Excuse me, your Catholicism is showing.

Today I had the first lecture in my Moses, Jesus, and Mohammad class. All of last week's time was devoted to an incredibly protracted disclaimer about how this was a HISTORY class in which we would only discuss HISTORICAL FACTS and there would NO BIAS and HISTORY HISTORY HISTORY.

Only to have the professor turn around and begin using incredibly Christian rhetoric unconsciously throughout the whole class. He said "ascended into heaven" like six times in reference to the Egyptian polytheistic beliefs. The Egyptians didn't call their afterlife "heaven". Ever. Meanwhile, I'm finishing the Nicene Creed in my head.

I mean, I don't mind, because your cultural filters are my cultural filters, baby, but still. Not unbiased.

In other religion-related news, the Over-Eager Protestants were back handing out little New Testaments on campus today. EVERYWHERE. Like, on ever corner. Which meant I got to politely decline the Word of God eighteen different times and WHATEVER STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M A BAD PERSON I ALREADY HAVE A NEW TESTAMENT, SIR. Incidentally, in another class the professor said he was getting kind of sick of having to go, "No, thank you, I already have one," every five minutes. Katie just looked at me and laughed.

I have major problems with these people. Because I applaud their fortitude. I certainly wouldn't do what they do, but it's just awkward. And I feel like I should take it because it is the Bible, even if it's the Weird Protestant Version, but then I'm left in the awkward position of having half a Bible lying around that I can't get rid of because it's the Bible but I don't really need it because it's not the whole Bible and I ALREADY HAVE SEVERAL I SWEAR I'M A GOOD PERSON.

In non-religion-related news, the iPod part of my iPhone has stopped working. It doesn't like playing a song for longer than three seconds, and it occasionally likes to select a song and start playing it at random like, when I'm in class, making it imperative that I keep the sound off. This sucks. What's worse is that until close of the store today I could have walked in and gotten an entirely new phone, no questions asked, because I bought it exactly 30 days ago. I called and discovered this as 8:56 PM. They closed at 9:00 PM.

Maybe I should have taken the Over-Eager Protestant's New Testament.

Does starting an online episode of Mad Men count as labor?

I think not. Party in a few hours. It's been a good holiday.

Anyway, I was leaving Mass this morning when somebody said, "Kathleen!" I stopped, because this actually happens a lot. It's usually someone I don't actually know who goes on to say, "Oh! You're John's granddaughter! We miss him so much!" And I have to smile and go, "Yes. Thanks, yeah, we do too. Now, do you know how to paint a ceiling?"

But this time it was some guy who looked vaguely familiar. He shook my hand and said, "Do you know anything about Jewish history in Milwaukee?"

Turns out he's one of the auditors in my Jewish Wisconsin class. Which made me feel kind of badly because I spent like an hour yesterday ranting about how if there is seating chart for that class the auditors are just going to mess it up and my God, man, there are only like three real students in the class and I know you can't tell my sister and me apart but whatever, neither can our parents some days and THIS IS JUST NOT A GOOD IDEA THE OLD PEOPLE THEY WILL SCREW WITH IT.

I'm sure this guy is smart enough to not mess with the seating chart.

He did ask if I had taken any of his other courses, and I had to think of a better response than, "Um. Yeah. All of them."

It's true. But it tends to creep people out.

We're at that place.

I helped my mom clean out her closet this afternoon and we came across her wedding gown. I realized that unlike every other daughter in the world, I've never tried it on. Clearly, this had to be remedied.

Also I was a little bit tired of sorting sweatshirts. My mother has a lot of sweatshirts.

I was pretty sure it wouldn't go on, because my mom weighed about as much as an African AIDS baby when she got married. It did go on, and it closed past my waist, and then stopped at my chest. I guess she wasn't a 34 D. Whatever.

She also suggested that my black bra made me look "less than virginal". Thanks, Mom.

I so need to marry wealthy.

Recently somebody asked me what I want to be when I grow up. I laughed and replied that I needed to marry into wealth. I was kidding. Sort of.

Today we picked up Grandpa's mail and discovered a Brooks Brothers catalogue that ostensibly should have gone to Renter Sent From God.

(We could tell this by the fact that HE HAS A CUSTOMER NUMBER. AT BROOKS BROTHERS. Did I mention how much I hate him?)

I have spent the better part of the evening paging through it and drinking. Not a good combination. I have fallen in love with each and every male model, and a good number of the female ones. What? They're statuesque and very handsome.

On one page, a gentleman wears a bow tie. Without a hint of irony.

On another, a silk scarf is for sale- only $298.

My mom asked my dad how his cashmere sweaters were holding up- they were running a special, only $300 for three.

I am not feeling so good about my choice to pursue graduate degrees in history and theology. I can't even envision a scenario in which either of those things ends up with me spending $200 on a twinset. Maybe in National Treasure. Maybe. But even they gave the treasure away, and poor Diane Kruger had to go back to paying off her student loans.

Hmmm. Maybe I should call customer service and see if they have Renter's credit card on file. The evening could have just gotten better!

Genocide is easy.

I love this one professor. I stalk him. He gives me As, I sign up for all of his woefully underfunded classes. It's a twisted relationship, but it works. However, after hearing three of his introductory lectures today, my goodnes, I could write that damn syllabus.

I did find out that I don't have to find anyone else to read my thesis, and there is no defense. Oh. Thank. God. That just relieved like 97% of the stress of this year.

Now I can just relax and focus on...the Holocaust?

That's better.

First day of classes was lovely. Had a latte and a muffin and a wrap and wow, is it weird that I can tell you more about what I had for lunch than what went on in my architecture class? I don't think so. Of everyone in my family, my relationship with food has always been the healthiest. Well, at least until I met Pacific Wraps.

Anyway.

My Italian Renaissance class is lovely, and the professor is not the evil woman her picture and emails make her out to be. She is, however, an architect. She gets into, like, building materials and tension and stuff and whatever, lady, can we talk about iconography in relief sculpture yet? Because that is so much more fun.

Tomorrow is so much religion than I may decide to screw it all and become an atheist by 5:00 (unlikely, I suppose.) Jewish Wisconsin, Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed, Arab-Israeli conflict, and intro to Jewish history. AND then I feel like I should got to Mass just to reorientate myself.

May 18th was a long time ago.

Ahh. Tomorrow classes start. I ended up on campus today, running errands, and discovered that...wow. There are a lot of people. Huh. I think I know why I like the middle of the semester after everybody stops showing up. Oh well. It will still be fun.

I'm not sure how much fun art history will be, because I got a rather snippy e-mail from the professor basically telling us that we were ALL RESPONSIBLE FOR GETTING OUR SYLLABUS OFF D2L AND THERE WOULD BE NO PAPER COPIES AND OMG YOU'D BETTER HAVE IT. However, it hasn't actually been posted on D2L yet. So...yeah. There's that.

Anyway. Jewish history looks ridiculously easy- three tests and a paper. Other than the anal-retentive prohibition of eating anything or using a laptop, seems pretty good.

However, I don't get my T-Money fix until Thursday. *pouts* This is very disappointing.

I I do so love incense and chrism.

Thirty-six hours until I'm back in school! Well, until my sister is back in school and I'm killing another six hours before my class, but whatever. I'm not splitting hairs.

Meanwhile, I had my first little catechist meeting tonight...yes, that's right, I decided I liked Confirmation more than I like watching How I Met Your Mother. I know, right? Emotional growth. Also, I really like being involved in big fun Masses at the cathedral and yep, there's pretty much only Confirmation for that. ANYWAY. It was fun. Probably more fun than the Learn-How-Not-To-Molest-Your-Students meeting I have to go to later this month. I'm not thinking it will be too much of a problem- I didn't like seventeen-year-olds when I was seventeen. The entire first session seems to be devoted to role playing with flags and crazy awkward questions? I don't know. I'm sure the Holy Spirit will pop up in there sometime.

To be perfectly honest, I don't remember a whole lot about the prep classes I went through, even though it was only a few years ago. I remember that Mary and I were the only ones who showed up in ninth grade, I remember being ridiculously uncomfortable during the two hours of sex discussion with Father Ken in tenth grade, and I...kind of blanked on eleventh. I remember my interviews, and thinking that was pretty stupid because it was with a man who knew me quite well and knew that I was coherent enough to have consciously decided to be confirmed. But other than that...nope.

So. This should be a whole new experience!

Stupid technology, messing with my oversharing.

Facebook won't let me upload pictures. And that knows that very important people in my life like that kid I went to grade school with and my old priest won't get to see pictures from our cupcake/Phantom of the opera viewing night last weekend. Which was actually less viewing and more shouting increasingly lewd comments at the screen as the evening wore on.

What? I'm sorry. You cannot expect me to be mature during The Music of the Night. That's crazy talk right there.

So, I will have to try again tomorrow, when I'm supposed to be doing all sorts of other things that I've ignored for the past few weeks because on days I have to work I prefer to expend all my excess energy on watching Doctor Who episodes and trying to figure out if it's possible to hate someone as much as I hate Billie Piper. Cleaning the pit that is my office so that I could theoretically compose a senior thesis in it this year? Not so much.

All that and a trip to Wal-Mart because I'm too poor for Target ($25 for fitted petite workout pants, Target? I think not.). Exciting!

I know, it's been a few days.

Last night, babysitting:

Zoey: Where's that blue lady?

Me: Who?

Zoey. That lady that was with you. The blue lady.

Me: Um...oh, my sister? Colleen? She was wearing a blue shirt, that's very smart of you to remember.

Zoey: Is she coming?

Me: No, she had to go out with her friends.

Zoey: Oh. *pause* She wears your shoes, you know.

Me: Yeah, I know.

Zoey: That's silly.

I'm going to miss that kid.

I fail at being an adult.

