Oh, thank God.

Sun. through Wed. of this past wk. were what I have come to call "The Week from Hell." I realize that a wk. consists of seven, not four, days, but enough bad shit happened in those four days for me to feel justified in referring to them as The Week from Hell.

Mercifully, this was followed by a brief respite in the form of a Fri. trip to Charleston. I was able to see Jennifer for a too-short but fulfilling visit before I got my hair cut, which is always fun since I have the best hair person ever, followed by as painless a trip to the car mechanic as is possible, and rounded out by a wonderful visit w/Jill and her Australian friend, Monica. We went to a ukelele/jazz concert (sounds weird, but it worked well) where we enjoyed a bottle of half-priced wine and good conversation. We then went to a photography exhibit put on by two Honors College students that was really quite good. The photos were all portraits of friends of the photographer's, but they weren't posed. It was more like candid shots of ppl.'s faces while doing everythg. fr. smoking to stuffing a whole cupcake in someone's mouth to convincing your drunk friend to stop unbuttoning his shirt. I bought a print of what looks like an attractive though somehow too-smooth guy holding his cigarette as he whispers smthg. into the ear of a girl who looks as if she's mesmerized by a snake she knows will bite her. Wary, mocking, but still intrigued. I visited w/Gary for a little while before driving back to SAV in my surprisingly *awesome* rental car, keenly aware of the fact that as soon as I pointed the car in direction of home I was overcome by nausea.

At one point in the evening, Jill was talking abt. visiting her former housekeeper, who is now too old to clean house, but who is still devoted to Jill and Gary and vice-versa. Apparently, this woman's house recently burnt down, leaving her homeless and completely bereft of worldly possessions, and also w/o the means to replace them. She was most upset abt. all of the "nice thgs." that Jill and Gary had given her over the yrs., most of which were actually just hand-me-downs, but were special to her b/c of their origins. Jill said that as soon as she found out abt. her housekeeper's predicament, she and Mariel (Jill's daughter) spent several hrs. buying their friend new clothes, toiletries, and other needful thgs. She gave up her time and her money to do everythg. that she could for someone she loves and who has loved her. It seems like an obvious thg. to do, but I have begun to realize that this is perhaps not so obvious as I once thought. I think that was the best part of the evening, being reminded that there are ppl. like Jill out there and that I am fortunate enough to have some of them in my life.

Of course, stifling my laughter as Australian Monica bitched out some young English jerk for throwing his cigarette butts on the ground was also pretty enjoyable. You damn English act like you still rule the world. ;)

So inappropriate.

So there's this guy in my Physics class who has the most beautiful hair. And I really want to touch it.

I'm not sure what his ethnic origins are, but Middle Eastern or Turkish seem possible, given his complexion and nose and various other little details I have noted during my surreptitious sidelong glances. This guy is beautiful. I mean, like how exotic Ottoman princes look in movies or romantic paintings or whatever. He almost reminds me of a sexed-up Jesus, w/his big, inscrutable brown eyes and a perpetual expression of serenity.

But it's his hair that gets me.

It's black, falling just below his shoulders and he keeps it in a low ponytail. Usually I find ponytails of any persuasion on a male to be completely revolting, but w/this guy, I just want to reach out and touch it. It's so lovely. It's the perfect texture and has this amazing sheen -- not greasy -- more like it's so soft and healthy that it actually radiates. The girl I babysit LOVES to play w/my hair, and her favorite thg. to do is to put it into a ponytail and take it back down and then put it back up and take it back down, ad nauseum (or until I can no longer feel my scalp and make her stop). That's what I want to do w/this guy's hair. I want to slide the elastic holder off of his ponytail and run my fingers through like a comb and then wrap the holder back around it. And take it off. And put it back on. And take it off. Ad nauseum.

Luckily, he sits behind me, so checking this undeniaby odd urge has not been much of an issue, but today I was walking behind him after class and my hands actually started tingling, like, I was digging my nails into my palms to keep myself fr. extending my fingers toward the coiff.

I feel like a stalker, except I don't actually follow him anywhere (on purpose).

But, seriously, this guy is hot, so if any of you single ladies among my acquaintance would like to run down here in the next wk. to check him out yourself, I would encourage that. And I swear that if you hooked up w/him I would not touch his hair. More than once.

"You could have made a 100%!"

So lamented my Physics professor after handing back my test w/its grade of 70%. He also said, "I expected you to make a 100%," which really boggles the mind b/c I cannot imagine what would have given him the impression that I know enough abt. what's going on in that class that he would *expect* me to make a perfect grade on the test. Perhaps he was misled by my regular attendance, or my perpetual grimace and occasional nodding during lecture, or maybe he honestly thinks I'm smart enough to do that well. I dunno. Either way, after going over my many mistakes w/Dr. A, I have determined that while it is possible (though not likely) that I am smart enough to have made a 100% on that test, I just don't care enough to try. I simply can't be asked.

All of my mistakes were the result of simple carelessness (lots of missing or misplaced negative signs) or an incomplete understanding of the concept at hand, not b/c it was hard, but just b/c I didn't feel like spending 10 more mins. making and memorizing some stupid flashcards. Seriously. I barely made a C on a not-too-difficult test b/c I'm f-ing lazy, end of story. Lazy ppl. do not do well in med school.

I need to sort this out.

On the upside, I still did better than most of the ppl. in my class (of course), so it appears that a curve is likely for our final grades, though Dr. A has been resistant heretofore. Goody for me. I have another Physio test on Wed. and am fending off contractions of panic that are coming more and more frequently as I realize I have less and less time to read all of the stuff I have been putting off for the last four wks....

....And yet, here I sit during my four-hr. break b/t classes NOT studying.

brilliant.

Balance.

I tried to end the last entry on a lighter note, but in case it didn't work out, I also thought I would include a few thgs. for which I am grateful:

1) Lent is over in less than a wk. -- praise Jesus! I will be celebrating the end of my Lenten ban on alcohol on Easter Sun. by extending the sacrament of Communion beyond its allotted 20 mins. during Mass and imbibing two bottles of wine (one red, one white) to joyously commemorate Jesus's miraculous return fr. the dead. I will probably be less enthusiastically celebrating my own similar miracle the next morning when I drag myself to school at 8am.

2) Today is mine and Eli's nine yr. anniversary -- how old are we?! Yes, it was on this day nine yrs. ago that I made Eli ask me to officially be his girlfriend. I have happily spent the last nine yrs. making Eli do an assortment of thgs. he may or may not have wanted to do. He seems happy, too.

3) My St. Andrews crew. We have been forced to move on separately w/life, but we maintain generally good contact and talking to or otherwise hearing fr. y'all makes me so happy. (Yeah, it's sappy, I know. But I talked to Benjamin yesterday and I'm going to CA to see Mar and Sarah in a few wks., so I'm becoming giddy w/excitement.)

4) I stole this fr. Duncan's blog b/c I thought it was good geeky fun:

Go to Wikipedia and look up your birth day (excluding the year). List three neat facts, two births and one death in your journal, including the year.

6 February

Neat Fact #1: These are actually two facts, but I got such a chortle out of the irony of them occurring on the same date that I put them together:
a) 1820 - The first 86 African American immigrants sponsored by the American Colonization Society started a settlement in present-day Liberia.

b) 1900 - The international arbitration court at The Hague is created when the Netherlands' Senate ratifies an 1899 peace conference decree.
hahahaha.... While Charles Taylor's trial is not to be held at The Hague, I think those of you w/a grasp of current events can see why this was funny to me.

Neat Fact #2: 1952 -- Elizabeth II becomes Queeb upon the death of her father George VI. At the exact moment of succession, she was in a treehouse at the Treetops Hotel in Kenya.
...Which is exactly where I would want to be at such moment. In fact, I might never have left the treehouse if I were her.

Neat Fact #3: 1998 -- Washington National Airport is renamed Ronald Reagan National Airport
....*tear* Ah, for the days when the Republican party was all abt. money-making and good parties, before it got all mixed up in this religion business. Pour yo' 40 out for Ronnie! (PS: He also shares the Best Day for a Birt-Day w/me, which is why the airport was renamed on 6 Feb. This does not count toward the requested two bdays.)

For some reason, MY birth was not included in Wikipedia, but I found these schlubs:
Birth(s) #1 (notable ladies): 1912 -- Eva Braun (HAHA!), 1917 -- Zsa Zsa Gabor (HAHA!), 1913 -- Mary Leakey (I love primates, too!), and 1976 -- Kim Zmeskal (I had a poster of her when I was a gymnast. Clearly, she was quite a bit better at [and more dedicated to] gymnastics than I was.). Also, 1577 -- Beatrice Cenci, Italian noblewoman who conspired to kill her father. I don't who she was, but I like 'er.

Birth(s) #2 (the fellas): 1564 -- Christopher Marlowe (he was a spy, a poet, a playwright, he liked to pick fights, and he may have been Shakespeare, if you go for conspiracy theories -- rock on), 1756 -- Aaron Burr (I don't care if they're illegal -- duels are f-ing cool, esp. if you're the winner), 1931 -- Rip Torn (HAHA!), 1932 -- Francois Truffaut (pretty fly for a French guy), 1945 -- Bob Marley (jammin'), and another musical superstar and the love of my life when I was 11, 1962 -- Axl Rose (leather pants in the "Sweet Child O'Mine" video -- ARGH!). Also, 1910 - Carlos Marcello, Tunisian-born gangster. I don't know who he was, but I like 'im.

Death: 1918 -- Gustav Klimt. The only thg. that consoled me after this loss was Magritte's embarkation upon his prolific Surrealist career shortly thereafter.
Also, oddly: 1986 -- Frederick Coutts, the 8th General of The Salvation Army (so are they a *real* Army??), and 1989 -- Chris Gueffroy, last person killed escaping over the Berlin wall (if the rest of the Communist military had continued the fight for so long, maybe they would have won the Cold War -- haha!)

