eye sockets.

And I was SO NOT paying attention to John Wesley's Methodist church and the religious revival (Digression: I don't think that's the right word. But the only other one I can think of is "reformation" and when you say that it means something totally different. Any thoughts?) and what tastefully bullet-pointed (I swear to God if I have to sit through one more list I'm going to drop the damn class.) four points they lent to British culture but instead contemplated hurling myself to the parking lot below BECAUSE THEN THE PAIN WOULD STOP MABYE???

Also? Driving home sneezing and wanted to ram your head through the dashboard during a snowstorm? Not fun. Not fun at all.

Went out last night, for the first time since the semester started, and had lots of fun. California Pizza Kitchen is quite good, even if the decor has been overdone, and APPLE CRISP OMG BESTEST EVER!!!

Then we trekked around Bayshore while Derrick showed us outfits he had previously purchased (not a lot going on on Monday nights...) and then we went to Barnes and Noble and bitched about work. And I reshelved Suite Francais. I'm sorry. It's habit.


Then Derrick asked me if I was wearing a garter belt and Aaron almost fell off the sidewalk he was laughing so hard.

Hey, you know what? I haven't talked about classes like, at all lately. Which is a marked difference (improvement?) from last semester when almost every entry had a sentence about some new way I dreamed up for my psychology professor to die). So I'll talk about them now.

They're pretty okay. Britain's great, although I form a better (more volatile?) opinion after the test on Thursday. Music kind of is wicked boring and I'm kind of worried because I don't know what the hell he's going to ask us on the midterm, but I kind of like it.

Women/Gender is okay, I'm a little sick of hearing her horror stories about college for women in the 1970s, mostly because I know it's a total crock. My mom was in law school (still a male dominated profession) at the same time, and was hardly persecuted. But I get it, she's bitter. Asian Americans? Boooooooring.

And environmental science? I wouldn't know, because I don't understand a word the guy says.

But something is bothering me. Majorly. Every single one of my professors has a massively annoying verbal tick.

Asia woman says "basically" basically every other word.

Women/Gender likes to say "duh" a lot. That inspires confidence.

Britain guy puts "formally" with everything, even if there is no informal equivalent. Did you know that William of Orange formally died in 1702? I really wanted to raise my hand and ask when he informally passed.

Music Guy's has all to do with the fact that he won't stop saying "all to do with..." I want to hurt him.

Environmental Science Guy finishes every single slide with, "Do you agree?" (At least as far as I can tell. Sometimes it gets a little dicey.

Finally, every time Art History Woman finishes an audio file (it's an online class)? There's this breathing out as though she's been holding her breath.

It's gonna be a long time until May.

I go to make brownies. Because I want to eat them. Badly.

Pearls of wisdom from the Grammys

Some rapper: Yeah, no, it's cool when they don't know who I am. 'cuz then they won't be like, hey, that's Chris, let's get a baby out of him!

Um. Yeah.

Maybe if you slept with fewer groupies, this wouldn't be an issue. Just saying.

The Boy is ill

And worse, he doesn't know what it is. Ugh. I feel my glands swelling already.


moar funny pictures

I'm going to go drink through the Grammys. Woo!!!

Sangria+ The Invasion= Good night.

No. For reals, y'all.

Also? I ate meat today. And it was good.

Jesus is making me gain weight.

I don't know what weird hormonal treachery is going on in my thyroid but I. Want. Meat.

I have wanted meat all day. (Well, that and sangria. I love sangria. In fact, I want some now.) I wanted it for lunch. I wanted it around 5:00. And I wanted it even more when my dad decided tonight was a good time to make tasty seasoned taco meat.

But it's Friday, and instead I had cheese and crackers for lunch and pasta with broccoli for dinner.

I still really wanted meat.

So I crushed up Oreos and put them in the vat of already cookies-and-cream ice cream I was eating and then consumed it quickly, with whipped cream and maybe a couple milanos afterwards.

I hope God is happy.

Electress Sophia of Hanover Ruined My Life

Just so you don't think I'm a comlete moron, I did know everything in this entry before. It just occurred to me in horrible, career-altering clarity this afternoon.

My life's goal??? It is impossible.

Because three hundred years ago, someone decided that I WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH!!! Gah.

It makes no sense. 14% of the UK's population is Catholic.

And who the hell are the Stuarts to say I can't be queen!?!?!? They were Scottish for God's sakes!!!!

Very Industrious Snow Day

Notes on Yesterday's Comments:
Rockford: You’re allowed to complain.
Mickey: Of course you would
Imladris: They’re not even fat. It sucks.

