All Your Diction, Dripping With Disdain

I have been One Hot Mess lately.

Stupid end-of-quarter. I hate it. I finished grading papers already, though, which is excellent. Not the papers. Those were not excellent. Several of my pet students wrote appallingly terrible papers. This makes me feel personally responsible. However, I have enough ego stored elsewhere to pull me through this temporary teaching setback.

I attended a retirement party last week for one of my most beloved colleagues, three hours late thanks to this ridiculous tee ay meeting that was intended to establish "rely-a-bill-uh-tee" in our grading but instead involved two overgrown teenage asshats shouting at each other over one of the sample papers. Dialogue that I found unnecessary included, "You don't understand underground rap. I totally get it, and this kid didn't go to underground shows, he just read a book about it." ... "But at least he has a main argument! I mean, he doesn't ever actually say it or make it clear but OBVIOUSLY he means..."

You know what? It may be bitchy of me, but if you take a class from me, I will not be generously hamfisting-about trying to discern your topic sentence. Hopefully that word choice conveys to you guys the image of me sitting, weeping with boredom, at one end of a conference table whilst a retarded neanderthal at the other end bangs his fist on the table for emphasis when trying to make a point that no one cares to argue about. Yes, you win, this kid deserves a medal for constructing one legible paragraph. Yes, we should give him a hug for being so smart. Yes, you are the best teacher on the planet. Yes, I remember you from my first year when you kept telling me my hair was pretty and your wife wished her hair would look like mine. Yes, I was creeped out forEVER thanks to that. Yes, I noticed that you are no longer wearing a wedding ring. Yes, yes, yes. SNOOOOOOOOOOOOZE.

Oh and then I ran, yes, ran, home to change clothes and then ran back to campus where this party was happening. I caught the last 45 minutes of it, sweated through some gratuitous group photos, returned home pissed as hell about missing the fun part (I showed up just as people were politely greeting the guest of honor and then leaving and there was nothing left to entertain me but schmooooozing), and then realized that I had my skirt on backwards.

Oh yes. One Fine Hot Mess, I am. That explains why I got honked and whistled at when I was running over to the party. Even people driving by me could tell that I was a hot mess. For fuck's sake. I have no idea whether I put it on wrong or it worked its way around me while I was running over to the party. Excellent.

In other, more interesting news. I got a new flat iron. And LAYDEES, I have a product recommendation for ya'll. You may think that the flat iron you bought at target is super great and flattens your hair. Well, I went all Girlzilla and ordered one of the super expensive "professional" ones with all that magic "ceramic" and "tourmaline" crap online after reading about ten thousand customer raves and looking at their before and after pictures and hearing all about how fucking insanely great these uber-expensive ones are. I actually bought a new (cheap) iron recently but then my stylist decided I ought to have bangs, so now the one I had is too wide for the bits of hair in the front that ALWAYS need to be heat styled so I had to get a smaller one anyway.

Well. I used it this morning and my hair looks unbelievably great. Seriously, almost incomprehensibly fantastic. Again I wish I had my stupid camera battery. My hair looks like melted silk. I have crazy shiny hair, most of the time, but this is just sick. I look like a hair model. I can't stop touching it. You wouldn't be able to either, if you were here.

So I think that is fairly awesome but no one else probably will care. If you want the actual link leave me a comment.

Also, Ashleigh and Jim are coming to visit in, like, A WEEK. Oh MY GOD I am so excited. Shit, I have so much work to do before then! Yikes. That's cool, that's cool.

Oh and I have been trying to decide what to do with my career lately too. That has actually been going pretty well but is causing some expected anxiety attacks.

And I want to come to Chicago this summer and I want you all to also be there. But I'll have to leave that to Stacey to orchestrate because she is more popular and well-liked than me. So all of you start daydreaming about that road trip. For serious. You know you want to see this hair of mine, if nothing else.