I sometimes want to die (and take a few ppl. w/me)

So the other day I was riding w/a friend of mine to Savannah. Immediately after turning onto the main road out of town, we were forced to come to a complete stop in the middle of the road to allow a funeral procession to exit the funeral home on the left. I did not pay close attention to the caravan since such thgs. make me want to cry b/c I know what it's like to forever lose a loved one; to sit through the memorial thinking in no chronological or emotional order of memories you shared w/this person in life, punctuated by visions of their smile, their laugh, and the recognition that you will never see these thgs. again; to gather your shattered concentration long enough to drive to the burial site; and to then watch as your friend or family member is lowered into the ground and dirt is thrown on top, forming a progressively impenetrable barrier b/t you and them. Death is a big deal. And it makes me cry to think of other ppl. having to experience that sort of loss b/c I can think of how it felt/would feel for me to be in their position. So I didn't look closely at the motorcade slowly entering the road in front of us, but I DID notice it, esp. since we had to sit in the middle of traffic for several mins.

My companion, the driver, apparently managed to miss what was happening right in front of our faces.

On the way out of town, I became increasingly confused and angry as he complained abt. how slow we were moving, abt. why there were so many cops on the road (to allow the procession to move unimpeded), how a funeral procession should not hold up the rest of traffic (I guess they're supposed to race to the cemetery and hope that everyone makes it??), and abt. how dumb it was that ppl. in our lane were going so slow when the procession wasn't even near us. It occurred to me after this last comment that perhaps my friend did not know where the caravan was, b/c it was directly in front of us and I told him as much. Three times. I pointed it out THREE TIMES, saying w/what I thought was complete clarity, "THAT [pointing at the long line of cars moving in our lane of traffic] is the funeral procession." I had hoped this would penetrate to my friend's brain and heart and elicit a more sympathetic response, that he would consider the emotional state of the ppl. in that line of cars, would remember the times that he lost someone he loved. This, it turned out, was over-optimistic of me.

The sighs of exasperation continued and then got worse when we moved out of the town proper and the speed limit went up, but we were still moving at a muted pace. My friend ultimately sped up to try to pass the whole line, but met resistance when he encountered ppl. in the right-hand lane who had pulled over or slowed to a speed even lower than that of the funeral procession, as drivers are wont to do OUT OF RESPECT TO THE BEREAVED. This is esp. true here in the South, where, as my stepfather once lamented, ppl. are more likely to pull over for a funeral than an ambulance. In fact, ppl. here pull over even if they are in the opposing lane of traffic. It's just smthg. we do out of consideration for others who are trying to grapple w/one of the most difficult facts of life. This, too, was lost on my companion, who proceeded to cut INTO the funeral procession and to scoff at my explanation for why ppl. who were not going to the funeral were still driving as if they were.

The crowning moment came, however, when we had to make a left-hand turn on to another road, the same road onto which the procession turned. It turned out that my friend had cut in front of the last person in the line of mourners and she was desperate to try to keep up w/the rest, probably b/c she wasn't fr. around here and didn't want to get separated fr. them on some country-ass road in the middle of nowhere. As we approached the left turn lane, my driver started to move into the lane and was incensed to find that the driver behind us was scurrying to close the gap b/t herself and the rest of the funeral procession, resulting in my friend nearly side-swiping her as he moved over.

One guess what happened next.

My friend had the audacity to not just honk at the woman -- which I could almost have excused, since it's sort of a natural reaction when you're on the road and smthg. happens that could endanger your safety, regardless of who is really at fault -- but further, to hurl obscenities and slurs and give her the finger. He flipped off a person hurrying to follow her dead loved one to his or her final resting place, trying to be there for the last moments of that person's time above ground.

I have never been so upset in my entire life. I think I hit him. I definitely yelled at him. He attempted to defend himself by saying, "She's probably not even going to the funeral!" I just wanted to cry, get sick, and throw myself out of the still-moving car. I wanted to kill smthg. he loved so that he would know what that person was feeling. I wanted to be as far away as possible fr. this person whom I have somehow grown to love, but who is so incapable of thinking of others that he couldn't even act appropriately when presented w/the most obvious occasion for sympathy. It didn't even matter if the woman wasn't going to the funeral (which, as it turned out, she WAS), the point was that my friend didn't know whether she was or not, but rather than thinking beyond himself and erring on the side of caution (which would have allowed the woman to get in front of him w/minimal fuss), he threw a fit and behaved in a manner so vulgar and insulting it made me want to die.

I will never understand how ppl. can be so thoughtless, so thoroughly selfish that they ignore any common sense they might have (and my friend is quite smart; he has the raw ability to think better of his actions) and act in ways that make it physically painful to be alive in this world. I j u s t d o n ' t g e t i t. Though I have tried to inure myself against what I have long recognized to be an inevitable fact of human existence, I have met w/little success. It hurts just as much now as it did yrs. ago and what hurts even more is that my immediate reaction when someone behaves in such a careless, hurtful manner is to hurt them right back, purposefully, pointedly, and deeply. My first reaction makes me worse than them b/c I want them to hurt. I didn't just want to yell at my friend, to call him names, or point out to him the ways in which his behavior made him THE Biggest Jerk in the Entire World. I didn't even want to hurt him physically, not really. What I wanted to do was take smthg. fr. him he loves more than he knows. I wanted him to hurt fr. the inside and I wanted to be the one to do it.

I was inexpressibly angry and hurt by my friend's utter lack of consideration for someone else's potential emotional state, but his behavior and its impact on the other driver was, at the root, the result of carelessness, not premeditation. My response was considerably more directed. I'm not sure, but I have a feeling this desire for wilful retribution makes me pretty close to evil, which does little to make me feel better abt. being alive in a world already so full of it.

Or maybe it means I should find a cape and a sidekick and become a masked crusader for justice. I dunno. Eamonn *did* just send me the Guide to Real Ultimate Power, so I figure I could probably be jump-kicking ninja-for-justice in abt. five days. If anyone is interested in subsidizing my super-hero bid, I wear size XS and my weapon of choice is the laser beam. I'll supply the telekinesis.

Indefatigable beauty and Who's the fat American now?!

As usual, spring sprung here in the Coastal Empire slightly before its calendar designation and we Southerners were enjoying mild temperatures and early blooms in late Feb./early Mar., much to the envy of my friends and relatives living in less hospitable regions of the nation and world. There were beach trips and tank tops and a collective smugness stemming fr. the understanding that we are, truly, more climatalogically blessed than the majority of the Northern Hemisphere at this time of yr.

Perhaps to chastise us for our perennial March hubris, Mother Nature dealt a bitterly surprising blow just before the official first day of Spring -- below average temperatures, rain, and wind. And this continued for more than a wk. All floral developments halted: the blooms drooping in frozen confusion, buds cautiously opened only part-way as if to protect their delicate, still-folded blossoms while peeking out persistently, expecting more encouraging temperatures to arrive at any moment. The grass was left pathetically mottled, varying between its dull, brittle brown winter palate and its tentative, freshly verdant change. Sweaters were hastily retrieved fr. their new haphazard home in the won't-need-this-for-months corner of the closet, the coat was grudgingly removed fr. the closet where it had been most happily consigned only two wks. before, and, most painfully, the flip-flops were left unattended for ten long days. We even saw snow when Eli and I went to Biltmore this weekend (in fact, it snowed nearly all weekend, but v. little collected, except on the higher peaks).

Bemusement turned to irritation turned to desolation as the temperatures remained low and the machinery of Spring ground to a halt, leaving us to wonder if perhaps we had lost the one sure bet we had in the ongoing war b/t North and South -- weather. Even our normally warm, friendly dispositions and impeccable manners (both of which are also points for us in the aforementioned struggle) suffered as we chafed under the unwelcome weight of jackets and trousers and mourned the apparent loss of our environmental blessing. The fact that it was warmer last w/e in Boston than it was in Charleston was like pouring salt into the gaping, excruciating wound to our Southern pride.

Enhancing my own dolorous outlook on the situation was Ft. Stewpid's decision to initiate "controlled burns" thoroughout the forest that lines abt. 25 miles of the road I travel every day to and from school. I understand that these thgs. are supposed to beneficial for the growth and help prevent large, uncontrolled fires, but a) I'm just not convinced, and b) it looks really ugly and makes me sad to pass these smoldering carcasses of trees and plants that have been there for a long time and/or have provided a stabilizing natural beauty that has often made the difference b/t me arriving home in a good mood or me still being anxious/irritated/upset abt. school. Further, for some reason, they have started clearing large areas of the forest close to the back gate of the main garrison. I don't know why they're doing this; they can't build a range b/c there's a lake in the middle and I don't know why they would be constructing a building *outside* of post that would be so large as this lot would indicate.

So last wk. I was driving home fr. school, irritated b/c I had to run the heat (b/c it was cold outside when it should be warm) in my car and I couldn't get it to an ideal, or even comfortable, temperature -- I was either baking or I was chilled. I entered the slashed and burnt remnants of the forest and became even more put out. I then came upon the area that is being cleared and wished more than anythg. else that I did not live where I live now. And then, time slowed for just a few moments and I looked to my right and saw, in the midst of the destruction and seasonal interruption, a flowering tree in full bloom. I mean, full on -- branches barely discernable through the blanket of white petals illuminated nearly to gold by the sunlight streaming in from behind them, this lone holdout against all the odds, natural and man-made, a pocket of beauty tucked amongst ruin and disappointment.

Incomprehensibly, indefatigably beautiful.