Today I:

1.) Slept until 9:00. Decided whatever I do with my life needs to start sometime after 10:00. One more point for professor, one less for crazy lawyer drone.

2.) Watched Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Decided that Clive Owen is my intended. Also? Amazing movie.

3.) Watched Across the Universe. Decided that Jim Sturgess was my intended. And also? That I wouldn't have done well in the '60s.

4.) Watched about thirty seconds of an ABC Family movie because I though the guy in it was inexplicably Dominic Cooper. It wasn't. Decided that Dominic Cooper was my intended, even though he's never been in an ABC Family movie.

*Haven't actually done it yet, but undoubtedly will*

5.) Watched Moment of Truth. Decided that I wouldn't want to know if Clive/Jim/Dominic were cheating on me. And also? That I'm just a gossip monger.

Role models. I has them.

Not real role models, because frankly I think the entire idea of role models indicates a weakening of the parent/child relationship that is becoming all too common in our society, but that’s neither here nor there.

I should have said, I know who I want to be when I’m really, really old.

There are these two older ladies (really older, like 70s- one has a grandson who’s already a lawyer and the other has a granddaughter who’s starting medical school.) They take my bus, and last semester, they audited my Egyptian civ class, but I didn’t really ever talk to them (except when one was reading Nefertiti, when the bookseller part of me screamed, “OH MY GOD ISN’T THAT AMAZING!?!?!” *ahem*) Anyway, they showed up in my British history class, too, and since they’re massively and unnervingly friendly, we started talking.

Two things- they’re kind of amazing, and they’re also kind of stalking the professor.

No. Really. They adore him. Like they already know what he’s teaching next year. And I’m really hoping it’s kind of an intellectual adoration, because otherwise, um, eww.

This morning one goes, “Do you love him as much as we do???” in a breathless voice. My first thought was, “Dear God, no. But this is going in the blog!” but instead I bit my lip and choked out, “Um…I really like the class!” and confined the laughing party to my head.

But after that they started talking about their lives. They both got married very young and never thought about going to college, so now they take classes and travel.

And wow, I’ve never been so simultaneously jealous and grateful in my entire life. Despite the fact that I think feminism is a crock, I am so lucky that I live in a time when it’s understood and accepted that I can do whatever the hell I want to. Get married? Now? Hells no.

But then they started talking about their travels, to Germany and Greece and Italy and how they’re going to be in Switzerland in April and that’s why they won’t be in class lol!!! And I kind of just wanted to throw my notebook at them. Because if I miss a class in April??? Chances are there was a freak snowstorm and I’m in a ditch somewhere on Lake Drive, I’m deathly ill, or- wait- we did discuss going to Ohio to visit the invalid nun.

Hell. Maybe I should be lusting after the professor. I have no trip to Switzerland to look forward to.

(P.S. One of their sons is a lawyer who is taking early retirement so he can go back and get a history degree. Okay, God, I get it. I’ll reconsider the law school thing.)

Are you sick of me yet?

Because I kind of am. And I write the damn thing.

Le anyhoodles, this is going to be kind of quick because I'm tired, just realized that the day is almost over, have to leave the house at 6:40 tomorrow morning (Friend's car *and* glasses broke. That sucks.), and am in the middle of a fantastic book about Anne Stuart.

Speaking of which, my new royal obsession? Is the whole Civil War/Glorious Revolution/Stuart Dynasty thing.

Because- dude! They have secret Catholics and crazy dictators and a guy who was known to say, "L'etat c'est moi" (I am the state) and dear God how did I miss this whole two hundred and fifty year period between Elizabeth I and Queen Victoria!?!?!

Well, I guess it's because I have a tendency to hop through history focusing on pretty dresses. And while all those good Protestants that England was so fond of were good for the government and stable economy and all, notsomuch with the dresses.

So yeah, that's probably why.

FYI, it's not entirely my fault. A cursory search for "english civil war" or "glorious revolution" on Amazon doesn't turn up much, mostly document collections from the 1980s, which, excuse me, *snore*. If Alison Weir hasn't done it, I guess it doesn't get much publicity.

Totally not even worthy for the internets and my faithful reader Mommy, I FINALLY FOUND KHAKI PANTS!!!

They're not amazing, and I'm pretty sure I still don't look chic and effortless like khaki pants are supposed to make one look, but at least they don't give the impression of *insert rude name for part of a camel's foot here* or actually show the cellulite on my thighs.

So yay!!!

Finally, it's Speshul cat. Hahaha.