Gonna Teach You Tricks That'll Blow Your Mongrel Mind

Happy would-be birthday to my dad! He'd be 59 today. Poop on cancer. Have you guys noticed all the attention genetic testing has been getting in the media lately? Maybe that's just because I keep debating whether I should get those tests done. On one hand, yay, maybe I'm no more at risk for it than you guys. On the other, waaaaaay more realistic hand, there's an 80% lifetime chance of at least one (?) cancer and something like six thousand percent chance of a second cancer after that first one.

I don't know what can be done other than to control all the things that aren't genetic that are under my jurisdiction. Veggies are way better off than omnivores. Exercise is good for you. I eat so much fiber you guys would blush if I told you about my bathroom habits. Haha. I have an optimistic and positive outlook on life in general and I am surrounded by people who support me rather than tear me down or otherwise detract from my mental, emotional, and physical well being. I eat antioxidants like candy. etc.

But I will probably still get cancer and die from it. All cancers are terrible, yes. This particular one is ruthless. Everyone dies.

So the scary thing with the genetic testing is more about my hypothetical future kids than knowing for myself. Because then I start doing that math. Yuck.

Oh whatever. I'm so Debbie Downer. At least there are ways to screen for colon cancer and there are lots of options when you catch it early. Speaking of, I'm going to sweat out some negativity in the gym and then come home and stuff my face with acai. I'll pour some berry juice out for the hoardes of family members who didn't move to the west coast to become dirty, crunchy-granola hippies with visible purple auras later today. Hope you're all doing well.

Charge Me Your Day Rate, I'll Turn You Out In Kind

Ladies:

If you go to the haircutter's, and you sigh, "I am bored with my face, I don't know what kind of haircut I want," BEWARE.

You will be given bangs.

I haven't had bangs since I was like ten, and I feel weird.

Louder, Louder, And We'll Run For Our Lives


Jenny cartwheels a mean drunk cartwheel.








We fight a mean drunk fight.







We laugh a mean drunk joke. Drunk joke, haaaa. I think we were laughing about how much like a dandyfop pirate Keith looks.







Baaahstin gloams a mean twilight. I shouted, "Hey lookit! Boaters!" at the people in the boat before touristically snapping a billion photos of them without consent. I am going to sell this picture postcard to the City of Baaahstin and make a nice tidy profit.







Jenny and Keith scowl a mean cold evening constitutional scowl.







Baaahstin coaxes a mean sunset for the only night I had my camera on me.







Keith cartwheels a mean into-the-camera drunk cartwheel.







Liz cartwheels a mean drunk cartwheel whilst in stits (anyone else watch australia's next top model? they call stilettos stits)

I hiked my dumb ass all the way to the housing office today to pay rent before I noticed the check had fallen out of my back pocket somewhere along the way. I frantically retraced my steps all the way home. Ran into a jolly fat maintenance man who informed me that he had found it and turned it in to my apt office. Was grateful then irate once Jolly Fat Fat informed me that he had watched it fall out of my pocket as I walked past him the first time, but "couldn't" get my attention because I had my iPod headphones on. Wtf, Jolly Fat Fat. Couldn't Jolly Two Step or Jolly Hippety Hop or Jolly Jog Your Ass a couple steps to catch me? Wow, thanks a jolly fat lot.

I have two iPods. One is for the gym only, it is pink and old-fashioned and has the crappy non-color screen. The other is my nice, fancy pants one that I use all the rest of the time. Today my pink gym iPod gave me a Sad Mac face and died! That was traumatic, but since I won't take the nice one to the gym it leaves me no choice but to run out and get myself a twee kicky shuffle so I can go to the gym tonight.