Oh, internets. A week from tomorrow I'll be heading back to school and I won't have to work a whole lot and ah, yes, the world shall be right side up again. Because while I do enjoy that whole oh, hey! A paycheck actually gets deposited into your checking account thing, I don't care how many reserves for The Lost Symbol we get. In fact, I think Dan Brown kind of sucks as a writer (!!!). My problems with The Da Vinci Code were less that I disagreed with the subject matter (which I did...but FICTION PEOPLE) and more the with dangling modifiers. I don't know if it had an intriguing plot because I couldn't figure out where the verbs were in most of the sentences.

Again, I'm not allowed to say this.

I'm also not allowed to say, "Oh, thank God you're locking it in at 40% off. Because trust me, you do not want to pay more than $16.87 for this."

But in a week! In a week I will be back in art history and history and Jewish studies and ZOMG SO HAPPY. *squee*

Apologies

In June, we rented my Grandpa's house. The house that kind of technically wasn't totally finished yet. The house that still had, oh, a lot of stuff in the closets as well as the stuff we needed during the year it took to get it ready (tools, cleaning supplies, industrial size bottles of Maker's Mark, etc.). When we rented it to the family that lives there (or God's Gift to Landlords, as we refer to them, or, depending on how much I've had to drink, I Want Them To Be My New Mommy and Daddy I Love You But You Don't Pay My Tuition) all that stuff had to go somewhere.

Shockingly, our house wasn't quite big enough to absorb everything from there (I know right? Because if my grandparents were known for anything it was their sense of minimalist decor.), and finally it just become a "oh, screw it, stick it in the basement and we'll deal with it later" sort of situation.

(We had a lot of those during this whole experience. Shocking, right? Because it's so completely unlike us to ignore bad things. It's all Grandma's fault- the genetic root lies with her.)

The place it ended up getting dumped in was my room in the basement. Not a big deal because I really only use it as a study during the school year, and my GRE study guide could be safely ignored from my bedroom upstairs. I generously offered them the use of the floorspace that doesn't technically belong to me at all in any way, as long as it would all be cleaned up by the time school started again.

School starts next Tuesday Wednesday. (I totally thought it was Tuesday until yesterday.) As of last night, there were still eleventy jillion boxes and bags and some dead animal that my grandma called a fur. I may have expressed some thought that it would not be cleaned up by the time I needed it in a few weeks.

(By expressed I might mean screaming and yelling. Again, so unlike me.)

But lo! I needn't have worried. My mom was completely true to her word and everything is gone except for a teensy weensy bile of boxes in the corner that I hardly notice because, hey, it's not like I'm that clean, either. My clutter just originates post-Reagan era, that's all.

So my apologies, Mommy. You totally kept up your end of the deal.

Dear Phantom*,

Hi! I'd just like you to know that since that whole thing with Christine didn't work out, I'm totally available to take your calls. I mean, completely. I wouldn't stomp on your heart or anything. I'd be totally into all the dungeon sex and the dioramas of my life and even the weird Dress Up Barbie doll you've created of me. All good things.

So...yeah. Not all of us are stupid whores who are probably secretly lesbians because why else would you leave with that pansy Raoul? Huh?

Just thought you should know.

Love,
Kathleen

2004 Movie Version Phantom Need Only Apply

I'm not going to tempt fate.

I would say that I'm finished taking the last standardized test I'm ever going to have to take, but I'm sure then God would think it was funny to make me go get an MBA or something that would require ANOTHER admissions test that would require ANOTHER morning spent chewing on my bottom lip and dragging my mother to friggin' Brookfield because I knew if I was alone in the car it would just lead to more major freaking outage and I CANNOT HANDLE THAT. Yes. Haha, God. I see what You did there.

While we were driving out to the testing place, I asked her if she was nervous before she took the LSAT. My mother's LSAT scores are something of a legend in my family. She worked ridiculously hard and earned a ridiculously high score that she maintains is due entirely to her practice test acumen and I maintain is due to her innate intelligence and STOP PUSHING THE KAPLAN BOOKS AT ME WOMAN I DON'T WANT TO WORK THAT HARD.

ANYWAY. I figured she must have been pretty nervous about it, seeing as there are also stories where she blanks and loses it during a law school exam. My kind of person. No wonder, half of her DNA makes me!

She kind of thought for a minute and said, "Yeah, I was a little nervous. But I also hadn't told that many people. I didn't PUT IT ALL OVER THE INTERNET."

Pssh. You know what? This the 21st century, Mother Dearest. And if I want to overshare, dammit, I am going to overshare.

There's no screaming...

...yet. I am kind of quietly freaking out. I've done all the practice tests, but I can't remember any of the math or any words or why I'm doing this again instead of taking up exotic dancing because surely a future of body glitter and answering to the name Candi Sparkles would be preferable to this agony.

Oh. I emptied all my wastebaskets. That's normal.

BBC Reading List

The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books here. How do your reading habits stack up?

Instructions: Copy this into your NOTES. Look at the list and put an 'x' next to those you have read. Tag other book nerds.

[x] Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
[] The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
[x] Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
[X] Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
[X] To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
[x] The Bible
[x] Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
[x] Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
[] His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
[X]Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

Total: 8/10

[x] Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
[] Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
[] Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
[] Complete Works of Shakespeare
[x] Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
[] The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
[] Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
[] Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
[x] The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
[x] Middlemarch - George Eliot

Total: 4/10

[x] Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
[x] The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
[x] Bleak House - Charles Dickens[x] War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
[x] The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
[x] Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
[x] Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
[x] Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
[] The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

Total: 8/9

[x] Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
[x] David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
[] Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
[x] Emma - Jane Austen[x] Persuasion - Jane Austen
[] The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
[x] The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
[x] Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
[x] Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
[x] Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne

Total: 8/10

[x] Animal Farm - George Orwell
[x] The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
[] One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
[x] A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
[x] The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
[x] Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
[] Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
[x] The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood (Made me want to burn my bra.)
[x] Lord of the Flies - William Golding
[x] Atonement - Ian McEwan

Total: 8/10

[x] Life of Pi - Yann Martel
[] Dune - Frank Herbert
[] Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
[x] Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
[] A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
[x] The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
[x] A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
[] Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
[x] The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night - Mark Haddon
[x] Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Total: 6/10

[x] Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
[x] Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
[x] The Secret History - Donna Tartt
[x] The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
[X] Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
[x] On The Road - Jack Kerouac
[] Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
[x] Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
[] Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
[x] Moby Dick - Herman Melville

Total: 8/9

[x] Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
[x] Dracula - Bram Stoker
[x] The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
[x] Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
[x] Ulysses - James Joyce- I tried. It counts.
[x] The Inferno – Dante
[] Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
[] Germinal - Emile Zola
[x] Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
[] Possession - AS Byatt

Total: 5/10

[x] A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
[] Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
[] The Color Purple - Alice Walker
[] The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
[x] Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
[] A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
[x] Charlotte’s Web - EB White
[x] The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
[X] Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
[ ] The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

Total: 5/10

[] Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
[X] The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
[] The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
[] Watership Down - Richard Adams
[] A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
[] A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
[x] The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
[X] Hamlet - William Shakespeare
[X] Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
[x] Les Miserables - Victor Hug

Total 5/10

TOTAL: 65/98

Irish Fest Break

Most things in my life stop the third weekend on in August. Like blogging. Or cleaning my house. Or sleeping, eating normally, doing athletic beyond walking from complex carbohydrate to complex carbohydrate (Dinner last night was a potato and french fries. Yeah. I know.), or being fiscally responsible.

But I have an Ireland sweatshirt! And a Connemara marble necklace!

But it was fun- I loved the whole focus on Northern Ireland thing, even if it was disturbingly nationalistic. I danced on a table and managed to not fall off like the woman next to me. Also, the woman who read the first reading this morning said "appreciate" with an "s" sound, and that made me happy.

I came home and had major plans to vacuum, do some laundry, and work out. And...then I took a two and a half hour nap. Which was also good.

Lazy.

I really like wearing my dark purple nail polish, as it is exactly as far into "edgy" as a five-three pasty redhead can get without looking ridiculous, but oh, the upkeep. I have to, like, paint them and stuff. Way too much work.

Okay. That had nothing to do with anything. Which has been pretty much the last few days. I've been working- a lot. I've been annoyed with people- a lot. I've gotten nauseous about the GRE- a lot. That's pretty much it.

I cannot express how much I want it to be a week from tonight. Because then I won't have this ridiculous test hanging over my head and I can return to not even caring about how you factor (a+b)2-(a-b)2 or more importantly, why you'd want to. That is exactly how I have survived the four years since I took advanced algebra in high school and we've all gotten along just fine thank you very much.

Meanwhile, I now have a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to fail the verbal section because I've been focusing on the math (which such fantastic results). Ignore the fact that there is no way to actually fail the test. Or that I've never had a problem with the verbal portion of any test. Or that half the schools I'm applying to don't care whether I got a 200 or an 800. I'M STILL GOING TO FAIL.

Speaking of which, I kind of fail at life. Ugh. I'm going to bed.

Be all things to all people.

So...apparently Possible Tenant #2 seems perfectly nice, if a little confused and heartbroken and omg ur takin my dog!

To which I say, no, you do not need to work out your personal problems in my house.

I'm sure Jesus is watching me and going, "they're wasting a prospective theology degree on this one?"

Once Upon A Time...

...so you may have noticed that the number of "what the frick this house is killing me" posts have decreased substantially. Now, the number of "what the frick the GRE is killing me" posts have increased exponentially. I know what you're thinking- hey, the crazy is starting to make sense. But that's not necessarily a correlation.

No, really, I'm just crazy about two different things.

The main reason is that we rented the house at the beginning of summer. I was so not cool with that. Really, really not. Those were MY countertops and MY house and ALL Y'ALLS NEED TO JUST STEP OFF. However, we ended up with the best family in the world. Independently wealthy, clean, short-term tenants. Dear God, I wanted them to be my new parents.