(I'd be laughing even harder if we hadn't had to study that photograph in physiological psychology last semester. *shivers*)

Still not entirely normal.

Watched The Invasion last night. I didn't realize this in theaters, but they spend entirely too much time following Nicol Kidman around. Damn, can't the crazy-hot ex get some screen time???

Also discovered that watching movies with Dad and John is not nearly as much fun as watching them with Colleen. Because when I implied that I'd be okay with losing my autonomy if Jeremy Northam found that attractive, they didn't laugh. They just got weirded out.

*sigh*

Not as glamorous and it appears.

This morning I was standing at work, and a mom and her two daughters, probably about five and seven, came up and ordered hot chocolate and then went and sat at a table near the counter. I was eavesdropping when the mom goes, "Now, it's only 11, so should we go get our nails done now? Or go to lunch first?"

My day? Consisted of trying desparately to not kill the person I was forced to work with, not kill myself, and then go to Target to buy cortisone cream to get rid of this thing on my neck that looks like a hickey but isn't because that would imply that someone wanted to suck on my neck.

I almost started to cry.

But I didn't. It was Hug a Gay Day, I hugged my gay and felt a lot better.

#256 of The Things They Don't Put In the Student Handbook But Should.

The whole Fridays off thing seems pretty good in theory, doesn't it?

In practice?

Even more awesome.

(I think #257 should be something like only unattractive grad students can be allowed to be TAs, to cut down on the emotional pain wrought upon poor, unsuspecting undergrad girls, but I haven't finalized that yet. Yes it's been a year an half, but I'm still considering a change to psychology...)

Totally unrelated and separated by an icon.

Lost's 4th season is premiering in like half an hour, and ABC is running a little wrap up for those of us who stopped watching because it went up against CSI:NY may be a little lost.

And---meh.

Remember when Lost was amazing and cool? Like that first year, when the whole big thing was Hatch and the polar bear? Do you remember the polar bear!?!?! Dude. The polar bear was where it was AT.

The semester it premiered, I had a biology lab at 7:30 on Thursday mornings. And for the entire semester, my professor, the other girl whose name I'm forgetting, and I dissected (ha! no pun intended!) the previous night's episode. It was fun. Way more fun than whatever it is we were supposed to be studying. In fact, I remember the first polar bear episode, and Dr. Saleska said his wife thought he was crazy when he told her that OMG THERE TOTALLY WAS A POLAR BEAR!!!

I want to it be like that again, not this crazy three-societies-fertility-specialist-omgwtf-Kate-and-Jack-in-the-future?!?!?!?

Okay. The Kate and Jack in the future thing was pretty cool.

I was sitting in environmental science today and eavesdropping on the two girls behind me (let's face it, there was very little else to do). One was finishing her philosophy degree and was talking about a professor (who taught my logic class last year).

Not-Philosophy Girl: Wait, who is Tierney?

Philosophy Girl: He's the Australian. Like straight-up.

Me: How can you be "straight-up Australian"?

Not-Philosophy Girl: Oooh. Is he hot?

Me: *snickers* Um. No. I think Mary and I named him Ron Weasley's Rat.

Philosophy Girl: Um. No...

Me: HAHAHA.

Philosophy Girl: ...but he's probably a dreamboat to you. You like any authority figure with an accent.

Not-Philosophy Girl: True. Very true.

I really felt like turning around and offering my services as bff and late-night-binge hair-holder because OMG WE HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON DO YOU HAVE FACEBOOK???!!!

Well, that's about as much about me that you need to know. At least for tonight.

No, wait! That's Kandinsky!!!

It's my daddy's birthday. Happy birthday Daddy!!!

Also, in 1649, Charles I was executed in London for pissing off Parliament and generally being an asshat.

Just, you know, in case you were wondering.

So now I have a lovely celebratory manhattan (please don't worry about my alcoholism, it's actually 9:16, not 3:30 or whatever the timestamp says), and I don't have a lot to say about anything. Mostly because I stayed home today and watched Monty Python (16 ton megaset for Daddy's birthday- whee!!!) and have nothing to comment on school-wise.

Which says something about the content of my life, actually.

Just two things---

1.) Maria's pizza? Is really good. I used to absolutely hate it. Now I want to move to the south side just to get closer.

2.) Imladris has been accepted, with honors and promise of a scholarship (they didn't specify how significant of a scholarship), to one of the last colleges she applied to!!! So mad snaps for her.

Not to rain on her little parade or anything, but this would be the same academic world that Grandpa proverbially set on fire in 1939, so really, she's kind of just begging for failure because anything she may accomplish? Probably won't end with an atomic bomb.