On a more pedestrian note, some of you know that I went to Universal Studios in Orlando, FL a couple of wks. ago w/my friend Jennifer, Eli, and our friend Michael. Jennifer and I are among the best travel buddies ever. We are uber-efficient in our sight-seeing (we made it through both Universal and Islands of Adventure in nine hrs., inc. an hr. break for lunch), we are v. good at avoiding the most pernicious of tourist traps, we play fun car games, AND we can *always* find a deal on our hotel and activity costs. More than this, though, we both share an almost obsessive love of funnel cakes. (For those of you not familiar w/this culinary delight, it is fried sweet dough covered in powdered sugar, almost like a doughnut, but better and not nearly the same shape. Funnel cakes are squiggly.) The best places to buy funnel cakes are fairs, carnivals, and amusement parks. This being the case, Jennifer and I went in w/the unspoken understanding that at some point during our day at Universal, we were having a funnel cake, regardless of cost, facility cleanliness, queue length, or fat content. So imagine our disappointment when, after a good four hrs. in the park, we had yet to see any funnel cake. No stands, no one carrying some, no tell-tale smudges of powdered sugars on anyone's faces/shirts/hair, nothg.

We were standing in the serpentine line for the Jaws ride lamenting this fact (after marvelling at the numerous beer kiosks) when we looked over into the line moving past ours and we saw...a girl carrying a half-eaten funnel cake!! B/C I have no ability to censor myself when I get really excited abt. smthg. like this, I exclaim to this unsuspecting stranger, "WHERE did you get that funnel cake?!?" She laughs and says, with an English accent (of course), "I got it just over there at a little stand. But to be honest, this may sound a bit weird, but I'm not going to finish this -- do you want it?" I look at Jennifer and I hesitate just long enough to think to myself, "Of course she's not going to finish it, she's British and that is SUCH an American food item, oh, she's going to think I am a stupid, fat American if I take it," and, "Nan (my germ-phobic grandmother) would have a fit if she knew I was going to take half-consumed food fr. a stranger, which could be poisoned" [flash to ever-so-brief mental image of severe abdominal cramping and Eli saying he told me so]. Despite these flashes of decorum, concern for safety, and paranoia, I readily accepted the proffered funnel cake, after which Jennifer said, "I would have told her yes if you hadn't." See, perfect travel buddies!

We immediately set abt. decimating our found food and I think the British girl was a little appalled and probably scared when we passed her in line again less than five mins. later and the whole thg. was gone. Seriously -- Michael timed it -- it was smthg. like 3.5 mins. We saw the lady several times later in the day and she v. purposefully avoided our still-grateful smiles. I'm quite certain that she was thinking we were some bipedal breed of pig.


Oh, yeah -- Quote of the Day: "I can jump fences like a mutha-fucka." -- Jay, on his days as a gang-banger. heh.

Development Shmevelopment

Surveying anew the disaster that is mine and Eli's room, it occurred to me that such has been the regular condition of nearly every bedroom I have ever inhabited. I can remember my room being so messy at one point around age eight that my friends and I broke my bed playing this game where we jumped off of it like the side of a pool into the 'water' that was my cluttered floor. The toys, clothes, books, crap on the floor were literally two ft. deep. I don't know how I managed to get my room this messy or how my mother went for so long w/o making me clean it up, but the broken bed put her in a punitive mood and I did not go outside for nearly a wk. while I worked to clear the floor AND my closet (I must have worn only clothes that I could scoop out of the 'pool' during this time b/c the closet was unreachable). The last night of this, my mom wouldn't even let me go to bed until I finished cleaning the room. I still remember crying on the floor, begging to go to bed (I NEVER asked to go to bed), all the while folding my little clothes and plotting her demise.

While mine and Eli's room is not quite so bad as this and some of the mess is Eli's, whether he wants to admit it or not, it is def. becoming a nuisance, even for me. (For example, I have bruises on my lower shins fr. so often running into thgs. that clutter our floor.) And I thought to myself, "After 24 yrs. of life, and roughly 22 yrs. of being responsible for my own space, why is it such an impossibility for me to maintain neatness?" Examining more closely the specific contents of this fallout zone, I spotted another characteristic that has persisted since early childhood -- I am the worst postal patron ever. At the moment, I have boxes to mail to Sarah, Marion, Stuart, Benjamin, Daniel, Nicole and baby, Neil and Helen, my dad and his family, Brianna, and Tristan and her baby. I have had some of these boxes for nearly eight mos. now. (However, I would like to point out that, despite multiple inquiries, I am still lacking addresses for some of these recipients -- ahem.)

This has been common w/me since the first time I moved after learning to write proficiently. After moving to Maryland for a semester when I was nine, I received a letter fr. one of my Georgia friends, Karen. Karen had not only written, she had decorated the letter and included candy (Twizzlers -- one of my favs). Naturally I felt compelled to reply in kind. I wrote a letter, found some Butterfingers I was trying to get rid of, sealed them up, and....ended up giving it to Karen four mos. later when I went back to GA, though I think I had taken the Butterfingers out, as I had doubts abt. their quality after so long. Later, when I moved to South Carolina, I took w/me a book I had borrowed fr. my friend Brooks (w/whom I was madly in love for most of my 5th grade yr.). That book then moved w/me six mos. later when I again relocated to MD and did not make it back to Brooks for another nine mos. when I finally put it in the mail w/a goofy letter sending my best wishes and apologies. I actually have no idea if the book ever ended up back in Brooks's possession b/c I never heard fr. him and given my deplorable rate of return, he may v. well have moved to a different address and/or died by the time I sent it off. These are only two examples of what can only be described as a sad pattern of behavior that, like the unmanageable room, is showing no signs of progress with age.

But I have a solution to these and similar problems I have.

I need a butler.

Or a maid or a PA, whatever. Just someone who can keep track of my shit and clean up after me. I don't even need them in the rest of the house; I am quite good at keeping the kitchen and living room under control (esp. the kitchen since I hate germs), it's just my freaking bedroom that always gets the best of me. My career goals now revolve around making this a reality. Be it doctor or government worker or lady of the night, I WILL make enough money in my occupation to hire someone to either live in my house or to come often enough to keep my room under control. And maybe cook me some meals b/c I don't really like doing that, either.

Some of you may think this silly or frivolous, but you are probably the same ppl. who have changed significantly since the age of five. I have not. Maybe it's b/c I was pretty much left to make my own way at that age, or maybe it's b/c I simply can't be bothered w/'development', but I am essentially the same person I was nearly 20 yrs. ago, just more articulate and taller (but not much). I have accepted that I am flawed in the areas of maintaining order in the bedroom, prompt mailing, and cooking for myself on a regular basis, and I will likely remain so. Therefore, I am now attempting to find a practical stop-gap measure that both solves my problems and allows me to continue avoiding what some would call "useful" or "easy" or "necessary" changes. Now I need only find a job that pays me enough to live and to pay someone else enough to live. Should be a snap, no?

But it hurts so bad

Why I will not have children, Reason #230741: They are germ magnets. And I have the immune system of someone w/advanced leukemia. So when you put me w/in a 12-ft. radius of a sick kid for an extended period of time (e.g., overnight babysitting of my friend Tess's child, who was actively carrying Babyfunkitis this past Fri.), the inevitable end result is me contracting whatever the little rodent had when I came in contact w/him or her. In this case, the ague seems to be your garden variety severe cold -- intermittent fever, neck stiff like a curare victim's, head throbbing dully and apparently inflated to six times normal size, sore throat that makes each swallow an occasion for tears, aches and pains that I dare even a stint in the Iron Maiden to rival, and a general inability to maintain consciousness for more than one episode of Dallas.

Earlier today, Steve thought it would be funny to put me in a headlock. This naturally put a lot of pressure on my pathetically swollen, angry glands and my stiff, tetanic neck muscles. I nearly punched him in the face. Steve didn't think that was funny, but I sure did.

When I was at CofC or St. Andrews, I would normally drag myself to class unless my condition was truly dire (which it never was) b/c I could manage to walk the two or three blocks, sit through class, and then ooze my way back to bed. Illness probably impaired my ability to actually learn much, but venturing forth under such physically non-ideal conditions made feel better b/c I could go home and collapse knowing that I had tried hard. Thus, I was quite distressed to realize that this was no longer possible when my alarm went off at 7 this morning. I missed school today for the first time in three yrs. -- inc. my twice-wkly. Physiology lecture I *really* shouldn't miss -- b/c I was too weak to drive the hr. to school, make it through the eight-hr. day, and then drive the hr. back home. I feel like such a weenie.

But that brings to mind a funny sight I saw this w/e -- Best Streetsign Ever: Black Weiner St.

I shit you not.

I'll try to get pics next time I'm in SAV.

Back to my Sucrets and Chloraseptic. mmmm....menthol I love you.

Smthg. less palaverous

Good word, that -- palaverous. Had thought of adding to the last entry as promised, but after seeing how long it was, I started thinking that a) the odds of anyone actually reading it in full were already quite slim, and b) it was probably for the best to simply move on to smthg. new and more brief. So that's what I'm doing, sharing a short(ish) tale of my daily life.

In Physics today, we started discussing light reflection in mirrors. After giving us a basic description of what mirrors are (highly polished glass w/a painted back), Dr. A walked over, stood directly in front of my desk, looked at me, and said in his precise, Nigerian-accented English, "You know all about dis, unh?" He then giggled and walked away. Assuming he meant that we all knew abt. mirrors b/c we all use them and that his pause in front of my desk was merely the sort that happens every class period b/c he's a pacer when lecturing and that his prolonged eye contact w/me was also the routine look he gives me to make sure I'm really awake (I've learned to sleep w/my eyes open -- gross), I thought little of this comment, laughed at him giggling, and went back to my notes.

But when abt. three mins. later there was a question abt. the direction of reflection in a mirror and he again walked over to me, repeated his question directly to me, and giggled again, it occurred to me that this was deliberate. But why the fuck would he be expecting me to know more abt. light reflecting in mirrors than anyone else in the class? I usually sit there smiling mildly, hoping he interprets this expression as enthusiasm for his class, and on the rare occasions that I do know enough to hazard a guess in answer to his questions, he usually either ignores me or can't hear me b/c I talk abt. Physics like I speak French -- quietly and self-consciously. So WTF was up w/the repeated, direct questioning? After seeing my look of suspicious confusion, Dr. A made his way back to the board and announced, "See, I am asking you dese tings becos girls use mirrors more dan bwoys. hee hee hee...."