The last couple of months, gradually, I've gotten used to someone else being in that house. The (sometimes visceral) pain has kind of faded. I no longer freak out about certain things. Things are good.

But now they're leaving. And we need to find someone else. And I don't like this. AT ALL.

Again with the not sharing.

When one prospective renter asked what we were interested in, I really wanted to say, "Nice millionaires with adorable three-year-olds who need a babysitter? Is that you?"

Day 2

Much like when one has a newborn, I've been up late with my iPhone the last few nights. Mostly because Apple is an evil company that most likely employs people who are way, way more intelligent than me (and didn't get an embarrassingly low score on their practice math GRE this afternoon) to sit in a room and come up with way to screw up something as simple as uploading data.

Fortunately, they also employ people who answer phones and give you illegal solutions all the while telling you "No, miss, I'm sorry. There's no way you can do that. But please right click for me..."

Our relationship. It's complicated.

This just in.

iPhones are fantastic.

Updating your facebook status from the car is fantastic.

iTunes stores that don't work on your computer are not so fantastic.

Having to put your 289 songs on CD and then transfer them to your laptop because of some weird theft protection thing is also not so fanastic.

Steve Jobs needs to call my father.

So this evening I was exploring my phone upgrade options and made the mistake of discussing the service plans in mixed company.

Me: So that's thirty for the data plan, and five for texts...

Dad: Why do you need text messages?

Me:...because I live in the world?

Dad: You're holding a phone. Why don't you open the phone and call the person?

Me: Okay. We're not having the generation gap conversation right now. I need a new phone!

Maybe he knows I voted for McCain.

Even though I haven't actually changed majors yet, I decided to go ahead and drop my gnosticism class before the cut-off for, you know, being charged.

This means that:

1.) I don't have to take a GNOSTICISM class.

2.) I only have one class on Mondays and Wednesdays, which will make the whole car situation a lot easier.

3.) I saved $900 of overload fees.

4.) I don't have to head to the Illinois border and start stripping to come up with the $900 in overload fees.

5.) I won't have the urge to scrawl "I'M PAYING $900 TO TAKE YOUR STUPID CLASS WHY DO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH???" on my exams for Jews in Wisconsin.

A pretty good deal.

According to PAWS, I owe $3853.15, of which financial aid (I use that term loosely- the money that the government is allowing me to use for a few months while they begin charging me exorbitant interest RIGHT NOW because God knows that this whole "Grandpa's house" thing has been such a financial boon to us. Please, Federal Government. You obviously haven't been reading this blog too long.) will cover $3731.26. So I only have to come up with about $120.

Which means I might be able to actually afford books! I know, right? Don't get too crazy.

The books. They talk to me.

I've been using this GRE study guide for a while. It's the typical, huge, clinical study guide. Full of practice tests and chapters devoted to explaining the sections and the most personal thing in it is an admonition to eat breakfast the day of the test. Honestly? This is a graduate school test. You can't just trust us to eat if we're hungry?

Since I registered for the test, though, I've been hitting several different books from different companies including, my favorite, GRE for Dummies. I love this book. I want to have this book's babies. It's not-at-all-condescending babies.

Because the study guide is mean. It's all, well why don't you remember how to factor a polynomial? You had to ask your little brother for help? You fail. At life. And oh, yeah, you're fat, too.

The Dummies book is like, you're okay. Calm down. Seriously- keep breathing. You have other gifts. You are still a functioning member of society, even if you had to text your 16-year-old brother from work saying "omg we're doing quadratic equations when I get home". Seriously. Breathe. You'll be fine. Also? You're pretty and not at all bloated.

I think I'm only going to work with the Dummies book from now on. Because REA clearly wants to ruin my life.

Much more my speed.

Ahhh. There were no sports. No embarrassing "oh, hey, I've...yeah, I don't have that" volleyball things. Just trivia night.


So even though I didn't know that Uncle Tom's Cabin was only outsold by the Bible in the 19th century, a pretty good evening.

Is 8:53 too early to go to bed?

I don't think so. I'm tired. I've had a long day of pretending to care about retail and my goodness, I just do not.

This? THIS is why I need to get into graduate school. Because I do think it's important that people understand the nature of the sectarian tension in Northern Ireland, and I do think that when we look back at the Good Friday Accords we will be seeing about a ten year ceasefire rather than a lasting peace, and I do want to tell EVERYONE this. This is important.

How many Twilight calendars I sold? Notsomuch.

Obviously, I cannot do the whole "retail as a career" thing. Obviously.

Ugh. Tomorrow...well, let's just say tomorrow the B crew is on and I'll be able to not even pretend to work. Thank goodness. I have limits. There are only so many copies of former Archbishop Weakland's autobiography I can sell before I begin to tell the customers what I think about it, and I'm guessing that won't be totally cool with management.

Possibly.

Ooh, I've decided to go ahead and do the Jewish Studies major thing, so with the click of a mouse I made my senior year way more interesting, got rid of the Advisor from the Black Lagoon, and saved myself $900. L'chaim!

Administrative

I finally got around to doing all the things I was supposed to do a few weeks ago today. Of course, those things really only amounted to sending a few e-mails. What can I say? I've been busy. Actually taking the time to spell-check an e-mail would have seriously cut into my Facebook stalking time. That would have been unacceptable.

So now I know that I for sure have a thesis advisor, and that he's totally down with my writing about the Jews (although not, perhaps, specifically eastern European ones- "There aren't that many left." Um. Yeah. I know. I'm a history major.) I don't, however know if I have a second major. Or, rather, a second major that will make the unbelievably huge number that shows up next to "You owe:" on PAWS now go down $900. Because the more I think about it, the more gnosticism is So. Not. Worth it.


(I mean the class, not the concept. Although I happen to not believe the concept is worth it, either.)

I'm feeling rather good about everything I accomplished. Except for the part where I opened the GRE prep book and immediately got dizzy. That part? Not so much.

What the hell did I know?

I remember leaving Port Washington High School on the morning that I took the ACT and thinking, "Heh. This is the last standardized test I'm ever going to have to take."

Heh. I was wrong.

I didn't exactly freak out over the ACT. I mean, don't get me wrong. I freaked out. But there was no wailing or gnashing of teeth or anything, which is remarkably restrained for someone like me, Keeper of All Things Academically Crazy. I had studiously avoided the practice tests that my mom tried to get me to take, and I was going on like three hours of sleep (WHAT? It's not my fault that John Paul II's funeral was on the night before and I stayed up to watch it. I was being a good Catholic.), and there wasn't any heavy-duty screaming or crying or anything. I remember being generally okay with the whole thing, mostly annoyed because it took forfreakingever.

That was four years ago. I just registered for the GRE, which I was supposed to do earlier this summer but studiously avoided because as long as I'm not sending scores to anyone, I'm still a kid, right? RIGHT? Yeah. Apparently, I've changed a little bit. Because I'm freaking out. Royally.

Quietly. But royally.

(My mom keeps looking over at me and going, "Are you okay?"; "Still doing okay?"; "Wow, I'm impressed. I thought there would be screaming.", as though I were a victim of PTSD or just went through a bad breakup or something.)

Make no mistake. I'm stressed. I'm not feeling ready, every word I've ever learned in my entire life has completely left my brain, and despite the fact that half the schools I'm applying to don't even require the damn thing, I'm convinced that I'll do so poorly I won't get in anywhere. But I'm not screaming.

Yet.

Give me a few days. Then I'm guessing you'll be able to hear me.

Meanwhile, I need to start hitting the novenas, like, hard. I mean, I want a graduate degree in theology to help glorify God, right? So shouldn't He be slightly responsible for helping me get admitted? I think so.

But wait. I think the best part of this whole, entire, nausea-inducing process is the part where I put in my credit card number and was charged $150 for the PRIVILEGE OF GOING THROUGH THIS, THIS WHAT SURELY DESERVES ITS OWN CIRCLE OF HELL.

That was my favorite.

I knew there was a reason that I work at a bookstore.

We received the New York Public Library Student Planner today, and I was able to purchase a copy at 33% off.

I am hard pressed to find words to describe how much I love this calendar. Last year was the first year I used one, and it is, without doubt, the best planner you can possibly find. EVER. Better than any of the other planners I've ever used. The days are laid out in columns, which makes it a lot easier to plan the week, there are sections at the bottom of each day that I can use to write which assignments need to be completed on which day (shut up, I'm organized, and it works), and there is a "philosophical" saying for each week like, "History is the name we give our mistakes," that just makes me laugh.

Let's put it this way. If I were stranded on a desert island, I'd really only need this planner and a supply of skinny caramel lattes. You know, so I could schedule "run from natives" under the extracurricular section, and "finally study for GREs" under the "assignments" tab. Because let's face it, the only thing that will finally make me do that is being stuck on a desert island.

Sadly, last year's died when I spilled water all over it on the last day of school, and I have been using a regular (*retch) planner from Target all summer. Which isn't too bad, because the only things I have to plan are "work two hours a week" and "count down days until school starts and you actually have something to write in here" and "fail at regular life". All pretty worthless.

But today! Today it is all better. And now I can go back to school.

In a month. *headdesk*

Bummer, Ted.

Oh, internets. There was a time. Winter of 2004. I was 16, and still high on the whole Pirates of the Caribbean thing. My days were taken up with alternately planning ways for Vanessa Paradis to die, and trying to decide what I should major in if my new career goal was to be Johnny Depp's kept woman. (Incidently, it probably would have been history- look how far we've come.)

I saw Secret Window in theaters four time. Restrained, actually, given the unbelievable and embarrassing number of times I saw Pirates. I loved that movie. Johnny Depp was crazy and creative and adorable and just weird enough that it was funny but not Fear-and-Loathing-in-Las-Vegas weird that is just kind of off-putting to a little white girl from Bayside who has had it drilled into her by her mother since she was a toddler that anyone with tattoos is unacceptable.

We watched it again tonight, and I still totally love it.