I am telling you all this because I know from the pile of steaming shit I'm reading for The Big D, as I will now be addressing it, that writing to get things out is good, but writing them with the intent of expressing your emotions is way better, and associated with all kinds of great health/mental outcomes. I encourage all of you to start Getting It Out more. That's what the Remorseless Blog II: The Secret Of The Ooze (hahahahahaha) is for, after all. I can't overemphasize the utility of dealing with things in this particular way. Or just squelch it, whatev. teeheeeeee xoxoxoxo

If What They Say Is True, You're A Boy And I'm A Girl

1. My "teaching" experience this quarter has been diverse to say the least. My class had their final yesterday and then I sat for three straight hours grading short answers. It is really amusing to see the terms people conjure when they are desperately grasping at straws. I held a review session for this final last Friday and almost stroked out during it because I glanced down at my papers for a second, looked back up and made eye contact with this sk8erboi kid right as he turned to his friend and mimed putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger while rolling his eyes. My mouth dropped open, and I stared him down until he turned bright red and shifted to hide behind the girl sitting in front of him. I almost, almost got up on my pulpit and started screaming about the totally un-mandatory nature of the review and how he could march his smug flat ass out of my G.D. class if it was so G. D. boring and unhelpful. In hindsight I wish I would have flipped out all crazy like and started screaming, but I just murdered him with my smoldery intense glare-bear stare instead. I was totally rattled by that kid. Then at the end of the review this girl came up to me and was all, "you were the BEST tee ay out of all of them and this was really helpful and thanks." Which should have made it all better but didn't quite.

What did make it all better was A. while proctoring the final yesterday, I sought out Mister Rude Gesture and positioned myself just in his peripheral vision (you know that spot where you TOTALLY know someone is there but if you keep turning around to look, the tee ay will bust you for cheating off your neighbor's paper? yeah) and sent him Evil Thoughts so I'm confident he failed the class, and B. I got an email from a random dude in that class this morning about my lecture from earlier in the quarter, in which he said it was the best lecshur of the entire class and that my jokes were actually funny, which surprised him because all his professors try to make jokes in their lectures and the joke "ALWAYS bomb." That tickled me. I totally thought I was being hilarious but how validating. So I am 1.) the best tee ay in the class 2.) the best lecturer from the quarter but 3.) so fucking boring and unhelpful and stupid that I make these evil turd people want to blow their brains out with imaginary guns.

How do I reconcile these diverse opinions? Hmmmm.

2. I know, right, where are the cool brain photos of JD? I am working on them now. You see, dear readers, the class paper isn't due until tomorrow so there was no way in hell I was going to start doing the labor-intensive work creating the magnificence you all want to see until the Last Possible Second. So maybe later today you will have those gems to look at? We'll see. I can tell you now (again) that it looks fucking COOL and you will just shit your pants with delight when I do post them.

3. I'm going to Boston thursday morning and that is going to be fucking awesome. I'm supposedly going to attend a conference, but there is a very large chance that I will blow it off, not register for it, and just hang out with Jenny instead. For the most part. I mean, I'll go and shit, but since I'm not presenting anything I just do not care. But that's not until next week. This week Jenny and Keith and I are going to see the Decemberists, yay!! So excited they are fucking great live. I'm not excited about the weather. I'm cold all the time here and it's 70 degrees.

4. What else? I am so very interesting but also so busy. I have been doing those crestwhitestrips, but i find myself almost always drinking coffee while I do them. does that cancel it out? i have also fallen in love with brown eyeliner, and decided that from now on jd and i are living on a Budget. Also JD is kind of going back to school starting in april for this crazy databse thing that means he has a real genuine career ahead of him, and that's rad. also he is so adored at work and internationally it's almost too much to stand. i am so glad he's getting all the recognition for being awesome that he deserves for working so hard and i'm also glad he's such a grownup sometimes. There are, seriously, several countries climbing over one another to woo him into working for their organizations when his stupid bitch wife finishes her phd. teeeeeheeee. i'm such a liability, he can't go anywhere until i am alllll done here.