Some of you may be thinking, "Why, that chauvinist African bastard!" but my immediate reaction was to jerk around in my seat and survey the motley remainder of our Physics class and exclaim, "Fuck, I AM the only girl left in here!" Approximately half the students in what was not a large class to begin with have dropped, leaving 10 of us behind, fervently hoping that it was not a mistake to hold fast and stay in the class beyond the last-day-to-withdraw-with-a-W date. And I am the only girl among that naive few. I cannot think of another class I have ever taken where that was the gender breakdown. It's a real switch fr. CofC's female-saturated population, let me tell you. It doesn't bother me, it just sort of snuck up on me, so it stands out as even stranger than it would otherwise be.

Dr. A reassured me with, "Oh, don't warry, I weel not peek on you all de time." heh.

I honestly wasn't in any way offended by his little joke b/c a) I've talked to him numerous times in his office abt. a variety of thgs. other than Physics and he seems to think I'm pretty smart, b) I do have one of the highest grades in the class right now, and c) he still raves abt. the quality of my lab reports fr. last semester (which makes me laugh b/c I never knew what I was doing), so I really don't feel that he thinks I am the average Georgia Southern twit, esp. since I'm the only chick w/the balls to stay in his class.

What did bother me is that his implication that I frequently stand admiring my reflected figure was such a gross (though accidental) misrepresentation of me. I don't like mirrors. I avoid them whenever possible and when I do use them, only rarely do I ever look at myself in full view. I'll look at whatever part of my reflection I need to -- my eyeball when I'm putting my contacts in, my hair when I'm trying to tame it, my eyelid when I'm putting makeup on -- but I do not generally take in the whole picture. Which leads to funny little incidents like one that happened yesterday where I don't recognize my own reflection. I went w/Steve to drop off his car at the mechanic's and noticed a girl in the lobby abt. 10 ft. away fr. me and I thought, "Wow, I like her hair!" And then I realized it was me, reflected in the one-way mirror of the mechanic's office. I laughed so hard -- I seriously did not identify that image as my own until I first processed that it was a one-way mirror and secondly made the connection that if that was a mirror, then the person standing in it must be me b/c there was no one else in the lobby. What an idiot.

But it's not as if Dr. A should be aware of this particular quirk of mine, so I don't know why it bothered me so much. Maybe b/c I *am* the only girl left in the class and I don't want them to think that I am like most GSU girls, planning to make it past Dr. A by batting my eyes, blushing, and bending over in front of him -- a lot. I want them to know that I am smarter than all of those girls and most of them, the boys left in my class, too. I want them to know that I am NOT like them. I am not really a Georgia Southern student, I am just here b/c of an unfortunate diversion in my heretofore respectable academic path.

For perhaps the first time ever, I want to set myself apart in an unconditional, completely close-minded sort of way. I want no connections made b/t myself and this student body, no common ground to be uncovered, no sleeper cell of interesting ppl. of the sort I would normally associate with to emerge. Which, paradoxically, makes me v. much like the ppl. I am eschewing so vehemently. My most common criticism of GSU is that its students are so small-minded, so narrow and sheltered w/no interest in expanding their views. But by continuing to cling to my absolute refusal to think anythg. good abt. this school, I am becoming the v. thg. I detest. It's a quandary. And while I can try to mean it the next time I think, "Well, the lake is pretty nice," or, "Not everyone here is retarded," or, "The curriculum doesn't have to be the best to be good enough," I think the fact that I have to try to mean it does not predispose my efforts toward success.

But I'll try.

B/C the lake *is* nice (esp. all the turtles and ducks), and it is *impossible* that everyone here is retarded (I have met at least five ppl. of reasonable intelligence, or who at least have enough common sense to make their company enjoyable), and the curriculum, while far fr. the best, will hopefully be enough to get me past the MCAT.

Home spun desperation's knowing/Inside your cover's always blown...

So I didn't realize how long it had been since I last wrote until Ben (finally) emailed me and criticized me in his typically polite, English way for dropping the ball. My bad. But while we're talking abt. ppl. dropping the ball, let's talk abt. how I hadn't heard fr. Ben in so long that I had actually begun to worry that he was dead. Really. I didn't think much of it at first, esp. since I've had trouble keeping track of time recently, but then I realized it had been more than a month than I heard even so much as a mocking blog comment fr. him. And then I started thinking abt. all the thgs. that could have happened. Maybe he'd gotten mugged and shot on the gritty streets of London. Maybe he'd been hit by a bus while crossing the street w/o looking b/c he was too busy ogling some fit girl across the way. Who knows, maybe he'd gotten overzealous w/noodles at Wagamama's and had some sort of fit that caused him to collapse in a lifeless heap on the floor. Point is, I was worried and was beginning to debate at what point it was appropriate to call a friend's family to enquire abt. his mortality. "Hi, Gina, this is jules. I spent a few days at your house back in November? Yes, it was one of the most pleasant visits I've ever had. Is Ben dead?" riiight. Mercifully, *the*very*day* that I was going to choke back my uncertainty and call Ben's parents, he saved me the embarrassment and left an especially know-it-all comment on my blog regarding the Longaberger basket. Seems quite fitting, really. After all, the only person I know who is more likely than Daniel to come back fr. the dead (real or imagined) just to show off his useless knowledge is Ben.

Desperate for a bit of fresh air and time alone, I took a weekend trip to Biltmore a couple of wks. ago. I had wanted to see Biltmore, the largest private home in America, for most of my life, and since Eli was in the great white north visiting his family and Steve was having one of his many "friends" over for the w/e, I figured it was as good a time as any to go. I rented a car (a Dodge Stratus, which made me laugh b/c I kept thinking of that old SNL skit w/Will Ferrell and Sarah Michelle Gellar -- "I DRIVE A DODGE STRATUS!! I deserve some respect!"), found a great deal on a hotel, packed my bag, and got the hell out of town, leaving behind a petulant Steve ("You've known I want to go there, too, I can't believe you're going w/o me!") and the dull box that now confines my life. I arrived in Asheville, NC, late Fri. night, reveled in the wonder that was my surprisingly nice hotel room (it was so cheap!), and enjoyed a "What Not to Wear" marathon as I fell asleep.

The next morning I braved the Winter Weather Advisory and took off in icy rain for Clemson to spend an afternoon w/my misguided brother, who was experiencing what was perhaps the first real crisis of his life. Naturally the coping method I suggested (after sufficiently discussing the situation to feel confident that it was more or less resolved) was alcohol. Lots. So we hit up the bars at 2pm and were rewarded with a "You want all of those drinks together? For the two of you?" fr. the slightly-older-than-middle-aged waitress behind the bar. heh. I don't think she was reassured when the following exchange took place as we were lvng.:

Waitress, looking concerned and a little awed (I'm sure she thought we wouldn't be able to get off of our bar stools): Y'all have a nice day, okay? You're not driving are you?
Me, slightly buzzed and amused that this total stranger was so concerned abt. our well-being: Oh, no, ma'am, we're walking, don't you worry.
Trey, having more difficulty containing his drunken glee: Yeah, we're walking -- to the next bar!!

hahaha... riiight... So we did walk to the next bar, where we had a few more drinks before I deposited Trey back at his dorm. He had an RA mtg. to get to at 530, and I received a rather amusing text msg. fr. him as I was driving back to Asheville. It said, "Holy shit, I'm supposed to lead a discussion tonight and I'm drunk!" heh. I enjoyed my drive back more than the drive there. (I get anxious when driving somewhere I've never been before b/c I worry that I've missed my turn and will wander forever in an unknown land. When I was little I didn't want to learn how to drive b/c I thought that I would one day take the wrong exit and never find my way home again.) Most of the drive was on smaller roads wending their ways through the soft mountains of upstate SC/western NC, which were covered in a mist that hovered just above them, allowing one to enjoy the hazy effect without being worried by hazardous roads.

The next morning I woke up early to a cold but clear, bright day. I stuffed my face at the complimentary breakfast buffet downstairs, packed up the car, checked out of my room, and started out for Biltmore. Turning in to the gates, I knew that I was going to love it. And I also knew I was so glad to be there alone, at least for my first visit. The driveway is smthg. like five miles long, and you go about two miles of it before getting to the welcome center/ticket distribution place. I was already wondering how much a yr.-long pass would be. When I got to the front of the line and learned that the cost was significantly reduced for the month of Feb., I couldn't say no. So now I have yr. pass to Biltmore. Pls. come visit me so that we can go. When I finally made it to the parking area, I scoffed at the tourists herding together at the shuttle stop, shivering in the early morning chill and looking at me as if I were actually wearing a dunce cap when I passed them by, opting instead to walk the half mile to the house. (Honestly, it's no wonder ppl. in this country are so fat. We're weenies. Lazy, stupid weenies.)

I was mildly surprised to find that, upon reaching the house, I was more taken with the view and the landscape than with the house itself. I'd always thought I would run toward the house like Melanie running to meet Ashley in GWTW, so long had I waited and wanted to see it, but instead I spent the next three hrs. running around the grounds, taking more pictures of trees and snow than anyone would care to see. At one point, I had to force myself to put my camera away and put my hands in my pockets b/c I was losing all sensation in my fingers. The gardens were a bit stark since it was winter, but there were a few early buds peeking through, glittering in a coating of ice that had yet to melt in the morning sun, and the conservatory was was a happy hideaway of tropical warmth and color which my frozen hands were especially happy to see. After spending nearly an hr. in the conservatory, I took off through the rest of the gardens in search of the "Woodland Trail," which turned out to be a path through the woods and over the hills that reminded me so much of Kemback Forest outside of St. A's that I felt happier than I have since the last time I went for a walk there w/Marion, Olley, Eamonn, and Abdul. In fact, most of the landscape reminded me greatly of Scotland, which is perhaps why I enjoyed it so much. Lost in my recent malaise and ennui, I had nearly forgotten what it was like to get so much pleasure out of simply walking and breathing. I've been desperate to get back to Scotland since I left it, and it was...soothing to find smthg. comparable to (though not quite as good as) the country that has oddly become more like home to me than that in which I have lived most of my life.