The best part? The end, with the girl from the post office who was totally into him, you know, before he started killing people and then is all pssh, whatevs afterwards. My response? OH MY GOSH YOU DUMB WHORE IT'S JOHNNY DEPP I DON'T CARE THAT HE'S FOND OF DECAPITATION BY SHOVEL PUT UP AND SHUT UP.

Hmm. Maybe I'm the dumb whore.

Attention Span of a Gnat

Yesterday I was going to put up something about how life was generally going better than a year ago, a day when I was so emotionally drained that the sum total of my thoughts regarding my grandfather's funeral was "hey, that soldier guy was pretty hot and who can buy me another drink?"

Shining moment of emotional fortitude.

But by the time I got home and realized that I had to be awake in a very small number of hours, like, three, that...didn't happen.

That same commitment to excellence carried on this morning when I spent the whole hour before opening sitting on the ground in the religion section looking at books because THREE HOURS DID YOU HEAR ME???

(Also, I kind of enjoy getting my theology on while being vaguely unethical by, you know, not working so hard. I enjoy being a walking contradiction.)

Religion is probably my favorite section at work, if only because they refuse to let me place all the Alan Rickman DVDs on one shelf. No, seriously. Because it allows me to be moved, enlightened, made to feel guilty, and be judgemental- ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!! Like my internal monologue this morning-

"Ooh, is it possible to love Benedict XVI more because the picture on the cover of his book about St. Paul is a Caravaggio? I mean, I'm sure he didn't pick that out, but still...I love Caravaggio. And St. Paul! I should buy this book! What better use of my discount...okay. That's right. I'm poor."

"Am I the only person who gets massively confused when faced with the Summa Theologiae? Please tell me no and that I'll still get through graduate school."

"I really hate Bart Erhman. And Kerry Kennedy. And who keeps buying Andrew Greeley more printer ink? That man needs to be cut off. I am sick of his treatises on why he should be allowed to have sex."

Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to say any of those things to actual customers. Pssh. Whatever.

Oh, the vanity.

Yeah, I just straightened my hair during a severe thunderstorm warning. Like, I held small appliances that were plugged into live electrical outlets NEXT TO MY HEAD.

Because I was worried it was going to get worse and the power would go out, and then I would be stuck looking like a Muppet all day tomorrow and that would just be unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE AND WORTH POSSIBLE ELECTROCUTION I TELL YOU.

There weren't any major lightening strikes, and I managed to get through without frying my self and/or head. Always a good thing.

See? If God had just seen fit to give me nice normal hair that dried in a nice normal way that in no way resembled a flaming bush of Biblical proportions? THIS WOULDN'T BE A CONCERN.

But no. I got the shanty-Irish head of crazy. Thanks a lot, Dad.

Weirdness.

I haven't cried today. I didn't drink...a lot. I mostly just feel tired.

Hmm.

Broken Record

One year ago tonight, I was driving home with my cousin and we were talking about how the next few days were going to play out. We knew things weren't good. I was the only one who read that "What to Expect" folder that the hospice people left, but I'm pretty sure everybody knew it was probably only going to be a few days at most.

He said how horrible it was, and how it sucked that we knew it would get worse when he actually died. We talked about how we knew we would all get through it though. That night, I stood in the living room and remembered being there the morning that Grandma died. I remembered feeling so horrible and thinking that we would never get through that. But we did. We got through it. I knew that whatever happened with Grandpa, we would get through that too. That was comforting.

Tonight, I'm not sure how I feel. I think I was right. We've all gotten through the last year. And despite whatever paint fumes-induced raging I may have spewed all over the internet (or how much I may occasionally still feel like that), we got through a year without Grandpa relatively intact.

But it still sucks. I don't know how tomorrow is going to be. I'm guessing it's going to be pretty horrible, because this whole damn year week has been horrible. I'm guessing I'm going to wake up, have a drink, and go back to bed.

(My mom: Yeah, because Grandpa would want us to deal with it by being sloshed.
Me: Um. Yeah. It worked last year! My Lord, my Sunday morning I was so sick I was like, "Yeah, thanks, we loved him too...I need to go sit down now..." And I do think that that is exactly how Mr. I-Used-My-Engineering-Background-To-Make-Beer-Better would want us to deal with it.)

So we've made it. But maybe I'll have to get back to you about the condition we've made it in next year.

Some days you do...

...and some days you don't. Apparently, I can write every single day for a year if people die, shit goes down, and I have to redo a house; but during a week when I have to work like thirty whole hours and be repeatedly body slammed by a three-year-old who thinks this is like the funniest thing ever? Forget about it. I'm not that busy. I'm not that tired. I've even kind of stopped working out because vermin babies have moved into the basement and like hell I'm going to spend half an hour alone down there at five in the morning while some mouse in the corner plans the quickest and most terrifying way to effect my demise. But with the writing? Meh. Notsomuch.

So remember last week? The whole volleyball fiasco game? I'm (marginally) better at four-square.

Yes. That's right. I don't suck quite as badly at a game that seven-year-olds can play with ease.

40 Years

Yeah, it's a geeky good time here tonight at Chez Morena, as my mother views all things space-related in the same way I view Johnny Depp movies. It is rather cool, and my little baby-of-the-eighties self wishes she could have been around to see it. Mostly I wish Grandpa was around for this, because he would have loved it.

Otherwise, not a whole lot else going on. I spent today doing errands like going to Wal-Mart (left feeling dirty...as per usual) and the bank (if you're ever looking to rent a house, I highly suggest that you find a ridiculously wealthy couple who have a packed social calendar and no babysitter- it will be highly profitable).

And the Empress will be undergoing some imperial surgery tomorrow, so that is very sad. Although she is more sad that I am working throughout her recovery because (and I quote), "Who will run to get me coffee?"

Kathleen & A Bottle of Wine Plus People.com

So you know the bimbo that Jon (of & Kate) is going out with? Who's, like, my age? She's the daughter of the plastic surgeon who performed Kate's tummy tuck.

That, sir, is disgusting.

Why did y'all have to go and ruin that adorable show with the adorable children who will now just grow up to be crack whores and pimps?

It's just sad.

Things I Have Recently Discovered

I've taken to babysitting, because, well, Wisconsin raised tuition and I have credit cards and it makes Jesus weep less than stripping?

ANYWAY. Turns out you pick up a lot.

- The Milwaukee Country Club has a BUNCH of rules and a really long handbook. One that I read, cover-to-cover, and then checked the directory for people I knew. Because I am never going to be listed in that book with two separate addresses, one for summer and one for winter.

- Joe from Blue's Clues is kind of hot. A cursory IMDB search also indicates that he is (most likely) straight and engaged. Oh well. And here I thought I could have adorable children AND not have to keep them entertained.

- The couple, while perfectly nice, have no fricking clue what I've been through in that house. I was playing with the little girl on the floor and the mom went, "Heh, I bet you like coming over hear and having to deal with the hard floors. You must go home with sore knees!" Um. Yes. I tore up this carpeting. I've spend hours sitting on the floor because we got rid of the chairs. I once went home with sore armpits. Playing with racecars for twenty minutes isn't going to kill me. I promise.

- Playing with racecars on MY hardwood floor almost did, though.

- I seriously need to marry into wealth.

Inside Thought

This morning I was working in music, and played The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack. A gentleman approached me.

Soon To Be Recognized As Creepy Guy: What song is this?

Morena: It's Music of the Night, from The Phantom of the Opera.

STBRACG: I thought I recognized it. I've actually seen it.

Morena: Oh, that's cool. Did you enjoy it?

STBRACG: Oh, yes. It elicited some very...intense feelings. *wink*

Author's Note: I am not even kidding. He winked at me.

Morena: Um...okay. Well, let me know if you have any other questions. *runs away*

***

Thinking back, now I'm confused. Was he into the Phantom? Was he into Christine? The weird, controlling, totally-not-cool aspect of their relationship. I don't know. And I don't think I really want to.

Well...

...we can officially cross volleyball player off the list of possible careers. Despite the fact that it was the only unit in gym class that I attended before I got mono and the rest of my freshman year gym class consisted of sitting on the bleachers in cute clothes watching other people get all nasty and sweaty, I suck at volleyball.

I am, however, good at having fun at Bar Louie.

So. You know. There's that.

Yes. Fantastic timing.

I haven't worked, like, all summer. I have no life. Of course, the week that I have almost full-time hours and actual things to do, I would get a cold.

Okay. No, I don't have to go to Harry Potter at midnight tonight when I have to be up to open the store tomorrow morning. But, dude, it's Snape. Doing something to someone that I'm not going to mention in case there is someone who has been researching penguins in the arctic for the last five years and doesn't want the ending spoiled for her.

But, oh, God. So sick.

He's...really getting too old for this.

Harry Potter 6 tomorrow night, everybody! SO EXCITING. I just reread the book, and honestly? There's a scene in it in which Snape runs.

And my first thought was, "Ooh, that's...not going to be pretty."

*sigh*

Why couldn't they have started making these when A Rick was just a little bit younger.

***

In other news, my father just pushed a dirty dish towards me, as though it were my job to do his dishes for him. I informed him that this incident would be going on the internet and would survive in cyberspace for longer than he is alive.

Because NO ONE pushes dishes at me. Understood?

I understand that I'm the one who cleans the house. I'm the one who does the dishes that everybody just leaves in the sink. But your individual dirty dish? IS NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY.

Ah. That feels better.

The Eagle Odyssey

It took more work to get us all together for a day than it took to orchestrate the Camp David Accords, but dammit, did we have a good time.

And there are three separate Facebook albums up already, with probably two more coming. So if you'd like a minute-by-minute record of the day, check over there.

I think my favorite part? Was Colleen going, "Bringing anything organic into the country?"

I was hoping for more of a circus.