5. i just mis-specified part of my brain photo model i'm running by telling it that each round of photos took 2000 seconds rather than 2 seconds to collect. I'm so fucking retarded! I thought it was in milliseconds! No wonder I had a problem with that model! yuck yuck yuck.

Ok back to work. LOVE YOU GUYS

You're Young Until You're Not

Sitting in my office with an undergrad the other day, she peered at the outdated photo collages hanging above my desk and exclaimed, "oh my GOD, how OLD were you in that picture?!"

She was pointing at a photo of me and Mike and Keith crammed in a photo booth from when we all drove to Florida and Stacey and I almost died.

I had to think about it for a second, then told her that I had just turned 18 when that was taken. She wrinkled her nose and looked from me to the photo and back again a few times, then announced, "you just look so YOUNG in that photo. and it's weird that you're with those guys."

I laughed at the fact that I now apparently look insanely old and crotchety, then laughed harder at the comment about how weird that I was in a photo with "those guys." I then took it upon myself to explain each person in photos in my office and my relationship to those people. As always when I actually pay attention to my photos I am surprised and baffled by the fact that I have no good photos of my husbie, nor any photos of us together, and made a mental note to take care of that. I have bajillions of photos of me and JD. I just never print photos out anymore.

Hmmm.

also interstingly, I was teaching a group of wee froshies about life and I paused to make the point that I am not all that much older than they are, so it's like we're the same generation. Then I looked at their innocent little faces and rethought that. I asked them what grade they were in during the year 2000, when I was in college. THEY SAID SIXTH GRADE.

Yipes. Other weird realizations?
*I have a decade of sexual activity under my belt (haha, literally)
*I have known most of you more than half my life and that is more than a decade
*Hanging around women who are pregnant makes me think babies are a good idea
*My weird proliferation of gray hair is no longer anomalous
*I am starting to notice tiny wrinkles around my eyes
*I almost never get carded at bars anymore

You Love Until You Don't

1. I have a product recommendation. I know, lame. But if you ever suffer from canker sores, mouth ulcers, nasty-ass shit like that (I tend to chomp through my lip every six months or so often when I'm chewing, for example), please go purchase yourself this product at your local pharmacy and prepare to be blown away. You'll notice the website also links to the actual clinical study journal article that's relevant. I read it. Science seems sound enough. But the proof is in the pudding. I am fucking amazed.

You think you deserve that pain, but you don't. Ha. Anyway, I know that's totally nasty and stuff but I know some of you guys also habitually traumatize your mouths and this is a way to head off the resultant 7-10 days of weird facial expressions, bad moods, and social awkwardness that I find usually follow my chewing accidents. Yesterday I could not smile properly (I could smile out the side of my mouth, but that lokos like leering) and I fell asleep with one of these magical patches in my mouth and today it is all better. Shit, that's so fucking awesome. Yeah, and gross. But hey, it has the potential to change some lives. So I'm putting aside my own personal embarrassment at discussing this affliction for your benefit. You guys are welcome.

2. I did my brayne photo experiment yesterday. HOLY SHIT THAT WAS COOL. Because JD is my husband, he was obligated to be my subject if I couldn't find anyone else who thought they could lie still for an hour without having a panic attack. I was unsuccessful in finding anyone, shock. So I now have actual, real, images of JD's brain. Once I convert them and blah blah I'll be posting that shit on here. I'm going to blow up the anatomikkul (more clear) skans and frame them and hang them in my office and possibly my living room. SO FUCKING RAD. Oh yes, suddenly the last six months of physics and matrix algebra became worthwhile. Aaaaaaawesome

3. I got an email this week telling me that I am only eligible for housing on campus for one year LESS than the average time to degree. WTF. What an excellent idea, to kick students out as they are in the final throes of their dissertayshuns. motherfuckers. that is going to be an interesting year. i might just be like, oh, fuck you, school, if you can't find it in your evil heart to make it reasonable for me to complete my training, I'll abd. Oh yeah, I said it. Bitches. What a stupid idea, to fuck over the advanced students so they can guarantee spots for the incoming ones. Really, really stupid. I am pretty sure that will make them look awful if they put five years of training into someone and then that person cannot afford to live here for the extra 9 months to finish. Blah