One further factor that made the morning so pleasant for me was that there was no one else around. Perhaps due to the rather low temperatures, no one seemed interested in walking the grounds further than the conservatory, leaving the snow untouched, the songbirds without competition, and creating a solitude of the rare sort that leads one to think, if only for the shortest time, that the world is yours and it is happy. What's great abt. having no one around is that you don't have to hear them, don't have to be constantly subjected to the aural assault that is human communication. It was so quiet that as the temperature rose (slightly), the ice coating the leaves in the trees started to melt and the sounds of the forest were increasingly punctuated by the delicate crackling of the ice separating from itself and from the leaves, followed, after an anticipatory silence, by the determined click of the water splashing onto the hard, still-frozen ground. Fucking Zen, I tell you.

The house itself was, of course, stunning. Though it was overshadowed by its natural environment, I do think Biltmore may be one of the best domiciles I have yet visited. The place is categorically huge; there's no two ways abt. it. But it manages to get its point across ("I have more money and living space than God") w/o making you choke on it and also w/o making you forget that it's a house. When I went to see Versailles last spring, it was hard to be impressed, really, b/c you couldn't take it seriously as a place where ppl. lived and did normal living thgs. like dancing naked in your room, or arguing w/your siblings, or breathing. It was just *too* big. I know the point of Versailles was to be a stage on which the French monarchy could display its wealth and potency, but I think it served/serves that purpose rather too well. When walking through the chamber in which les reines francaises birthed their royal progeny, all I could picture was Marie Antoinette in full court dress w/her ridiculous three ft. tall powdered hair towering above, sitting bolt upright in bed, legs wide open, skirts pulled up just enough to allow a newborn babe to pass through w/o suffocating on her layers of satin and lace, and looking slightly bored with the whole thg. B/C I think that's what life would be if it was that contrived. Boring.

Anyhow, fast-forwarding a few centuries back to the material point, Biltmore isn't like that. It is unquestionably impressive, but you can picture ppl. living there. You can imagine what it must have been like for little Cornelia Vanderbilt to tear ass through those long corridors, squealing and sliding on the hardwood floors, and jumping on the beds that look smaller than normal beds only b/c the rooms in which they sit are so large. You can look out of the windows and understand why a Yankee fr. NY would want to choose that spot in the backwoods mountains of NC as the place on which he built his escape fr. everythg. real. The toilets and bathrooms are featured prominently in the tour b/c they were cutting edge for the time (all indoor plumbing w/flush toilets), so you are left w/no uncertainties abt. whether or not ppl. digested at Biltmore b/c you even understand the exact flushing mechanism involved in removing the end product of that bodily process. Point is, while jaw-droppingly amazing in its scale and accoutrement, it doesn't alienate you. It doesn't make you hate it b/c it's so much more than you will ever be, it isn't completely incomprehensible, and it isn't tacky, an unfortunate pitfall for many large homes. It's just pretty. And gracious. And looking at the art in there (Geo. Vanderbilt collected pencil drawings, mostly portraits [my favorite], including several by Duhrer) made me cry for the first time since seeing the Sistine Chapel three yrs. ago. (Made me cry over art, I mean, not made me cry for the first time in three yrs., as well you all know -- haha...)

So, yeah. I loved it. Eli and I are going together at the end of the month.

I plan to add more to this entry, but Eli is increasingly jealous of the computer, so I will publish what I have to this point and try to pick it up tomorrow. But b/c it's me, I probably won't get around to it until Mon. or Wed. when I have a huge break in my school day and like to do thgs. like post on my blog rather than use my time efficiently by, oh, say, studying.

Quote of the Day:
"I think that plastic bottle in the gutter is a form of American art. Americans are the white trash of the world." -- Eli, pretty perceptive for someone whose only experience w/foreign travel involved an M-16 and and a flak jacket he had to wear in 120 degree heat.

Will write soon...

And when I do, you will have the following topics to look forward to:

-- My trip to Biltmore (I may even inc. pictures!)

-- Pancake Day/Mardi Gras memories
-- Why it is important to email or otherwise contact me at least once a month, OR, How I narrowly escaped an awkward conversation w/Ben's parents
-- An update on the infamous basket
--Some other stuff I meant to mention next time I wrote, but now cannot remember....hmmm...

You know you want it.

Quote of the Day:
"I'm not being vindictive, I'm just being fair... I'm not angry, I just don't want her to fucking have anythg." -- some twat across the cubicle fr. me, who seems to interpret 'fair' and 'not angry' the way Fox News interprets 'fair and unbiased'.

My VD passed without incident

heh. Volunteering yesterday was a ton of fun. Pervy medical types who uniformly dislike Valentine's Day. This could lead to only one thg.: LOTS of VD jokes. LOTS. My favorites included one fr. Sgt. H. in response to someone's saccharine greeting of (faux) holiday cheer: "Yeah, Happy VD to you, too -- hope you spread it!" and also my call of farewell to the staff as I left for the day, "Enjoy your VD, guys!" to which everyone responded, "Oh, we will!" heh. I'm sure this sort of banter really puts the patients at ease.

Yesterday was also notable b/c I got to do a lot of observation w/one of the drs. on staff. Dr. N is a nice guy, but I had never asked to shadow him before b/c he is rather reserved and stand-off-ish, and he seems exaggeratedly so in comparison to the rest of the staff b/c everyone else in that ER are freaking social dynamos. So point is, I had always been a little afraid of him (we fear that which is different!) and had never asked to shadow, but now I realize that was a HUGE waste of time b/c he was way more helpful and thorough than the other ppl. I've observed. Not only did I increase the quantity of ppl. I saw in one day, I also got a lot more out of it qualitativley, as he discussed ea. case w/me before we met w/the patient, offered his hypotheses, allowed me to watch during the exam, and then discussed what he gathered fr. the patient interview and how it helped change or shape his previous hypotheses. He even went over bloodwork and radiology results w/me. Gold Star for Dr. N!

On a completely unrelated note, I told Marion a story last night that she said I should really post on here b/c of its considerable comedic value. While I agree that the story is funny (I laugh every time I think of it), I'm not sure it's going to translate well to written form, but I'll give it a try. As many of you know, Eli has a long and varied history of buying me presents that are outrageously overpriced versions of smthg. that I said I would like. The two best examples of this are the $100 laptop bag he bought me for graduation fr. undergrad and the $900 digital camera/video recorder w/equipment he bought me for Christmas last yr.

Now, first and foremost, I must state for the record that I really appreciate that Eli put so much thought (and money) into my gifts and I have used them all. And when I laugh abt. these thgs. or otherwise poke fun, I am not meaning to be ungrateful. It's just that it tends to get a little ridiculous and I am usually left thinking, "For the money you spent on blah blah, I could have had a more affordable version of blah blah AND smthg. else," or, "...I could have had a more affordable version of blah blah so that when I inevitably fuck it up, it won't be a huge loss," OR, "...I could have had [insert other expensive present that I would have preferred] instead." Okay, yes, I'm an ungrateful bitch. Whatever. Read the following regarding this yr.'s bday present and you might be willing to cut me a little slack.

I knew in advance that Eli had spent a considerable amt. of money on my present (~$250 -- yeah, I don't think I'm worth it, either) and I knew that he had to order it fr. somewhere b/c they didn't sell them directly locally. So my curiosity was WAY piqued. The big day finally lumbers around, I get home fr. school that evening and Eli and Steve are both waiting for me in the LR b/c Steve thought it would be fun to hide my presents and watch me hunt. Which I did for a good 30 mins. After becoming increasingly annoyed after spending easily 10 mins. searching around the same place (b/c Eli and Steve told me I was REALLY close) that contained only a crystal ashtray Steve stole fr. one of Saddam's palaces and some car keys, I finally located the gift (after threatening to bean Steve w/the ashtray if he didn't give me better hints). It was hidden behind this jackass picture of Steve we have sitting on our mantle and it was....a flask engraved w/my name (he even remembered the all-important middle R!). I was pretty damn excited abt. this gift for many reasons, most notably that I finally had a way to discretely carry liquor at all times and also b/c it meant that Steve had -- for the first time ever -- paid attn. to smthg. I had said and then put real thought and effort into my gift.

You all know what happens when I get really excited (squealing, gushing, ecstatic cursing, jumping abt., etc.), so you can well-imagine the scene when I then turned to Eli and asked him abt. his gift. Tough act to follow, even if it was just a $25 flask. He smiles w/a look of restrained victory and says, "Your gift isn't here yet b/c I had to order it, but it's a..." [I am jumping fr. foot to foot w/anticipation] "...Longeberger* basket." I guess my big smile of slightly confused delight did not arrive fast enough for Eli to miss the preceding look of WTF? b/c he huffed in exasperation and exclaimed, "A Longeberger basket?! Oh, *my* God, it's like, a really nice basket! It appreciates in value! How can you not know what this is?!" Apparently, Eli had heard me mention that I wanted a knitting basket so that I could keep my considerable collection of knitting paraphernalia in some semblance of order. What I meant was "I want a big basket that retails for $50 tops to throw my shit in." What Eli heard (I guess) was "I want you to pay too much money for a basket no one has heard of so that I can try to be a neater wife for you."

I went fr. literally jumping up and down w/excitement after Steve's gift to cooing uncertainly, "Awwww...Thanks!(?)" while smiling w/more teeth than a rabid Rottweiler b/c I was trying so hard to look happy. You can see how this would be awkward. But terribly funny, though Eli did not so much appreciate the humor.