I'm going to go drink. Ciao.

Tomorrow will be a cold day. Authorized by me.

And it is law, and that's how it is.


Because every other time there is inclement weather I have a final or a paper or a baby due or something (kidding, but I have no doubt that there is going to be the largest snowstorm on record the day I go into labor), and tomorrow I only have two lectures and don't want to walk to the architecture building in a -35 degree wind chill so DAMMIT I AM STAYING HOME.



It's just the history of sex lecture anyway. I'm pretty sure I can figure that out on my own. Without the help of the transparencies the professor promised to bring in.

Witness a New Level of Dorkdom

I'm watching, actually watching, the State of the Union.

And I squeed when the Supreme Court justices walked in. They're wearing their cool robes. Dude. I'd wear that thing to the grocery.

(If you've been reading for any amount of time, you'll know that this is quite an honor. I generally don't squee unless I'm drunk or want to have the sque-ee's babies. Neither applies here, which is a sign of emotional growth, I think.)

Now the congress people are bobbing up and down depending on the party line.

My favorite part is when some well-meaning junior representative starts to clap and no one else does. HAHAHAHAHA.

*ahem*

Dude. Hillary just gave somebody the death glare. And Barack and Ted Kennedy? Are sitting right next to each other like big dumb girls. I wonder if they have the same study hall, too.

Also? Pelosi's frantic and freakish blinking? Is making me dizzy. And Dick Cheney's freakish stare is making me feel stalked.


Only other things going on are of the technological and scholarly variety.

The printer decided that it didnt like it's new ink, and it was going to stop working. So new printer and much gnashing of teeth, etc. later, I finally have my notes printed off.

I also know entirely too much about the conception of my professor's daughter. Frankly, any information I have on the subject is too much, but the position used to achieve said daugher? WAY TOO FAR.

*shivers*

I'm going to go have a little government party in my head, mmmkay?

Again with the creepy saint-love.

I finally finished watching season 1 of The Tudors on DVD this afternoon. I'd seen most of the episodes online last year, but gave up around 7, because I just couldn't find a decent website to host the video, and frankly watching an hour long show every week on a computer screen? Notsomuch with the attention span of the flea.

First, I'd like to say that my inner History Major was jumping up and down and screaming and pouting and threatening to quit and all sorts of things, but she was quickly shup up by my inner Smut Whore and then beaten to a pulp by my inner Jeremy Northam Stalker.

But I thought I'd give her a say anyways. So, if you do not wish to be enlighened and educated, you may skip the next part.

First, WOLSEY ABSOLUTELY DID NOT, IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM, COMMIT SUICIDE. Not even in the weasly little "the world will never know" way that they tried to pass it off as.

Also, the stupid "Princess Margaret" thing. Henry VIII had two sisters, Mary and Margaret. They only gave him one in here- Margaret. But lest that make way too much sense, they gave her Mary's life story, although kind of screwed around a little bit (it was France, not Portugal, she didn't kill him, she was happily married to Brandon for years and had three kids, etc.)

And Bessie Blount's son dying in infancy? For no reason other than the idiot 2007 audience will go, "Oh, but he has a son anyways! Why are they fighting!?!"

These all bothered me immensely. Because there was simply no reason for it. They could have easily done the Wolsey thing correctly- he even died in real life at the exact same time as he offed himself in the show, and it would have been just as tragic. Margaret could have become Mary and the actual Margaret could have been mentioned, because she did, you know, give birth to the next dynasty. And Henry Fitzroy? Was a stupid minor plotpoint that could have been either ignored, or handled the correct way.

But they didn't, and frankly it pissed me off.

That being said, OMG BEST SHOW EVER SO MUCH BETTER ON DVD. *SQUEE*

Seriously. I loved the fact that you slowly saw Henry VIII going mad.

I love the clothes.

I love how hot Thomas More is. In that holier-than-thou, self-righteous, Oh-he'd-educate-our-daughters-and-take-our-babies-to-Mass!!! way. At least until he started burning heretics. (BTW, was I the only one who laughed out loud when he replied to an inquiry about how many Lutherans he'd burned with, "Only six. All heretics, necessary, and...well done."

HEY. He wasn't a saint yet. It doesn't become creepy and unholy and damning until 1935.

Also? The Invasion on Tuesday. I may die of happiness.

I should not be so amused by pictures of cats.

moar funny pictures

But, oh, Lord, I am.

ETA: The word that is cut off at the end is "doom".