4. We did taxes yesterday. Haha. We are filing married taxes. Really by this I mean that JD is filing them. I am supremely unhelpful. In fact, I am so unhelpful that I didn't bother paying estimated tacks at any point in 2006 even though I knew I needed to. So that eats up most of the cushy refund he thought he would be getting. haha, being married to a grad student is a huge drain! we are still getting money back but not the impressive lump he thought. I am so irresponsible. teehee. good thing i'm totally hot and smart.

She Sings There, Soft As A Siren

Well, I have been in top form the last couple days. I wore the same sweater three days in a row and I might wear it again today, except I have to see the same people I saw while wearing it on Wednesday in my tee ay class. And one of them complimented it so I bet she would notice if I wore it again. Plus I ran into her yesterday and I bet she noticed then that I was wearing it at least for the second day in a row.

I hate valentine's day. jd and I always swear we're not doing anything special and we think it's lame and then, without fail, I pick fights on VD and i don't really know why. Last year I threw a "You Never Get Me Flowers, Not That I Want Them Today Since They're Overpriced And Now You're Just Doing It Because I Threw A Fit" fit; this year I got a jump start on the fit-throwing by picking a fight just as he was falling asleep the night before. So he, in accordance with my evil plan, fell asleep while I was Having my Fit, which made me twice as fitful, so I then threw more of the same fit all day VD and continued it into yesterday.

Also I talked to Keith yesterday mid-fit, and he, obliviously, suffered residual fit-throwing spillover. We were having the most boring conversation ever so I just started saying anything I felt like, even if it was totally sociopathic in nature. It amused me until he flipped out and basically hung up on me. I was just being kind of jerky. You know, accusatory stuff. Like, "you are the only person I know who didn't pretend to be excited about my article." Actually, that's not true; only a very small number of people pretended at all, and even those people I don't really expect to read it. I just felt like being bitchy. Because really, how exciting can it be for anyone who isn't me? Not very, I get it. So that was kind of not fair of me.

But like I said, I have been in top form. I don't feel bad, though, because he felt comfortable saying ignorant shit like, "jesus, are you on your period or something?" Sometimes I impress even myself with how detached I can be from something. It's like scientific curiosity (what happens when I say this ridiculous thing?) gone awry.

Anyway. I am not exactly apologizing since I think Keith was also participating in this stupid attempt to make the conversation more interesting by overreacting in cartoonish ways to every shitty thing I was saying. It would be nice if I could be a grownup and say, "excuse me, I don't have time to talk to you on the phone right now, I have to go finish picking this fight with JD" and then I could go to JD and be like, "let's discuss why I'm being a heinous bitch" instead of how I actually act.

Oh who cares. I have to get dressed.

Take Your Sweetheart Down To The River

I'm taking requests now! Such is the nature of this blog. ahh, blog. It's been a...not good, exactly...thorough? Yes, blog, it's been a thorough few years. Where is Ashleigh's list? Where has my sistor been? Bad, bad blogging, you guys. It makes me feel lame to bother with this. LE SIGH. Anyway, here you go Stacey:

Five Things I You Hate About You Me:

1. Because I always hover-pee when out and about (including in the bathrooms here at the office, including your bathroom at your house, including my own bathroom, if, say, husbie's relatives are the most recent to have sat their buttocks upon the seat), I am the person who pees all over the seat. Remorselessly! Inadverdently, yes, most of the time, but I just do not give two feathered shits about how rude that is, or how some poor old lady or child might unsuspectingly plop their tush down on a seat decorated with my now-cold pee.