Ernest Borgnine came in to work today to do what was supposed to be an hours long reading and signing thing and ended up being a rather quick wait, what do you mean you're leaving, we have hundreds of people here holding pictures of clowns and what time exactly does the freaking game start?

Yeah. That was a little annoying.

Also annoying were the huge number of people who felt the need to come up to me and tell me how much they disliked the wristband system and that next time we should try something different (they all had ideas, they just had different ones and they were all ridiculous). To which my response was, "Listen, lady, if it worked for Harry Potter 7, it will work for pretty much anything. Now sit down and shut up."

Only I didn't say that. Because I enjoy being able to pay my tuition.

He didn't do anything inappropriate, though. That kind of disappointed me. I've heard him be really skeevy on other interviews, and I was really hoping for something inappropriate, but alas, no. *sigh*

I did, however, come across like four copies of that book written by that priest from Miami? You know, that one? For the low, low price of $3.99. Because, shockingly, no one wanted to know what his 7 Paths to a Deeper Relationship were. I'm guessing at least one path started with, "Remove Roman collar." And perhaps ended with, "Jump ship to the Episcopalians."

One of my coworkers did have a massive crush on Ernie, though, so that made me laugh.

Surreal

Last night was...interesting. It was fine, the little girl was adorable and well-behaved and went to sleep at 8:30 leaving me free to be paid handsomely to lounge on their brand-new couch and watch Time Warner's digital cable package that I'm too poor to afford. And despite a frantic phone call from my mother ("Do you even know how to work a diaper?" "No, mother, I've maintained a 3.9 GPA without understanding how adhesive strips work.), there were no major mishaps.

Oh. She hit her head with the trapeze from the swing set. But her parents were still home, so that was totally not my fault.

But it was really weird to spend the evening in this house that I've spent so many evenings in before, but with someone else's kid and someone else's stuff all over. It was even weirder because they haven't bought a lot of furniture, so they've used a lot of my grandparents' stuff.

The strangest thing is that they don't know me, and they have no idea what that house means to me. Before she left, the mom got a bottle down from the kitchen cabinet because she wasn't sure I could reach, and my first instinct was, oh, yeah, I had to use a ladder to paint that. When Zoe and I played outside, it was like I was playing with my brother and sister again when we were little. When I grabbed her to stop her from slipping on the stairs all I could think about was how worried I was that Grandpa was going to fall on those steps.

But again. Being paid to be vaguely contemplative and watch BBC America in HD? Not a bad way to spend an evening.

Harry Potter and the Fundamentalist Judgement

For my tenth or eleventh birthday, I received a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. It had just been published in the United States, and was hugely popular (although having worked at a bookstore the night the final installment was released, I think I know what the Chicago police felt like in 1968), but mostly controversial at the time. Remember the whole Christian right freaking out about Harry being a wizard and there was talk of censorship and book burning and I'm sure Jerry Falwell said something inappropriate? Yeah, that was going on.

I wasn't a fantasy girl. At all. The entire genre never held any appeal to me. I had plenty of other stuff to read, so I just never read it.

We were, however, hanging out with a lot of fundamentalist Christians at the time (thank you, homeschooling). One of them (actually, not from homeschooling, but whatever) was unbelievably bent out of shape over this whole thing, and took my copy of the book to show her pastor.

(Because he couldn't get his hands on the most popular book of the year? They've only printed 400,000,000 copies.)

I never got it back. I was a little peeved. But mostly scared of what she would say to me if she knew I wanted it back. This was the woman who told us we didn't need our pumpkins for trick-or-treating, because we had Jesus.

Well, yeah. But if I carried around a hollowed-out Jesus head, that would be a little bit disrespectful, now wouldn't it?

Yes. She was a little scary.

I didn't read the Harry Potter books until the summer the final one was released. Because, um, I work at a bookstore. And I was told my employment was based upon being excited, dammit. And if I had to be excited about being charged by thousands of people at midnight, and ringing up copies of the same damn thing until frick-thirty in the morning, then at least I would know what I was being excited about.

It's been about ten years. I've grown up. We don't see Fundamentalist in Question that much anymore. In retrospect, she was a perfectly nice woman who obviously had never watched an episode of Bewitched. And it's not like she took my favorite book away or anything (although again, I'm still a little peeved I never got it back.)

The next movie is being released next week, and I ordered a copy of the book from the library, so I could read it again before I see it. I was at the library yesterday, picking up some books that had come in. Guess who the woman at the desk was?

Ah, Fundamentalist in Question. We meet again.

I literally held my breath. Hoping, praying that it wasn't amongst them. I seriously did not want to deal with the judgey stare that I knew would be coming. It wasn't. Thank goodness.

So now it actually is in, and I'm scared to go pick it up. I kind of want to call and see if she's working. Or send my sister to pick it up for me. I think that's a plan.

Colleen suggested that I just remember that I'm a 21-year-old woman and I can read whatever the hell I want.

I know this. But she still scares me.

I really should keep my cell phone with me.

This afternoon I walked into the back hall to check my messages and was greeted with a missed call message on my screen.

One that said, "Grandpa- 7:24 P.M."

Wow. It's really too bad I missed that one, considering he passed away eleven months ago.

Spectacularly Bad Judgement

They're back. On Saturday, I ignored the little sign that said, "Ask about our treat receipts!", because oh, good Lord, I could see that going badly again. It would make terrible fiscal sense. I ignored it.

This morning, however, they didn't even ask. I just got a receipt. And then I went to work. For eight hours. In music. Which I have worked in one day. In November of 2007. And by the time some woman yelled at me because Michael Jackson never released a CD that contained the four specific songs she wanted on the SAME DISC which CLEARLY is MY FAULT, I really, really wanted that $2 grande.

Now. I always feel like I'm tempting fate, but this summer is going (slightly) better than last summer. No one's died yet. I'm desperately waiting for it to be over, and I had a slight nervous breakdown while taking a walk this afternoon but did stop myself from stalking Tenant Family. But still! Everybody's alive! So maybe I won't need quite as many $2 grandes.

However. There was the simple matter of that teensy breakdown. And I'm kind of a strung-out mess about school and the future and HOLY FRICK THOSE DAMN GRES.

So. Yeah. It could be pretty bad.

Never a good thing.

I have very little going on in my life, and decided to check my Yahoo e-mail account this afternoon. After trying six different username/password combinations (What? It's been awhile.), I was greeted by that little Yahoo guy (a pale imitation of the AOL running dude) telling me I had 866 messages.

866 messages that held absolutely nothing of interest. According to the date stamp on the oldest one, the last time I checked that account, Obama had just been elected, the bailout hadn't gone through, and Franklin College in Switzerland wanted me to know that I only had two more weeks to register for Spring semester.

The rest were a boring collection of New York Times alerts, Borders coupons (which I could look at if I gave a damn), and Blockbuster alerting me to brand new releases that I probably would want to pick up, like Iron Man on DVD. Sure. I'll run right out and get that.

This is my problem with e-mail, and also why I have a very clean Facebook page.(Wait. I'll get there.) Unless it's my school e-mail, I never get anything fun. Everyone I actually know has my school account, so yes, I get interesting, actual human contact messages on there. And also stuff about classes. Which is almost as good if you're a dork like me.

But for the most part, it's spam. Spam I'm sure I signed up for at some point, but spam nonetheless. It's like a moral struggle between the increasingly nasty, "Hey, please pay your credit card bill. Like, now." messages and the "BIGGEST SALE OF THE SEASON, 60% OFF AT KOHL'S!" It annoys me. So I ignore it.

Facebook has a tendency to do this too- if you let it. Tons of applications send you messages and dispense notifications that seriously kill the "YAY! I got a notification!" buzz that those of us who don't enjoy actual human interaction get. So I delete all of them, because frankly, Facebook disappoints me enough by changing the template every time I get remotely used to it.

Not a little nuts...

I watched a lot of Sesame Street when I was a little girl. A LOT. I still know most of the lyrics to the songs. My mother was arguably more upset by Joe Raposo's passing than she has been at many family funerals. The year I was six was the best year ever because I was the same age as Big Bird.

We would sing and dance to most of the songs, of course, but the one that five-year-old me was crazy into was the Peanut Butter Factory song.

Oh. Did I love that song.

In the Sesame Street clip, there is a little Asian girl who is incredibly talented (we found out later that those kids were actually from the American Ballet School or someplace that grows talented children in petri dishes until they are needed on public television.

I? Am not Asian. Am not gifted with the dance. A major part of why I had to drop gymnastics was because they made me take ballet twice a week. Ick.

Five-year-old me was not informed of this, however, and, dammit, she would DANCE. I did the little running under the table move, the knee thing, the counter thing. ALL OF IT.

Fifteen years later, my mom is still laughing at the memory of my uncoordinated white self doing the peanut dance.

Last Year, on Mad Men...

Okay. OKAY. I got a little behind. I got into various incarnations of Law and Order, and Time Warner changed the channel that AMC is on, and whatever, don't judge me okay? Just because I didn't watch the last episode of the season doesn't make me a bad fan. I got around to it. On a holiday weekend. Nine months later.

Military Base in Cuba:

Khruschev: *builds nuclear weapons*


Castro: *lets him*

Back Home:

Americans: *freak out*

Sterling-Cooper Employees: *drink heavily*

2008 Audience: *gets nostalgic*

***

Random Church:

Fr. Colin Hanks: We are all sinners. But we should all admit it. Even, some would say especially, that sweet-looking young lady in the back. Do you hear me, young lady I do not have a relationship with?

Peggy: Dude. I'm calling the archdiocese.



***

Draper Residence:

Betty: *is pregnant*

Betty: *is pissed*

Betty: *drinks a gimlet*

Baby Draper: *develops flippers*

***

Random Rectory:

Peggy: So...I brought muffins. For the nuclear war.

Fr. Colin Hanks: Aww, that's great. They should come in handy.

Peggy: So how about this bomb thing, huh? Makes you feel like the world could end at any minute.