I say again, I *do* appreciate the gift. I know I will use it, it's probably an attractive piece (I still have not seen it), and it shows that Eli was listening to what I was saying, which is always appreciated. Again, you cannot fault Eli for thoughtfulness (though Steve has tried, saying that the real reason Eli bought me this gift is b/c he's so anal abt. neatness and this is one way to force me to be more compliant, not b/c he was thinking of my happiness) and I feel like a real shitbag for being anythg. other than unmitigatedly happy w/my gift.

But...

$250 for a freaking basket? I could have had a Roomba for $50 more and never have to vacuum again! And when I asked Eli (as kindly as possible) why he spent so much on a basket, he sputtered incredulously, "IT APPRECIATES IN VALUE!!" I'm sorry, dear, but the only way that basket is going to be worth more in 10 yrs. than it is right now is if I find a way to solve world hunger or win an Oscar and become an internationally known celebrity w/a cult of admirers willing to pay too much for my belongings. B/C otherwise I find it v. hard to believe that there are that many ppl. out there clamoring for a used basket made by a company that no one I have yet spoken to has heard of before. And that was Birt-day 2006.

I can write all of this b/c Eli never reads my blog. And even if he does, well...He's heard it all before already.


*You know what? I don't even know if that's spelled right. The basket in question still has not arrived and no one I have talked to has any clue what it is. Thus far, the only person aside fr. Eli who has ever heard of this company is his mom b/c she used to host Longeberger parties or smthg. Like Pampered Chef, but all abt. baskets. WTF? So I have the Pampered Chef of knitting baskets and I'm supposed to believe that this thg. is going to "appreciate in value"? riiiight.... I am so confused as to why such a company should even exist (other than to bilk well-meaning but misguided ppl. like Eli out of their money, of course) that I can't be bothered to find even the proper spelling of their name. Sheesh.

Little bit of nonsense

Regency

You love the idea of Kings and Queens, Dukes and

Countesses, but you also like the idea of the

beginnings of the creature comforts you love.

Carraiges and Balls are fabulous, but you

aren't exactly drawn to the Dark Ages. You'll

take just a little modernism, thank you!


Which Era Do You Belong In? (11 Results w Pictures)
brought to you by Quizilla

Wantonly stole this fr. Duncan's LiveJournal. Well, not so much stole as followed the link, took the quiz, and got the same results as him. Come join us in what is clearly the best era that ever was or will be -- assuming you are cool enough, of course.

Also, I realized that my last entry could be reduced down to the two words that constituted single-word paragraphs: Yeah. Whatever. Sorry abt. that. Will try to keep the life-hating to a minimum in the future.

School is the best.

Yeah.

I must have been crazy (more so than usual) when I thought this whole med school plan was feasible. I'm so tired of my classes I could cry (and occasionally do when I'm driving and no one is w/me and there isn't much traffic) and we're only a third of the way through the semester. Plus I'm sucking it like a Hoover these days (in a dismally non-sexual way), so that's not really helping. I walked into my Physics class today just as our prof was delivering a rant abt. how bad our first test grades were (I made a 42 -- seriously), which he rounded out with, "Nobody actually performed satisfactorily well," a comment as awkwardly formal in its phrasing as I felt sitting bolt upright in my seat, ankles crossed primly, determinedly studying a corner of the chalkboard just above Dr. A's eyeline. Oh, and naturally he did not curve the test since we get to drop our lowest grade and he has already determined that *this* will be everyone's drop grade, so there is no need for further assistance. I guess the fact that EVERYONE FAILED did not elicit as sympathetic a response as one would believe, or even the fleeting thought that perhaps the test was too fucking long/hard/generally crap and that he should re-evaluate the grades.

Whatever.

Get ready, everyone, b/c the moment I have been portending for yrs. (my abject failure) is now imminent, a claim likely to receive further substantiation either later this afternoon or on Wed. when I get my Physiology test back. It, like the Physics test, was poo, which I found more than usually disappointing, as I really enjoy this class, I put a lot of effort into it, and I seem to be doing less well than when I put no effort into it and spend my time thinking abt. how much I hate [insert boring subject matter here]. Like Organic. Fucking hate it. A lot. Studied nominally for the first test, just enough to make sure I knew enough to differentiate a methyl fr. a hole in the ground, and I got a 93. A 93. WTF? I should interject here that I do not actually expect my performance in Organic to continue in this manner, but a 93 ain't a bad start to a subject I fully anticipated getting through just by the seat of my pants (or trousers, for you naughty-minded Brits [ahem, Ben]). I've heard it said that familiarity breeds contempt, but I think it works the other way: when you hate smthg. enough you spend a lot of time and energy trying to figure out ways around it or to fuck w/it or to get one over on it, so that you end up unwittingly understanding it better than thgs. you enjoy and which therefore require less effort.

Quote of the Day:
"I'm trying to make this as exciting as I can, but I don't have much to work with." -- Dr. W, on the wonderful world of Organic Chem

On a cheerier note, Christy and Jennifer came down to Buttown on Sat. to help me celebrate my birt-day properly and succeeded marvelously! Eli and Steve chaperoned, and since the latter usually needs his own chaperone, I expected him to be rather less effective at defending our honour than Eli, but he was on reasonably good behavior for most of the evening. We had a yummy fatty dinner, went to a piano bar, got kicked off the stage at the piano bar (twice, I think), went to some club where the groping was more frequent than I would prefer, but I was tipsy and more than usually comfortable w/decisive swatting and laughing dismissively at offendors (most of whom appeared to be abt. 12 anyhow), so it was fine, and had a few drinks in between. AND, I got everyone to dance w/me at least once, even those who had previously adamantly refused to do so. Proof positive that alcohol and a reasonably attractive person can get ppl. to do just abt. anythg. On the whole, I think a good time was had by all. The next morning Eli continued his bid for Best Husband Ever by making everyone waffles and eggs -- awww! Unfortunately, some of the pics fr. that night contribute to a growing number of photographs I like to refer to as Good-Thg-I'm-Not-Planning-To-Run-For-Office-Anymore. I really need to ban cameras fr. all situations in which I could be intoxicated b/c even when I'm not being naughty, it sure as hell looks like I am. Plus I usually am being naughty, so, really, cameras are fr. this point forward not allowed.

Eli left this morning for two wks. in Alaska, which is sort of a bummer, though I would be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to get out of spending two wks. indoors w/his family -- haha! But since I will have two wks. on my own, I am faced w/a dilemma: I'm really torn b/t either surprising him when he gets home by having our room all clean and neat (which you should all know is quite difficult for me) or getting back at him for his incessant nagging and anality by completely decimating it while he's away. Truly, an epic battle b/t good and evil, no? heh heh heh....

"And I'm not happy And I'm not sad..."

Tonight was fun. Certainly more fun than could have been predicted fr. the middle part of my day, which was sandwiched like a faintly rancid piece of meat between more delectable events, namely a slightly dysfunctional (technically), but still amusing chat w/Brianna and Daniel online at the beginning of my day and a fun-filled evening of drinks and a movie w/my friend Tess. Tess, although in the military and stationed in this shithole, is one of the most animated, fun, beautiful, funny ppl. I have met. We were supposed to go see a movie and then meet up w/our hubbies and some friends, but we missed the early showing and 'had' to go get drinks for a couple of hrs. while we lated for the later showing instead. So I ended up laughing a lot, seeing a surprisingly awesome movie ("Something Different"), and enjoying conversation that couldn't be reduced to boobs, butts, and she's-hot-except-for-.....-but-I-would/would-not-do-her. The latter was esp. enjoyable b/c it was a much-needed change fr. my social life of the past four wks. or so. I think everyone in my acquaintance can attest to the fact that I can talk at great length abt. boobs, butts, and whomwouldyoudo, but there comes a time where even I would prefer to talk abt. the latest developments in pig farming than abt. one more person's 'rack'. So, yeah, the sheer variety of tonight's conversation left me somewhat euphoric and provided a far better buzz than the weak-ass drinks at Ruby Tuesday's. (Fucking hate that place.)

Now, let's talk abt. how I am the world's worst chem lab student. Really. If there was a prize for this, I would win every time, hands down. Most of you have already heard abt. the unfortunate water-up-the-gas-hose incident fr. Chem I, then there was my consistently mediocre performance in Chem II lab, and it seems that Organic lab is going to be more of the same, but with the possible addition of a chemical burn and/or small explosion. Take, for example, this past wk.'s lab. Thgs. started out well enough (uh, I was on time for once), but rapidly began the downhill tumble to Shittown. I'll spare you the details, but highlights included:
- Me spilling hydrochloric acid on the floor. Don't worry, though -- my foot blocked most of it.
- Our solute would not dissolve after 15 solid mins. of stirring and when we followed our TA's advice and attempted to begin the flitration, the solid chunks blocked our filter and we had to drain the liquid, unclog the funnel filter, and attempt to perform the experiment w/our significantly weakened solution.
- Naturally, this led to our experiment not working properly, which led to our professor coming over to see how we had fucked up the first (and therefore easiest) real lab of the semester. After asking a few questions and shaking her head, she just said to me, "Well, you're doing a great job of stirring that."
- Katie and I ended up taking longer than every other grp. in the class save one, which would be just plain annoying under normal circumstances, but because we were using ether for this experiment, my prolonged time in the lab combined with my quick, shallow breaths of frustration to produce a hellacious headache and a more than usually severe feeling of disorientation. I then got in my car, drove the 50 mi. back to my town, and spent the next 4 hrs. in the ER for my volunteering shift. Luckily, there is little traffic on the roads I use and by the time I had to start an IV, I had more or less recovered.
- As we were leaving the lab, I tried to make amends w/our TA for being such a pain in the ass and I jokingly said, "Sorry we suck!" expecting her to laugh and say smthg. like, "Oh, no, no..." or smthg. similary reassuring. Instead, she said, "It's okay," and sighed. HA!