2. I don't think it's necessarily dysfunctional, but for as long as I can remember, I have compulsively counted things in the environment. Not, like: one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish counting. I count how many lines it takes to make up the peripehery of an object. For example, a square has four lines (sides). Doing this with 3-D objects makes for a very large number of lines to count. I like to count the same objects over and over, especially when I know that the resultant sum is a pleasing, whole number like "15" or something divisible by 2. I like JD because his name with the dots is worth five lines ( J . D . ) His other name, James, is worth 10 lines. Usually I try various combinations of lower- and upper case letters within names until I find a nice combination. Stacey =10. Ashleigh =15. Jenny = 10. Keith = 10 (leave the dot off the i). Etcetera. My own name is maddeningly un-pleasing. I write my name with a strike through the z because then Liz = 8. Without it, shudder.

I also count things like vertical blinds hanging in the bedroom window in my new apartment. Old apartment? 15 blinds. New apartment? 19. Ugh. I count and recount ALL THE TIME when I'm in there, kind of hoping I have just been missing one this whole time. Prime numbers are the WORST. Ok maybe in hindsight that is a teeny bit dysfunctional. Whatever, ask my sister how she learned to add.

3. Today I gave a lekshur in a very huge class with approximately nine million attendees. It went great, my jokes went over really well, and I got to gross them the fuck out, which totally broke the ice and made learning fun for all of us. Cough.

My contingency plan, in case it had not gone so great, was for JD to pick me up right after for lunch so I could decompress with him and then come back to work (and change my shoes/pants--because I am physically unable to look nice for an entire day, not because I shat myself or something). Despite it having gone well, I was fucking thrilled to see him, and he had brought pizza from this place that has soy cheeze and veggie crumbles and soy cheeze bread. We went home to eat it and drank a couple of beers while watching a tivo'd episode of family guy and I honestly could have died of total contentment right then. It sounds so fucking stupid, but I really do love him more everyday. And every day I'm all, "waaaaht? i totally though i was at maximum love capacity." Being married? To JD, at least? Fucking Awesome. It feels different than I was expecting it to. But good different.

4. My office, while extremely pimp, needs a makeover. I have collages of old ass photos of most of you guys staring me in the face all day while I work. But we are talking severely outdated photos. Embarrassing, in most cases. I have a post-it on the wall congratulating me on my awesome second year project. I have a coffeemaker that only makes coffee that tastes like ammonia, so I never use it. It is pitiful and dusty, pouting at me right now. I have two plants in a can that ashleigh sent me once. one is doing very well, thanks. the other died an awful, unnoticed death sometime in december. i think if any of you love me you should make a collage and send it to me. You DID get those comp cds in the mail, didn't you? hrmmmm?

5. I just took a 45 minute break from this update to go look at other people's blogs and various internet sites. I am easily distractable? whatever. I am taking things personally. I really bored. I am now going to get back to that big ole stack of work until i can go home and drink more beer or something.

It May Break Your Heart To Break Her Bones

Well, I am feeling like a big big asshole right now and the only thing that cheers me up reliably is looking at my own wedding photos. Indulge me, people.

So I had a meeting this morning with my advice-er. Urgh, I have been having a difficult time finding my joie-de-research for awhile now and therefore I was heinously underprepared for any kind of discussion about large-looming shit like The study I will need to do to earn The degree that is really The whole point of this. I was also heartbreakingly underwhelming with most other things I have been doing, unsurprisingly, because as I mention on here almost every day, I am exceedingly lazy and impressing no one with such behaviors.

Anyway, so I thought I was kind of bluffing okay-ish but she abruptly turned on me and called me out, nicely, like with a joke or something, you know, something to make it clear that she knew I was not up to speed on The big idea here and that, really, if I'm not ready to rumble we can't exactly have The important conversations, now can we?

