shoesonwrong

Day Thirty: I Will Be Frank. I Put Very Little Effort Into This Month.

Wow, this has just been my best attempt at National Blog Posting Month ever, hasn't it. I have a series of excellent excuses, however, regarding my lack of posting: I was sick, it was too cloudy out, it was too sunny out, I didn't feel like it, I didn't have any good ideas, my pinky finger hurt, I was busy doing other things, I was busy not doing other things, the cats were giving me the stink eye, making that instant pudding really ate up a lot of my time, I was reading, I was watching a movie and claiming to be reading, I was playing a video game and claiming to watch a movie, my belly button's caving in, the economy, the environment, the plight of the inner city youth, and purple.

Last Saturday may have been the longest month of my life. Ryan's aunt, uncle, cousin, brother, and sister came to visit, and I love my in-laws, but they exhaust me. I cleaned my house, re-cleaned my house, had to figure out how to entertain them (which involved taking them all over downtown Detroit), and then actually make conversation with them while they were here. I am, in essence, a comedian. I have about an hour of good material that I trot on out for an audience, then it's time for me to go because I'm sweating, my throat is raw, and I'm socially awkward and plagued with emotional problems. At that point, I want nothing more than to drink about a gallon of water and curl up with my sock puppet companion.

We had a really good time while they were here, but by time they left, I was spent. Ryan tried to talk to me and then I said something my mother said to me many times while I was growing up, "Shh! Do you hear that? That's right, silence."

Day Twenty-Five: I Don't Even Know Why I'm Bothering With Numbering The Days Anymore

I had the best idea for a post in my half-asleep period around four a.m. I don't remember what it was, but I DO remember repeating it to myself over and over so I wouldn't forget it. Then I remember feeling pleased with myself for a) coming up with such brilliance while half unconscious and b) telling myself to remember it. I woke up three hours ago and have spent the majority of that time trying to remember this brilliant post of near-mythical proportions.

I'm beginning to suspect there was no post.

Changing the topic, has anyone had a problem commenting on my blog? Because Kerri was unable to post a comment, and I want to know if this is an isolated incident or not. If you try to comment but can't, email me. (Also, doesn't this sort of sound like a clever trick to get more comments? If it were, I would be pleased with myself. But it's not. And I'm still pleased with myself.)

After checking out Kerri's blog, I found a link to Life on Moleskine, which is a great site. Check it out.

Day Nineteen:

My attempt at NaBloPoMo has epically failed this year. Between impromptu road trips and physical therapy and ear infections and, oh yeah, utter laziness. Mostly that last thing, though.

After my former doctor put me on Amoxicillin-875 twice a day and that failed, my new doctor put me on Augmentin-875 for my ongoing ear infection. After a few days (three or four) the Augmentin seemed to have knocked it out, but now my ear is hurting again. I'm afraid that if I go back to the doctor, the next form of treatment will involve a blowtorch or a big bottle of bleach. Or an earectomy with a butter knife.

Day Seventeen: Top Chef Is Back

If there's one thing I love more than good food, it's watching food be prepared by someone other than myself. (Or preparing imaginary food, ala Cooking Mama.) Food Network hypnotizes me to the point where I don't ever turn it on anymore because five hours later, I'm still enraptured by Emril Lagasse kicking a chicken up a notch. The one cooking show I allow myself to watch is Top Chef, which I adore because it combines my love of watching others cook with my love of watching others fail miserably on national television.

I sometimes daydream about being on Top Chef, but even in my daydream I know that it would go badly. I'd slice myself open on accident during the first quickfire challenge and start screaming for someone to come and help me. Chef Tom Colicchio would come over and start asking me why on Earth I couldn't manage to julienne some carrots if I am the executive chef of a four star restaurant, and then I'd be wailing I LIED TO GET ON THE SHOW. PLEASE DON'T LET ME DIE HERE. BUTTER THE WOUND CLOSED BEFORE I BLEED TO DEATH.

I told Ryan I wouldn't last an hour on the show, and his reply was, "That's not true. It would probably take them more than an hour to bandage you up."

Day Fifteen: Ace In The Hole

Ryan prefers to think of himself as hirsute, but the fact of the matter is he's hairy in a way that suggests he was bathed in Rogaine as a baby. So, sometimes, I help him out with manscaping in places he can't reach, like, uh, his back. And his chimp neck.

He might want to divorce me after reading this post, but we both know he won't. He couldn't afford it because after I told the judge about shaving Ryan's shoulders year after year, the judge would decree that THERE IS NOT ENOUGH ALIMONY MONEY IN THE WORLD SO JUST SIGN YOUR PAYCHECK OVER RIGHT NOW, BUDDY.

Day Thirteen: I'm Also Still Highly Interested In Ponies

When I was younger, I had a pen pal named Sara. Sara was from the Midwest, enjoyed skiing, and was home schooled at the time, so we had a lot in common. I found some old letters from her a few weeks back, and it would seem that we also had a shared trait of being competitive, prolific, windbags. Twice a month on average I would send a letter to and receive a letter from Sara. On average, these letters were ten pages, front and back. And we would invariably sign each letter with a perky "Longer Letter Later!" As if we felt just terrible that we were unable to crank out more pages at the moment on our favorite color and what we would name our ponies because surely the reader of the letter must be sad that it had ended so quickly.