All I can say is, I'm really glad Katie was my lab partner last semester, too, b/c she knows I'm terrible at this and has learned to laugh. Plus, she's not v. good, either, so we get to take turns being the jackass.

Off to bed for me. I have a big day of cleaning to look forward to b/c I need to get this place in shape for Christy and Jennifer's impending visit (YAY!!!) and also b/c if Eli nags me one more bob-damned time abt. it, I'm going to have to flee the country to avoid being arrested for murder. I am hoping to travel more, but I would rather not have to do so under an assumed identity. Unless, of course, that identity is wealthy and attractive, in which case Eli better watch his back.

NEWSFLASH!: Fake rocks aren't just for hiding spare keys anymore!

Or at least such is the claim Russia is attempting to make against British diplomats. I'm sure you've all heard or will shortly hear abt. this story, but I felt compelled to take a moment to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thg. Highlights fr. the Washington Post article I read included:

'Documents featured on the program appeared to show that the British planned to fund a school to train public inspectors in remote areas. "We can only guess at who these inspectors were and what they were going to see in northern Siberia and the Far East," said an unnamed FSB officer...' Wow, yeah. Job training in a tundric shithole like Siberia is WAY subversive. Thank God the FSB was on alert for these thgs. With cunning intelligence like this, I just can't believe the USSR lost the Cold War!

'"We have a kind of gentlemen's understanding that official intelligence representatives won't engage in espionage," said Ignatchenko, referring to the head of the British intelligence service MI6 in Moscow, one of whose aides allegedly was filmed at the park. "The agreement seems to have been breached. In fact, we have been deceived."' hmmm... So the ppl. working in *intelligence* [allegedly] engaged in *espionage* and that is shocking? Maybe smthg. got lost in translation and the Russians thought intelligence meant intelligentsia. They're probably still waiting for pasty waifs to show up at their coffee shops, throwing around Western money and moaning abt. the meaning of being.

And my personal favorite: '"At first we thought this was a normal, typical secret drop-off point camouflaged under a stone," an FSB officer told state-run Rossiya television. "However, later when our specialists carried out their investigation, it became clear that the stone contained an electronic device. This was absolutely new spy technology."' Uh-huh. You know, I understand that by the end of the Cold War Russia was pretty behind in terms of world trends and technological development, but calling a fake rock 'absolutely new spy technology'? Really? *Really??* I think I saw a cave painting abt. that in Lascaux. Yeah, you know, the one where the Cro-Magnons destroyed the Neanderthals by using fake rocks to store their weapons in preparation for an ambush. And 'normal, typical secret drop-off point...under a stone' that apparently everyone knows abt., making it rather less than secret in my estimation?? hahaha... It's like Spy vs. Spy, but less sophisticated.

Even if Britain *was* spying on Russia via a fake rock, Russian intell has so successfully managed to come off as sputtering beefcake peabrains that Britain won't even need to try to cover it up. No one reading a statement involving such pitiful remonstrances and unlikely evidential offerings is going to bother w/being outraged b/c they'll be too busy pointing and laughing. I bet even Russians are laughing. Secretly, of course, in their hovel-like flats, still slightly worried that their neighbor is in the KGB and is waiting for an excuse to turn them in so he/she can move in to the apt. w/a view, but laughing nonetheless.

Don't Panic

Turns out my half-serious concern abt. this being the beginning of the end of days was unfounded, as Steve authoritatively informed me the other day that we will not see the end of the world in our lifetime. Whew. Glad he told me that before I confessed my sins and went out to stockpile water, TP, and peanut butter (I think one would need a lot of protein to face apocalypse). Wanna know smthg. really sad? My mom actually did all of that before New Year's Eve 2000 b/c she totally bought into the Y2K bullshit. Not kidding. Every time she came back fr. the store for the last six mos. of 1999 she had gallons of water and canned goods which she stored in this POS shed in our backyard that didn't even adequately protect the boxes and extra furniture we put out there (most of them became mold-ridden or created housing for small mammals and insects), but that my mom felt would be the better shelter option than our brick, solidly-constructed house. Or maybe that was the backup shelter in case smthg. (??) happened to the house. I don't really remember. I was too busy trying not to laugh every time she explained the "emergency plan" to pay attn. I don't think she bought much peanut butter, though, so my plan is already better than hers (haha). When I think abt. my mom doing thgs. like Y2K preparation and my maternal grandmother doing thgs. like hanging all of her coats in the hall closet in a specific order and manner, I say a quick prayer that my dad's genes will be strong enough to fight off what is clearly a genetic tendency toward insanity. Of course, Vern's not totally w/it, either, but that side of the family just has a tendency toward depression and alcoholism, as opposed to the slightly paranoid, OCD-like behavioral oddities of my mom's family.

And now you need never ask again why I do not wish to have children. It's in their best interests, I hope you see. haha...

Eli's first wk. home has been quite nice. Steve has been reasonably well-behaved, Eli hasn't spent an excessive amt. of time watching movies in our room (he's been in the living room instead), and I managed to be reasonably productive despite the many distractions and a mid-week dinner party/drunkfest that left me wondering how I got that drunk that fast on a Tues. evening. Yeah. I didn't do stuff like that in undergrad, I don't know why I did it this wk. as a responsible, mature, post-bac student (hahahaha). Although, in my defense, I must say that I had not intended to get drunk that night. I kept drinking b/c I didn't feel that drunk (obviously a miscalculation on my part), and I was quite surprised when the shots, beers, wine, and margaritas finally hit me and I realized I was totally obliterated. I had told everyone at the beginning of the evening that I had to go work on Physics at 8 and at 830 I stumbled back to my room w/every intention of doing so. At 9 I gave up and went to sleep. I woke up at 530am w/just my shirt on, reached for my alarm (which had not been set, of course), replied to Eli's mumbled query of, "You're not really going to class in the morning, are you?" w/a slight affirmative whine, and went back to sleep. Not only did I go to class in the morning, I was on time for the first time this semester. Apparently drunkenness improves my punctuality. I also nearly passed out fr. vertigo the first time I shifted my head fr. looking at the chalkboard to looking at my notes to looking at the chalkboard, but I overcame. What an Idiot.

There's some other stuff I could talk abt. (like the soldier who came into the ER the other day w/a foreign object lodged up...well, you get it -- he should have driven to Savannah rather than come to the military hospital where everythg. that happens to soldiers must be reported to their company commanders, poor fella's not going to last a wk. when that gets out), but Eli and Steve should be home soon and I suppose I should make it look as if I've done a little more in the last hr. than sit in my bathrobe eating Cheerios. In actuality, I will probably continue to sit in my bathrobe pretending to be working on my Physics lab report while doing little beyond staring at the computer disinterestedly. But that's basically how I made it through grad school, so perhaps smthg. will come of it in the end.

Oh, also, check out this news article that Christy's med school friend had on his blog. It fully illustrates why democracy is not a good idea. http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060113/od_nm/vampire_dc

I.V, anyone?

B/C I could do that for you. Yes, that's right, today I did smthg. actually related to medicine. Or at least to bodily fluids used in medicine. I learned how to start an I.V! After impressing the ranking medic on duty w/my ability to pierce and properly catheterize plastic tubing, he called over the lesser medic on duty (a lovely PVT who apparently doubles as the ER pin cushion when ppl. want to practice their I.V. skillz) and handed me the needle. It wasn't perfect (I would probably have killed someone if they were as slow as I was), but I didn't go through the vein, it was a good catch and no one passed out, so all in all, better than I had expected! Perhaps by the time I lv. in May I'll be confident enough to do it w/o apologizing profusely before, during, and after. I don't think that sort of blubbering instills much confidence in patients.

So my second day of volunteering was far more interesting/rewarding than the first day, during which I spent two hrs. answering the phone/doing work meant for a trained rat and three hrs. listening to the chief of emergency medicine in the ER talk abt....Well, I don't rightly remember what we talked abt. for three hrs., but we did. Actually, it was a lot of him talking and me nodding, or him debating w/some other M.D. abt. kidney stones, first-trimester spotting, and whether or not you need to order labs to confirm a diagnosis. Which I guess was pretty cool, but it basically did nothg. for me b/c he's lvng. soon to go to Iraq, which means he can't be my "mentor" or "person who gets me into med school b/c he knows someone [which he does]". Anyhow, b/t the sticking of ppl. and the dirty jokes w/the staff and hearing of stories some of the nurses had abt. their experiences in Iraq (wow.), today was a really good day. OH! And if Steve and The Rock had a baby, it would totally be this P.A. that works in the ER. He looks sort of like Steve in the face, but he may be the biggest man I have ever seen in person. Fucking H U G E , I tell you. And hot. But I always did think The Rock was hot (shut it, you).

Quote of the Day:

"Aw, man...Y'all could do that [a CT scan for a patient w/back spasms]. It ain't hard. You just push the button and get this look on your face [imagine professional, pensive gaze] so they think you know what you're doing, and occasionally look at them and look at the monitor. I'm tellin' ya, I'm thinking of going out and training some squirrels to take over for me." -- the Radiology Tech, after we told him he couldn't go to lunch yet b/c we needed a scan.

Also, in an effort to improve my "upbeat writing skills", I thought I would report that I had a little bull session w/myself the other day and managed to accomplish a good bit of mental-emotional housecleaning. Feeling much better. But I do still miss you all tons. In fact, I determined that that was the root cause of much of my distress -- I've felt rather isolated and unstimulated and that isn't likely to change significantly until I get the hell out of this town. Though Steve does have several new friends who are interesting, intelligent, and generally more quality than his usual riff-raff (haha -- Steve's reading this as I write it and is abt. to punch me in the throat), which allows me some hope for the near future. Seriously, I do like his friends and hanging out w/them should be far better than hanging out w/the cats. I was getting way too close to crazy cat lady status. Steve has enlisted his friends for knitting, tea, and Desperate Housewives, which should be amusing even if it happens only once. But I do miss you all so v. much and I daily wish I could make dinner for Stuart, Ben, and Jon w/Marion, have tea and knitting w/Clare, talk shit abt. everyone w/Daniel in a surprisingly sophisticated way (it's got to be that vocabulary of his), laugh hysterically w/Brianna (and gelatin-free cheesecake!), go for rambling walks w/Eamonn, Duncan, and Olley, or run around Charleston w/my fellow Foxy Fivers. And of course there are innumerable other memories/thgs. I miss abt. all of you and those I did not mention by name, but suffice it to say that I love you all more than ever and I can never say how happy I am to have you in my life. Thanks for everythg., dears.