I may have pouted once she snapped at me, I'm not sure. I am sure that I felt very stupid, and small, and childish and embarrassed for myself, but thought I was concealing this masterfully. We carried on, until a few topics later she interrupted me to apologize for giving me shit about not having memorized six different literatures and said that she had been very rude and that it was uncalled for, and obviously (obvious to her from the other topics we hit on, not from my pouting per se) the only reason I have not immersed myself in these literatures is because I am so busy with ninety billion other things.

We had an awkward few moments where I felt grateful that she apologized, because I really had been stung by it, but wanting to make it clear to her that she shouldn't have to apologize because what she said had been true and I knew I was totally lacking in that area, and she felt like an asshole for having scolded me in the first place. I am not sure why, but her apology almost made me cry and then I felt really really mean, like I had guilted or bullied her into taking it back.

Obviously no one else (except possibly Raedy) will care or understand why this was such a huge ordeal for me. I walked back to my office mulling it over and then I sat at my desk and cried a little because I feel like such a jackass for somehow making her feel bad, when I was actually at fault and it's not like she wasn't well-founded in her assertion. How did I manage that? Urgh. I emailed her and tried to say I'm sorry I made her feel bad but now I'm just hoping this isn't a "thing."

Stupid stupid brain. Turn back on, you!

Culling Of The Fold

Shit, Fuck. Bad Wrong. B-Dong. Shit, Fuck, Fuck.

Today was a long day. A long, long day. Today, as you, my astute readers will note, is not even fucking over yet, and it is already mopping the floor with me.

Okay, so there was nothing really especially, acutely awful about today, I just now have this simmering (simpering? maybe that works better) apprehension rumbling in my tummy. My tumms. You catholics may recognize this feeling as what I imagine the "fear of god" to be like. Catholicism is just the only religion i can think of right now, on account of this day's extraordinary length, and the churning anxiety in my bowels. It is a global feeling of unease and very slight dismay.

Hrmmm.

I had my Totally Hard, Over My Head Class About Brayne Photography today. Sweet balls! Although I whinged mightily about it last kwarter, I think that this portion of the class will blow that out of the water. IT IS GOING TO BE BALLS-HARD. It is already balls-hard, and do you know what? That fucking sucks for me, because a perfect storm of Balls-hardness is brewing. Maybe THAT is what I am feeling in my tumms. A Perfect Storm of Balls-Hardness on the horizon.

Ok, you may be thinking, "but you always pull it out cha ass at crunch time and end up rocking everything you touch!"

No, not everything.

So that Brayne Class will be fucking challenging. Something about either being killed or made stronger inserted here. That's how it goes, right? Either would be fine with me.

Also, I know I already brought it up on here, but I have to give a lekshur soon. Waaaaahhh. I sat in the trenches with the students in that class today, between two people oblivious to the fact that I am in charge of their grade, one of whom text messaged the whole time, the other of whom was signed onto myspace (myspace name? "bee-ing mayde kleen" if you care to look her up. spell it right when you do that, though) and taking notes on the lecture in faux-cursive font. Ugh.

My advisor appears to think (rightly) that I am a lazy sack who has done nothing for two months while all her other students went out like good little akademiks on the job markit and have made her look really good and awesome and I have just annoyed her. There are a series of things concerning her that I am just dropping the ball on, right and left. Like, par example, my dissertayshun ideas/proposal.

I feel blecky. There is a bunch of other stuff that's hard and "challenging" and shit but I just got really sick of writing about how much I hate my life today. Fuck it. This malaise is the cost of taking a whole fucking month off to like my life for a little while. everyone can get up off my shit now. I'm awesome.

Thank you, this has been another installment of Twenty Bipolar Minutes in the Life of A Floundering Grad Student.


OH and I made, yesterday, what might literally be the Best comp cd I have ever made. Seriously. It is FUCKING awesome. Requests in the comments section, yo. It includes the title track. Oh yes, those of you who recognized that title (no one? one-half of one person?), I hunted down the crane wife B-side thusly named. Ohhhhhh it's awesome.