Fr. Colin Hanks: I know, but that's really always the case.

Peggy: Makes you feel alive...

Fr. Colin Hanks. Yeah. Totally. You know, sometimes I feel like God called me to this parish. To reach you.

Peggy: Um...like, physically?

Fr. Colin Hanks: Hell is very real, Peggy! Unless you repent, you could be damned for all eternity.

Peggy: Wow. I thought you were going somewhere else entirely with that.

Fr. Colin Hanks: I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Are you going to confess?

Peggy: Are you still going to stare at my ass?

Fr. Colin Hanks: DON'T INTERRUPT ME WHEN I'M PROSELYTIZING.

Peggy: I should have just sent my sister with the nuclear holocaust muffins.

***

Sterling-Cooper Offices:

Sterling-Cooper: *is sold to Mr. Sheffield from The Nanny*

Don: *gets rich*

Morena: OH MY GOD MR. SHEFFIELD!!! YOU GOT OLD!!!

***

Later that day, Sterling-Cooper Offices:

Sleazy Campbell: Wanna ride out the nuclear winter with me?

Peggy: Meh. Might as well. We're all going to die anyway.

Sleazy Campbell: Why don't we every talk anymore?

Peggy: Easy there. The last time we talked, I had to fake a complicated relationship with food for nine months and now my mom and my priest think I'm going to hell.

Sleazy Campbell: I'm confused.

Peggy: Yeah. Tell me about it.

Sleazy Campbell: ...

Peggy: *waxes nostalgic about pregnancy for awhile*

Sleazy Campbell and Rest of Audience: *tunes out*

***

Draper Residence, President Kennedy just told everybody everything is going to be just peachy.

Don: *sits in silence*

Betty: *sits in silence*

Don and Betty: *hold hands significantly*

Fin.

I miss this show. So. Much.

Fireworking

Ah, the almost 4th of July. When the colonists got fed up with helping to pay for their government, committed treason, got monumentally lucky, and we celebrate by setting off fireworks and getting together in large groups of people in a community park. Good times.

My family is being remarkably noncommittal about the whole thing this year. Still, no one will tell me what we're doing tomorrow, and it's like 10:43 pm. I just need to know if I need to be parade presentable, people.

Not that I would be wearing red, white, and/or blue. Because that's just way too cutesy for me. I haven't don that since my mom stopped dressing my sister and I in matching flag-colored outfits.

(They were cute, actually.)

(I imagine they would be less so now.)

Evanston's not far, is it?

I met with me in ten years a neighbor yesterday to talk about my life's goals and have her talk me down off a GRE-related cliff and now have brand new things obsess over. Like statements of purpose! And terminal Ph.Ds! And post-doc years!

And now I completely want to go to Northwestern.

They have a Ph.D program that I could apply to for next fall, several professors I could work with, and all admitted students are granted funding that includes a tuition waiver and a living stipend.

Only problem- it's in EVANSTON. And I'm not. The reason I would need a living stipend would be so that I could move out. The place I will be moving to is in Fox Point.

According to MapQuest, that's about an 89.66-mile problem.

Oh well. At least I've stopped freaking out about the GRE.

Taking some time out...

...from looking at terminal PhD programs to die laughing at this. Flesh storm? I literally choked on my water when I saw that.

Yes. I want a doctorate from this place.

Overheard in the union:

Guy on phone: "Dude. I did something bad. *pause* No, really bad. *pause* No, I peed on her! *longer pause* Yeah, I was wasted. *pause* No, it wasn't that bad. She had to wake me up to tell me. She slept on the floor. This morning was fine. *pause* No, trust me. We'll talk about it later. I have to go to class."

Oh. My. Lord.

Sports-Related Revelations

- I really, really enjoy buying alcohol for myself. I never got off on any of the typical teenager/adolescent stuff, but these last nine months? Being able to buy my own drinks? SO MUCH FUN. I don't care if it's juvenile and immature. IT'S FUN.

-I really, really hope I put my license back in my purse.

-I did. Oh good.

- It takes me a few innings to figure out what's going on. Like, who's hitting the ball.

- Once I get it though, I'm not nearly as stupid as I may appear.

- Well. Okay. Still pretty stupid.

- Beyonce's Single Ladies coming on in a mixed crowd is just...awkward.

- Those little rakey guys who run around making the dirt all pretty again? My favorite part.

- Yep. Still pretty stupid.

A neurotic day

Scene: Kitchen, Chez Morena

Morena: *breezing in* So I want to register for the GRE this week...

Mom: *chokes* You want to what?

Morena: Register for the GRE. For later in the summer.

Mom: Oh. That makes more sense. I thought you said "take" and you don't just "take" tests without any freaking out.

Morena: *laughing* Oh, you mean this huge test that is the only test that will ever matter in my entire life? Hahaha. Yeah. No. Believe me. We're leaving plenty of time for the breakdowns.

Mom: That's what I figured.


***

On to the TMI portion of the afternoon...I have a teensy little rash. It's hardly disfiguring, and it's not on any weird body part or anything- just some bumps on my upper arms.

Of course, in my head, you know that scene from Star Trek? When Kirk is having a reaction to something? Well, McCoy could totally just jab me with the hypospray because I spent the afternoon alternately dying of skin cancer, second degree burns, or (my nemesis) meningitis.

Answers.yahoo.com had no answers at all, thank you very much. Except that I should call my dermy. Well, I don't want to call Dermy. Dermy is far away, and he requires a copay. I want answers.yahoo.com to tell me something that Sophie2459 in Arkansas used to make it go away.

Ultimately decided that it was probably just a sunburn rash and not anything deadly. Of course, meningitis is sneaky like that.

You're welcome, customers and fellow employees.

At work we tend to listen to banal music. Music that fluctuates from "Hey, I used to like this song before I heard it nineteen times," to "Well, this is mildly irritating," to "Dear God, would someone please make Celtic Women shut the frick up?"

Today we had Peter, Paul, and Mary. And I couldn't take it anymore. So I made an executive decision that we would listen to "Chess: The Musical" and "Phantom of the Opera".

But not on the usual random. Oh. No. All the way through. Because I don't know about you, but I cannot be expected to maintain a narrative flow when you're jumping between "Masquerade" and "Angel of Music" like a crazy person. Please. We are not barbarians.

I also discovered that I really need to go out and buy Chess, because there is a CD out there! With Josh singing on it! And I don't have it! And the seventeen-year-old fangirl that was has taken up residence in my head and won't stop screaming about it.

Drama, Drama, Drama

We watched Frost/Nixon tonight, and, well, Imladris called it a "liberal orgasm". My mom had different words for it, but yeah, it pretty much was two hours of OMG NIXON CRAZY BASTARD and oh, wait, he might be getting dementia or possibly be an alcoholic we're not sure so we're just going to shove it in at the end of the movie.

I'm no Nixon fan, don't get me wrong. But I've watched the actual Frost/Nixon interviews, and while he definitely admitted some wrongdoing, he certainly never admitted to obstruction of justice, and not a whole lot of other major bombshells were dropped. At no point did Kevin Bacon rush in to stop the tape before he admitted to criminal activity.

I would like to put forth the theory that, amongst all of the untruths, the one that said John Birt looked like Matthew McFayden is one of the most egregious.

From the Editor

My sister woud like you do know that she is not a raging anti-semite like she seems to think you would have inferred from last night's post. Except I'm not entirely sure why she thinks that, but rest assured, she loves the Jews.

I would like you to know that I saw The Proposal this evening and it was funny and cute and uplifting and way less tupid than other rom coms I've seen. (Except The Holiday. I think I am the only person in the ENTIRE world who liked that movie, but dammit, I did.)

It was just my mom and sister and me, and I really feel like we should have taken advantage of the fact that Dad wasn't there and gone to see Star Trek again. Because I want to go back. Badly. But without all the whining. That just killed my buzz.

I'm still Catholic, don't freak out.

I was kidding Colleen yesterday about her using God's name and she goes, "Yeah, well, you're a Jewish studies major. Don't tell me about my God."

It was funny.

And yeah, I think I'm probably going to end up replacing religious studies with that. Which means a.) I was weirdly prophetic a month ago, and b.) two down, one to go. By dropping religious studies, I can drop my Gnosticism class, which will bring my credit level down to 18, which is considered regular tuition, which means I don't need to come up with a $900 overload fee, which I don't have, which means I don't have to borrow like $700 from my parents again. All of that- is a good thing.

The thesis thing also kind of resolves itself if I end up doing this- obviously the only way to make it count as the Jewish studies capstone is to write about the Jews, so there you go. Thesis topic found.

Now I just need to take the GRE and I will be all ready to go back to school!

Kathleen's Very Big Adventure

For a variety of reasons that have to do with well, a variety of reasons, I am spending today at UnWed Mothers, as my father so wittingly calls it. (Eh, he doesn't donate to the alumni fund, what does it matter?) I've still got about two hours left (Hopefully less- I don't know a single professor that wants to go the whole damn lecture time on the first day of a summer class...but this is also the guy who willingly went to the Arctic for a few months. Clearly he's not sane.) and already I've had SO MANY EXPERIENCES.

We began the day by being enchanted by the swarms of College For Kids kids around campus. Back in the day when Morena was a Little Morena, Rockford would send her and Little Imladris to College For Kids. Oh, the imperial fun we had. Pretending to hold up Curtin Hall while Erin Shanley laid underneath it, having lunch, learning about the atmosphere, having lunch, playing magic tricks with the kindergarten teacher from St. Eugene's, having lunch outside...

(Little Morena really enjoyed eating lunch. Especially when it was a sub. Ironically, I never go to City Subs now. But damn did I love it when I was little!)

The Tsarevitch and Rockford would cool their heels in the "munion" as Tsarevitch would call it for what seemed hours but I'm sure was like 45 minutes in reality.

Good times.