OH!! And I'm such a jackass.... ELI GETS HOME TOMORROW!! I swear the fact that I didn't mention this sooner does not reflect a lack of excitement on my part, though perhaps it does denote a slight disbelief/reluctance to get overly excited *just*in*case* smthg. goes wrong and he doesn't come home tomorrow b/c we all know how these thgs. go... Esp. for me. heh.

I'm not saying it's the end of the world...

...But it is.

Haha... No, I'm not so batty as that just yet. But, seriously, there is smthg. weird going on w/natural phenomena these days. More than usual, I mean. For example, in my little region alone, we have recently had hellacious thunderstorms, at least two of which spawned tornadoes in neighboring counties, and there is/was a new tropical storm meandering abt. the Atlantic a full month after hurricane season ended (which possibly lends credence to the growing suspicion that smthg. is amiss w/the Gulf Stream). We almost never get tornadoes (or thunderstorms, for that matter) this time of yr. b/c usually by now winter has come even to my balmy, mild habitat, which creates conditions not conducive to tornado formation, since they depend on a sudden interaction of v. warm and v. cold air. As we all learned in pre-school, with the assistance of tissue-paper snowflakes and cotton ball snow, winter is a "cold" season, cold on the ground and in the air above. But this winter we have had almost no truly cold days. The high for the next three days is 72 degrees. Seventy-f-ing-two in *January*. What is that? And GA/the Lowcountry of the Southeast region isn't the only anomaly, either. I didn't use my coat once the whole time I was in VA for Christmas, which, in my 23 yrs. of experience w/mid-Atlantic weather, has never before happened. [Perhaps Daniel would like to comment on this, as he is in MD, which is more firmly in the mid-Atlantic region than VA, and so he would have a more informed opinion this yr. than myself, since I decided to pretend I was raised by wolves and did not see any of my actual family members over the holiday.] Also, Eli's family lives north of Anchorage, AK, and reported having absolutely no snow at Christmas. Not an inch. That miserable bitch of a state is usually five ft. under by now and should remain so for another four mos. When you add this to all of the earthquakes and mudslides in recent wks. around the world and the polar bears freaking out and the increasing likelihood that w/the ascension of an(other) uber-conservative to the Supreme Court the US will regress abt. 3000 yrs. in matters legislative, judicial, personal, and environmental... Well, let's just say that if the four horsemen show up next wk., I won't be overly surprised. I might even make them some tea. B/C I'm gonna need to know someone to get out of all of that Purgatory I've accrued.

Seen and heard:
The Washington Post yesterday ran a mildly informative article abt. the growing # of evangelical Christians who have a real affinity for Judaism. I've known several such ppl. and I've gotta say that they're even nuttier than your average evangelical, but hopefully that's true only of my completely unscientific sample. Anyhow, the introductory paragraph of this article was: "Everyone who worships at the Tabernacle quickly learns three facts about its deeply conservative pastor. He comes from a broken home. He rides a canary-yellow Harley. And he loves the Jews." The Jews. I thought it was rather questionable to use a phrase like "the Jews" in a newspaper not officially connected to neo-Nazis or the KKK, so I read this to Steve to see if it was just me being frighteningly, uncharacteristically over-P.C. and his response was, "Haha... Yeah, just like Steve loves the [insert plural of N-word here]." riiight... But at least I know it wasn't just me who perceived this potential faux-pas.

Steve called me a tree-hugger b/c I've been recycling, using my "green bag" that Jill brought me fr. Australia, and I don't shop at Wal-Mart. WTF?

I called my brother today during my *four*hr.*break* b/t classes and left the following msg.:
"Hey, spunk-monkey. I just thought I would see what's up w/you b/c I have a lot of time before my next class and I thought I would kill you."
Naturally I meant "*call* you," but it probably does not bode well that I have been in school again for a grand total of two hrs. and already the brain has decayed to such a deplorable state.

In response to Steve's oddly outraged/distraught query of why I would be okay w/contracting a deadly strain of bird flu (of which he had not heard before), I said, "I'm just kinda tired." I need smthg. better than that, I think.

The Question of the Day on one of the rap stations here was, "Grillz: Turn-On or Turn-Off?" While this would have been funny enough on its own, the humor caliber was augmented by someone who called in, (erroneously) declared grillz to be hot, and then said, "Yeah, I got me a nice one, but it ain't permanent cuz I got to go to work and dey won't lemme wear my grill." BWAH HA!

On a tenuously related note, I was yet again reminded abt. how old I am when a 14 y.0. called the rap station for "Tootsie Roll", which seemed totally normal b/c when I was 14 just three seconds ago, "Tootsie Roll" was my jam! And then the DJ said, "Oh, you wanna take it back, do ya? How you even know abt. da 'Tootsie Roll' when you only 14?!" And I thought, "What does he mean, 'take it back?' That song's not that...Holy shit, it's been almost 10 yrs. since I was 14!!!!" And then I proceeded to dance while driving for the next 3.5 mins. b/c how can you not break it down for da Tootsie Roll?

The ugliest, loudest, least helpful librarian in the world just shuffled over to some poor unfortunate soul in need of assistance w/Lexis-Nexis. She is now making almost as much noise as the idiot across fr. me who is apparently downloading new ringtones for his phone, but has not yet mastered the volume key, resulting in periodic bursts of ear-shattering rap and hip-hop and reminding me of just how fab-o GA Southern is. wee-haw.


One more anecdote before I run along to Comparative Physiology and release you all fr. my rambling thrall. A few mos. ago, I was looking for a new leave-in conditioner, the spray-in kind, not the creme kind. After several trips to several stores yielded nothg. but irritation, I found the perfect solution during a fortuitous visit to Target -- a large bottle of spray-in conditioner that smelled rather nice and was not tested on animals AND was on sale. Score! I looked at the brand (Soft and Lovely) and thought vaguely, "I think that's a black company," but it didn't say anythg. abt. that and the only picture was of a hazelnut or smthg. and then I read the bit abt. how it wasn't tested on animals and I was like, "Well, maybe not. And who cares anyhow, I'm buying it." So I check out, notice a slight look of surprise on the (black) cashier's face, chalk it up to oversensitivity on my part, and go home to try out my new product. It works beautifully. My hair has been shinier and more manageable than I ever remember, which may also be due to the fact that I now have the best hair-stylist ever, but I'm pretty sure the Soft and Lovely leave-in is playing a role, too. Fast forward to a couple of wks. ago. I'm wandering around Big!Lots, collecting various items I don't really need, but that are too cheap/interesting/weird to pass up when I come across a bottle of my Soft and Lovely spray-on, leave-in conditioner. Except this bottle has a black woman on it where mine has some sort of nut. And the directions mention smthg. abt. spraying it on your corn-rows to keep them properly moisturized. So it is now confirmed that I purchased and have happily been using a product intended for corn rows. This, inappropriately, made me laugh really hard b/c the mental image of me gaily spraying down my corn rows wouldn't go away.

And Now, the Moment You Have All (vaguely, half-heartedly, after running out of other thgs. to do) Been Waiting For....

...my triumphant return. Which is in actuality more like a rather depressed, haunted-by-dread-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach-at-the-prospect-of-school-starting-again, trudge back to reality. Or semi-reality, at least, b/c I do still have a few more days of freedom. Seriously, I'm not sure I have ever been so unenthusiastic abt. learning. This is what science does to you, folks -- it makes you hate smthg. you thought you loved. Like learning. Or french fries (and fattening foods generally). Or motion. Well, it explains in graphic, irrefutable, excruciating detail why you should hate thgs. you thought you loved. I just keep telling myself that this will all be worth it...in 10 yrs. when I finally graduate fr. med/grad school. Funny how that doesn't imbue me w/a warm, fuzzy feeling of validation.

On a positive note, Steve is home and it has thus far been quite pleasant. Of course, it's been only 36 hrs. and Eli isn't home yet, so the fur isn't flying, but I prefer to focus on the good and steadfastly ignore the potential bad and continue thinking this will go on forever. Perhaps part of why I am more apt to do this than I would normally be is that Steve has a new friend who, although female, is wonderfully intelligent and funny and not painful to be around! I like this person (Michelle) so much that I have attempted to foster in Steve a more-than-friendly interest in her, but to no avail (for the moment). I have high hopes, though. Which probably adds to the mounting evidence that I am losing contact w/reality. But let me have for the next two days at least, as all fun will cease to exist for me at 7am on Mon.

You know, going back to "life" might not seem so bad had I not had an absolutely fucking fantastic holiday, for which I am indescribably grateful. But me gushing abt. how fab-o my life is doesn't make for v. interesting reading, since I have yet to master the upbeat humorous writing, favoring instead sarcasm and sharp wit. I'll work on that. But I did have a great holiday and I am v. sad to see it ending, though I smile every time I think on it.


I apologize in advance if I suddenly become the loudest person on the bitter bus, but next wk. is going to be a real shock to my system, physically and emotionally, as it will signal the end of daily alcohol consumption, copious amts. of sleep, and happiness generally. A big thank you to those who left comments and signed the guest book...made me laugh and love you all more.




Also, I miss you all more than usual. I think we should all buy a big house somewhere and live together forever. Sure, half of you don't know ea. other, but you know me and have not-unfriendly feelings toward me, so what else do you need, really?