Overheard at work last night:

Girl: Well, I like girls and boys, but I'm not, like, a lesbian. Or bisexual. It's not like I do drugs and like girls.

Charming Boy: Haha, yeah, when you do drugs you're really bisexual!

Girl: Not, like, all the time.

~~~

Girl #1: Why should the money go to a CEO and not the workers?

Girl #2: Because the CEO worked for the it, and built the company!

Girl #1: So you believe in social darwinism?

Girl #2: I...no...I guess...but not really.

I seriously fear for our country.

I am paying $8,000 a year to hone my Guitar Hero strategy.

Today in American Popular Music (which is less popular music and more crazy boring genre music) we learned about 32 and 12 bar patterns, which are ways a song can progress. So first we listened to a pop song for awhile and then we listened to some boring jazz recording over and over again it was clear that we really needed to know the 12-bar pattern for the class because omg, how could anyone possible like the treacly popular crap shoved down our throats by the man while there is REAL music to be had!?!?!? (Slightly paraphrased, but that was his gist.)

And I couldn't help but think that, well, yeah, I probably need to be able to recognize the 12 bar thingy for the midterm, but learning to anticipate the 32 bar one could really help me with Guitar Hero!!!

My parents are so proud.

Within the first ten minutes of the ridiculously entitled Women and Gender in Europe After 1750...

...the professor announced she was going through a divorce, was bitter about it, said that there were going to be days that she was not able to restrain from "manbashing", called the lesbian a man at least four times, told us that her daughter was making $140,000 a year, misquoted Humanae Vitae, and gave us the recipe for haggis.

I could barely see through all the estrogen, body spray, and bitterness, but at least it wasn't boring.

Five Left.

Classes started again this morning.

I left the house at 6:15 a.m. Which is a time that no one should be driving, or indeed doing anything other than hitting the snooze button or perhaps even showering MAYBE if you have something really important like the Academy Awards nominations to get up for.

I spent twenty minutes trying to not throw heavy things at the back of the old auditing guy WHO WOULDN'T SHUT THE HELL UP, and, if his face and clenched jaw was any indication, the professor was fighting the same urge.

This is so mean. But I really hope the class is too full for him to get in.

Then I spent two hours sitting in the Grind drinking a latte and wondering what kind of 15-year-old comes up with Gothic smut, which we'll get to in a moment?

Then I listened to Summertime (the "and the living is easy" suckage) THREE TIMES, first by Porgy and Bess, then by Miles Davis, and then by Janis Joplin while an aging hippie with a crazy-ass beard talked about tone color and the guy in front of me unabashedly listened t his iPod the ENTIRE lecture.

Then I went to Earth Wind and Fire, where I found out that a.) it is possible to receive a Ph.D. from Princeton without actually knowing how to speak English clearly, b.) obviously the professor does not know that the first day is totally reserved for going over the syllabus and getting together with friends, idiot, and c.) people have got to stop having so much sex, because damn, the Earth cannot sustain them.

Then I came home and rummaged through old handbags looking for a change purse but found a dime and a half-punched Cold Stone Creamery card. Sweet.

And my daddy was kind enough to drive me, so that I did not end up shored up in a snowdrift. Which was very nice of him.


So, Academy Award noms!!! Johnny got one!!! I'm so excited!!! My wonderful mommy called me before class to let me know!!! That was so sweet!!!

And so help me God if Johnny is nominated and there's no awards show because neither the writers or the producers will put on their big girl panties and DEAL WITH IT then that old auditing guy earlier? Had it easy.

*steam*

While I was sitting in the Grind for hours and hours and hours this morning, I read The Monk, because it was in Northanger Abbey the other night, and my dad gave me his copy like five years ago to read and I haven't yet, and oh my goodness the scandal!!!

Then I found out it was written when the author was fifteen. FIFTEEN. My little brother's age. I don't really remember fifteen, it was a busy year what with the leaving high school and starting college and OMG PIRATES and the Crazy living with us and occasionally breaking down about the state of her union.

But I'm pretty sure I never thought, damn, I really need to write a tome about sex with a priest in which *spoilers* the woman is revealed to be the devil at the end, which is just not fair. (Not to advocate any vow breakage or anything, but her bosom wasn't the only one heaving, is all I'm saying.)

That was one fifteen-year-old with a hell of an imagination.

And also? I'm pretty sure they couldn't fit the word "bosom" in there once more. They'd reach their bosom limit. He may have had an imagination, but notsomuch with the vocabulary.


Lolcats tonight---

Just go get mom, okay.

Van Gogh cat...