Also, I didn't pay for the tuition.

Better times.

Then we arrived at the Grind, and I discovered my deeply disturbing almost Pavlovian response to school and muffins. I think it must have come from the Concordia days, but whenever I'm at school, I need a muffin. I didn't particularly want a muffin this morning (any more than I ALWAYS want a muffin), but I was at school! Clearly I needed one!

And you know what? IT WAS GOOD.

After licking the crumbs off the table (What? It's summer. There's no one here!) I did some internet stuff I've been meaning to do for like weeks but I haven't because when I'm home I turn into a Facebook drone, staring numbly at the screen as I wait for some girl I went to grade school with to post pictures of her semester abroad and maybe she'll be drunk in some of them. It's really hard to do that in an open computer lab, because it makes stalking feel more like stalking and constantly refreshing your own page? Just makes you look narcissistic.

Then I decided that I'm almost positively majoring in Jewish Studies at least as soon as I get up the courage to ask the Religious Studies woman for a dropped major form and that's currently freaking me out because she's a scary, scary woman who makes children and quite possibly Jesus weep.

All that soul-searching and career changing kind of jacked me up, so I went for a walk. Kind of roaming, because I didn't want to get too far west or south because I'm a chicken little white girl from Grafton. When I ended up on Oakland I started walking faster. Also discovered that I'm a stupid chicken little white girl from Grafton because dude, it's like 95 degrees outside and you just walked for an HOUR and twenty minutes? Shall we call the ambulance to rehydrate you now or wait until you actually collapse?

(I kid. I kept hydrated. With Holton Hall water, sweet nectar of the Gods.)

But then- then came the best part of the whole day. I saw- wait for it- BIG DADDY. And I'm not entirely sure he knew who I was but he smiled and asked me how I was and I had to refrain from saying, "Good! And you regrew that creepy little beard! Good call, you looked like a twelve-year-old without it!", instead replying, "Just fine. How are you?" whilst texting the whole creepy-beard-twelve-year-old thing to Katie. Because she obviously needed to know about this RIGHT THEN.

Ahh. Methods. How I miss you.

So. Now I think I may go eat some yogurt. Who knows what else may happen?

Day 4

It's the fourth day that it's been kind of warm out and damn, I do not like this. I always forget how much I don't like this. And then it comes back and SERIOUSLY HATE. I want to move to Alaska. Or Canada. Because while I certainly don't believe that they've figured out universal health care, I'm thinking that if someone gave me a band aid for free it would be better than the plan I'll be able to afford once I get kicked off of my parents' plan.

(September 11, 2012. I live in fear.)

What else happened today? Jon and Kate Plus 8 because Jon and/or Kate Plus 8 Most of the Time And On Alternating Weekends. That's kind of depressing.

My sister is starting a summer class tomorrow and I'm kind of jealous. That's kind of depressing too.

I am the Samuel Pepys of blogging.

Is anyone else into Restoration-era diarists? No. Just me. Oh...okay.

But at least Sam had, you know, like the Great Fire of London to write about. I...have a broken air conditioner in a house that other people are living in. And I'm planning on getting coffee tomorrow with friends. And e-mailing a neighbor as soon as I come up with a polite, non-crazy way of saying OH MY GOD PLEASE TELL ME EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY AND I'LL HAVE A JOB AT SOME POINT AND NOT DIE SURROUNDED BY ARTICLES THAT NEVER GOT PUBLISHED BUT NO CHILDREN.

Is there a non-crazy way of saying that?

I'm watching The Nanny. It is every bit as addictive as it was six years ago when Mary and I were able to quote it. God bless Nick at Nite.

Maybe Sam would have been more interesting if he were a slightly neurotic prospective grad student and had access to basic cable.

Reason #746 That I Never Joined the Peace Corps.

The heat. It annoys me to no end.

And I don't think it's totally fair that my mom is all "Oh! Those poor people! They can't sleep in this heat!" and rushing around getting repair people for Tenant Family when I am wasting away here in a puddle of what used to be my undereye concealor and will be sleeping in a room with closed windows. Pssh. Just because I'm not paying quite as much to live here. Whatever.

Inordinately Upset

Bradley Whitford and Jane I-can't-spell-her-last-name file for divorce.

Oh, my God.

Who's next? My parents?

Jon and Kate had better be announcing that they've decided to work it out on Monday. I don't think I could handle two breakups of marriages that have nothing to do with me in one week.

Dear Grandpa,

Sixty years ago, you got married. Eleven years ago, we celebrated your 49th anniversary because we knew Grandma (despite your best efforts) was not going to see the 50th. One year ago, we spent the evening celebrating a variety of things and you were happy and healthy. Today there was a cross next to your name in the bulletin and some other family moved into your house.

They're nice. It kills me to admit it, but they are. You'd probably like their little girl. Now, at least. Probably not ten years ago. Also, they want a babysitter, and you neglected to stash a couple hundred grand in a Cayman Islands account that would cover my tuition, so that's a good thing.

I've already done the whole "look how far we've come post", and I won't do it again. But I really can't believe how much this has impacted us, and when I think that a year ago it didn't exist? It's been...unbelievable.

But you know what? I'm glad it happened. Not you dying. Because even though yes, you're happier; yes, the economic crash would have probably killed you anyway; and yeah, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have handled that whole cancer thing well, I still refuse to say that it's a better thing that you're gone. That just plain sucks.

And do not for a second think that I enjoyed this, or felt like, oh, I'm glad we have a project. (See above link.)

But it taught me a lot. Things that I never anticipated happening happened. My family changed. I found out who my friends were. I found out that it takes a special kind of friend to stick their head into a wet oil-painted cabinet because you need help and then ask, "Okay. How obnoxious do you want me to be?" I found out that I'm really glad I have those friends. I've gotten into screaming fights with my immediate family over that house, but I also spent time with my family that I wouldn't take back.

I think you would have been proud of us. All three kids maintained fantastic GPAs during this whole thing, if I do say so myself. Daddy worked as hard as he did when Grandma was dying, never once saying, "Hey, not my family." Mommy worked harder than anyone, and through the worst circumstances imaginable. I whined. But not a lot.

Mostly I'm glad we could do it for you. It would have killed you (I really need to stop saying that.) to have lost the house, and it would have been lost. Hopefully it will stay in the family. I mean, at some point I'll be employable, right? (It would have helped if you had passed along some of your engineering acumen, though.) Hopefully someday your great-grandchildren will grow up there.

So, Grandpa. It sucked. But I'm glad you didn't have to do it, and I'm glad we could do it for you.

It's been an honor.

Love,

Kathleen

P.S. Okay. We got a little bit of paint on your hat. I'm sorry. It's only because we couldn't bear to take it down.

Spectacular Amounts of Stupid

I am paler than the moon. I have red hair and blue eyes and I frequently get red just be moving. ("Did you just get back from vacation?" "No, that's...just my skin.") Do you get the picture?If I sparkled a little I could be in the Twilight books. (I'd probably have to jack up the sexual repression like 1,000x.) I know from sunburn. I've gotten some terrible sunburns in my lifetime- one when I was so young that my parents called me "Lobster Baby". When I was about twelve I got one so bad that my eyeballs were burned and I couldn't really see for like a whole day. And a few years ago I spent the day on the lake without anything- yeah, that was pleasant. A week later when I could finally shower, at least . I know better than to go outside without sunscreen. I use SPF 70 almost every day and reapply when I go outside for a long period of time.

Unless. Unless it's thunderstorming in the morning and then it stops and I go "Yay!" and bound outside to take a four-mile walk without realizing that a.) it's 80 degrees outside and b.) UVA and UVB travel through clouds, dude.

Yeah. My chest looks really good right now.

Other act of stultifying stupidity? I was actually at Wal-Mart and did not, of course, purchase anything that would make this feel better because "Pssh. It's not that bad!"

Four hours later I have an unbelievably pungent vinegar-soaked paper towel compress draped over my boobs. So now I smell really nice, too!

I'd better shower before I do anything tomorrow.

Still don't have a lot going on.

In Grandpa's house news- we are officially finished. There is not even anything else that we conceivably do. It's not the half-assed, "Oh, we're totally almost finished you know, except for pulling up the carpet and doing the floors and cleaning the closet and the basement...yeah, almost finished" feeling we've had for months. The carpet is gone. The basement is clean. There's nothing in the closets except for some pink paint that I started ignoring during my "screw it" phase. Oh, and the water in the upstairs bathroom is flowing just fine. After we paid a plumber to unscrew the faucet and knock out all the dirt. Yep. We rock at this home improvement thing.

In thesis news, I'm still totally into the Jews. But I'm also thinking maybe post-conciliar church? You know, the whole Eucharistic prayer-in-the-vernacular, receiving-under-both-species part that actually had nothing to do with the council? I don't know. I'm just thinking out loud in HTML.

In other news- I found a lovely little floaty dress for $6 today. It's too big everwhere but the bust, so I'll have to be pinned into it, but SIX DOLLARS. *love*

In news that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me- If I ever befriend the Pinkett-Smiths, I'm not inviting them to my house. Seriously, Jada? A bedroom? That's just rude.

In news that unfortunately has everything to do with me, my hair is filthy. And I'm too lazy to wash it.

Fail

I don't like summer. I don't like working (haha, as though I had a job that actually scheduled me occasionally), and I don't like being bored. That leaves school. In two and a half months. *existential sigh*

(I can't exactly pay for that either, right now. I'm ignoring that.)

Kind of new topic, I've spent the last month reading stupid books because while I love school, I also really love having time to read stupid books that don't have anything to do with ancient Mycenaean architecture, but lately I've gotten back into the history/theology thing because OH MY LORD I SERIOUSLY NEED A THESIS TOPIC.

No. I'm not kidding. I've got nothing. I need to stay within the historical implications of Vatican II. Other than that- zilch. Any ideas? Seriously. I need help.

(Possibly psychiatric.)

15 Books

I'm tired and torn between being deleriously happy and deleriously weepy that we're finished, so you're getting a meme.

Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes in no particular order. Tag 15 friends, including me because I'm interested in seeing your fifteen too.

1.) Rebecca, Daphne DuMaurier
2.) Castles in the Air, Judy Corbett
3.) Emma Brown, Claire Boyland
4.) Betsy's Wedding, Maud Hart Lovelace
5.) The Historian, Elizabeth Kostova
6.) Bridget Jones' Diary, Helen Fielding
7.) Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
8.) Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
9.) War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
10.) The Nine, Jeffrey Toobin
11.) Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
12.) Bleak House, Charles Dickens
13.) Les Miserables, Victor Hugo
14.) The Count of Monte Cristo (authentic 1500-page version), Alexander Dumas
15.) Seabiscuit, Laura Hillenbrand

Facebook Statuses I Would Have Had Today If I Had an iPhone.

But I don't. So I just texted them to myself. Along with a grocery list, a list of things we still have to finish tomorrow, and a reminder to sew up the back of my dress.

Kathleen's hair is disgusting. 9:30 AM.

Kathleen is buying cheese (what the hell?) 10:25 AM.

Kathleen spends so much time hanging out in the church parking lot waiting for John that maybe she should convert. 10:45 AM.

Kathleen you want to know what's funny? Watching a grumbling girl individually ring up 15 different moving boxes because Home Depot's self check-out setup SUCKS. That's what. 11:15 AM.

Kathleen wonders why Miley Cyrus has been on the radio three times already this morning. And more importantly, why her song is growing on her? 11:23 AM

Kathleen is laughing because a guy just walked past in short shorts. Ahahaha. 11:25 AM.

Kathleen the message on a sign outside a church near my house: The Bread of Life never gets stale. Oh, come on. It's the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ Sunday. That's borderline disrespectful. 11:31 AM.

Kathleen gets to cut the grass. Oooh. Never done this before. Exciting! 11:35 AM.

Kathleen okay, this is harder than it looks. 12:10 PM.

Kathleen thinks that, since she has never mowed the lawn before, it would have been nice if someone had mentioned that it required a sports bra. Ouch. 12:45 PM.

Kathleen thinks that she can forget asking for a letter of recommendation from the neighbor, because she just sprayed lawn clippings all over their driveway. 12:53 PM.

Kathleen wow, my already filthy hair looks really pretty after cutting the grass for an hour. 12:55 PM.

Kathleen- this so counts as my daily Pilates. 12:59 PM.

Kathleen can confidently rule out lawn service as a possible career option. 1:05 PM.

Kathleen is attempting to see God in everyone. 2:00 PM.

Kathleen oh, thank God, Mike's hard lemonade. 5:00 PM.

Things I Learned Today

- I am the most fun person to see Angels and Demons with. I don't know if it's the...appreciation (I refuse to call it a fetish, as Colleen so helpfully suggested) or what, but I am a damn good time during that movie.

- I'm turning into a lightweight. Time was, I could finish a large concrete mixer and be all, "Mmm, that was tasty. Now. Can we get more?" But my goodness, half of mine is in the freezer now. I'm getting old.

- Apparently when my parents were young TV didn't go through the night? And they would play the National Anthem and then it would go a test pattern every night? Huh. No idea. I'm torn between thinking this is adorably nostalgic or disturbingly nationalistic. I'm going with nostalgic.

- It is officially easier to get the Israelis and the Palestinians together than it is to coordinate Pizza Hut and Fiddleheads work schedules so we can all go to Old World Wisconsin. There is an approximately 4-hour window in mid-July, so Eagle here we come!

- Old World Wisconsin is friggin' expensive.

- As is Polish Fest.

- And the Renaissance Faire.

- Maybe you pay more for the "e" on the end.

- There a ton of Star Trek flair on Facebook. All of them probably don't need to be sent to my sister/mom/Mary. But they have been.

Very Serious Historian has Very Serious Business to discuss.

I don't know if I ever wrote about this, but I probably did because during the semester, most of my posts are OMG TEST COMING GONNA FAIL PHEW THANK GOD GOT AN A. On one of the tests I had for Ireland, I completely forgot to write anything about the Irish literary revival. It ended up not costing me that much (Favoritism. You're doing it right.) and I got a 98, but I was still kind of pissed. I really enjoy getting 110s. (Shocking. I know.)

Anyway. I've been watching the movie Nora and I am fairly certain that if we had been allowed to watch that in class instead of listening to a lecture, I never ever would have forgotten to put James Joyce in there.

Well. Except the movie is basically soft-core porn and it took me like twenty minutes to watch because I fast-forwarded through most of the awkward bits because whatever, I don't care how old I am it makes me uncomfortable okay? I had to leave the window when two birds started doing it the other day. So maybe communal educational viewing wouldn't be the best idea ever.

It also made me wonder how close to the truth it was. Was James Joyce really a crazy manipulative douche? Because wow, if that movie is correct, no wonder Ulysses is so hard to get through.

James, I hear you, man. I myself am something of a control freak. In fact, I had a moment this evening when it occurred to me that I would make a fantastic anorexic if I didn't like food so much. This is going to sound angsty and overly-dramatic and make me seem like a 300 lb agoraphobe on LiveJournal, and that's really not true. It wasn't even an incident, it was just a few sentences today that pissed me off and made me mad and my first thought was "Okay, what can I control instead?" Honestly. If I didn't have the relationship with complex carbohydrates that I do, I'd probably weigh 90 lbs.

ANYWAY. I hear you, is what I'm saying. But dude, sometimes you just have to let go.

So. I'm definitely advocating more Ewan McGregor movies in History 353.

They should put that on the brochure.

I have three major goals for this summer. I need to take the GRE, and I need to formulate a thesis topic, and I need to make $900 for my overload class.

I'm just ignoring the GRE thing completely because it makes me want to throw up when I think about it, so other than following the little study schedule in the book, I'm not thinking about it.

But what if I told you I could take care of the other two goals in a single stroke? Wouldn't that be awesome? Yes. Yes it would.

Remember this? Haha. Yeah. See. I'm kind of sort of considering ditching the religious studies thing and doing Jewish studies instead. This announcement garnered absolutely not even a blink from my family, who continued making their nachos as though I hadn't just announced a change in career paths.

(Well. Okay. It does happen weekly frequently.)

(It's no excuse.)

I have a bunch of reasons for this. I'm totally into the whole second major thing, and even religious studies. But, ugh, it's just a hassle. Seriously. 21 credits, a huge overload fine, a class I'm not guaranteed an A in, it's just a pain in the ass. Jewish studies is significantly more contained, and I love all the classes, and I've heard that it's pretty easy to meet the guidelines.

I also think it may be more beneficial to my career path to be specialized in an ancient monotheistic religion. Because I honestly don't think that any theology department at a Catholic university is going to look at my transcript that said I got an A in African art history at a public university and say wow, that is a fantastic candidate right there! I think if they looked at my transcript that said I spent a lot of time studying the Hebrew culture and the Bible as well as contemporary sources? That might make me look better.

Also! It would save me $900! Which is a major selling point. In fact, I think it should be on the website- "declare a major in Jewish studies and save $900!" Who knows, maybe I'm pre-approved for a 0% APR credit card too!

Oh. The other issue- thesis topic. Yeah. See. I technically don't have one yet. The only thing that remotely struck me was looking at Nostra Aetate and discussing the impact of Vatican II on the Jews because- and I am not even going to lie- I know that I can get a professor who absolutely loves me on the reading committee. I am so not above taking advantage. But this would actually fulfill the capstone for Jewish studies too, I think.

So. Now I'm very confused.

See? You thought all that major-changing business was over after freshman year, didn't you? Haha. Double major, baby. The option for those of us who don't handle stress well and want to see how we'd do with more of it.

Reasons why Law and Order: UK is AMAZING.

-The totally awesome opening, in which the "people" are protected the forces of the Crown.

-The fact that Freema Ageyman is in it. I love Donna, but I think Martha might be my favorite companion, and is definitely prettier than Billy Piper. I'm glad she's working again.

- The Order part? Involves wearing wigs. God. If I lived in London, I would so have chosen law school.

-The fact that it's so great I'm ignoring that there is no such thing as "UK" because the UK isn't really a single country.

- The desktop screensavers on the computers? A royal seal with the initials "ER". AWESOME. I think I want to have Elizabeth Regina emblazoned on my desktop.

-The tough but lovable head detective. Some things never change...

-The fact that one of the witnesses spoke French. FRENCH!!! Tough but lovable detective apparently was hiding his ability to speak it fluently, too. As you do.

-When they object in court, it's not "your honor!" it's "m'lady!" or "my lord!" AHAHAHAHAHA.

-It's not "The State of New York v. Smith", it's "Crown v. Smith." Why don't we have a Crown again? Stupid rebels.

-Do I have to mention the wigs again? Because I will.

-Seriously, I'm moving to England and becoming a lawyer and hanging out with Martha from Doctor Who all day. New life goal.

Oh, Dick Wolf. I didn't think you could ever supplant my love for Goren/Eames, but I think that you have.

Undomestic Goddess

I'm making baba ganoush. Except I don't like any of the spices that are in the recipe. So I'm using other ones. So I'm thinking it's less baba ganoush and more seasoned eggplant mush.

The recipe called for roasting the eggplant. I don't know how to roast an eggplant. Or, indeed, anything. I called my dad. Obviously it was hilarious to him. "Hi, Dad, it's me. I need to roast an eggplant...why are you laughing...seriously...stop laughing..."

Wait until he finds out I'm going to use his food processor that I don't technically have any clue how to work. Who's laughing now?

ETA: The recipe turned out well. A little garlicy, but tasty on pita bread. I managed to roast the eggplant and not start any electrical fires with the food processor. A good day.