I considered looking Sara up on facebook or myspace but then envisioned novel-length wall posts and emails being traded back and forth because I know that I at least haven't really become any less competitive, prolific, or windbaggy.

Day Twelve Point Five: You're Welcome

Since I cannot be trusted to post with any regularity, I feel it's my civic duty to direct you to other blogs that may amuse and amaze. Two that I love and have been reading for a long time are City of Bigness and Girl On Girl Action.

Day Twelve: Here's Where I Was On Days Eight Through Eleven

Day Nine: Happy Birthday, Mom

For some reason, I always end up on an impromptu road trip with my mother on her birthday. This time, she roped me into looking for real estate with her in North Carolina and Tennessee.

I don't want to paint an entire region with too broad of a brush here, but today I saw three toilets sitting outside of house trailers, which is three more toilets than I have ever seen sitting outside of any type of housing prior to this point in my life. One of these toilets was sitting outside a double wide trailer that was several hundred feet from a hundred thousand dollar piece of property and a two-hundred and fifty thousand dollar home. This might be the WASP in me talking, but I just don't want to look out the window of my quarter million dollar home and see a commode.

In all fairness, the area in general is quite pretty and most of the houses don't have outdoor porcelain thrones. I fear, though, that it's all lost on me. My mother keeps asking me whether I thought property A was better than property B or did I happen to think property C was prettier? And I general reply with, Well, they all have trees. And I like how the sky is up above and the ground is down below. And there's no toilets on any of them. Can we just decide and go take a nap at the hotel, please?

Day Eight: Y'all, It Turns Out Cincinnati Does NOT Look Like New York

Captain's log: missed posting yesterday, but will make it up. Have been in car with mother for six hour and not resorted to cannibalism. Despite sleeping in a hatchback like a transient and the prospect of not being able to shower for another twenty four hours, my spirits remain high.

Day Six: I Will Not Be Going To Dollywood

On Saturday, I am embarking on a road trip with my mother to Tennessee to go real estate hunting. Well, technically, she's real estate hunting and I'm just going along for the ride because I haven't seen a blade of grass or leaf of tree in months. Also because going anywhere with my mother is hilarious. While extolling the virtues of the upcoming road trip, she excitedly told me how much she loves driving through Cinncinnati at nighttime because it looks just like New York City.

I don't ever have to make up things that my mother says because they're gems of absurdity all on their own.

Day Five: My Favorite Five Jokes

I am kind of popular on Twitter. Because I'm under the weather today and because, let's face it, I laugh loudest at my own jokes, here are my five favorite jokes I've made on Twitter.

1. I had to act out "NPR" in charades the other day. So I pretended to listen to the radio, fall asleep, and drive off the road. #
2. For me, the real sign that Cap'n Crunch isn't an official maritime officer is that his eyebrows are on his hat. #
3. I just got a random gift of enormous, ugly candlesticks. Great, now I can kill Colonel Mustard in the conservatory. #
4. Sometimes, when I feel sad, I just stop feeding the cats until one or both of them pretends to like me for awhile. #
5. If you think threatening to pull down your pants in a store in order to get your way is something kids outgrow, I just proved you wrong. #

Day Three: These Painkillers Have Reduced My Urge To Scratch My Ear Off My Head

Well, I sucked it up and went to the doctor today because my ear was nearly swelled shut this morning. The doctor was a fresh-faced young man who was so adorable he had to have bunny rabbit somewhere in his lineage. He took a look at me and said, "You don't look very good." When I explained the ear problem, he said that he would be gentle examining it, then pointed to his doctor's coat that said he was both a general medicine doctor as well as a pediatrician as proof that he could perform ouchie-less exams. Letting me know he was a pediatrician was a big mistake, however, because I refused to let the exam proceed until I received a lollipop. (At first he thought I was kidding.) After a very thorough examination, he promptly said, "It's just as I thought. You have an earache." I was less than amused because I still didn't have my lollipop.

He sent me home with super strong antibiotics and painkillers as well as instructions to call back no later than Thursday morning if I have ANY ear pain left. I very nearly cried with relief and booped him on his bunny nose because I was so happy to have a doctor spend more than a cursory five minutes with me.

Ryan has the day off tomorrow because even though he works for a software company, he is currently contracted out to one of The Big Three, and apparently they have a long-standing history of giving employees election day off. (The UAW wants to make sure their guys and gals get out there and vote blue, I suppose.)

"Once again, Unkle Wicket wants to remind you to vote and mebbe pick him up some canned food on the way home because he hardly ever gets that stuff."

Day Two: At Least I Remembered To Post Before 11:55

That ear infection I was treated for a few weeks back has returned. Well, it never went away, actually, it just lessened. I've been trying to do some home remedies for an ear infection to avoid going back to the doctor because I'm already being crushed under a mountain of medical bills as it is. I think I'm going to have to suck it up and go back because I'm running a fever, can't even touch my ear because it hurts so badly, and as of today my hearing is muffled.

The only thing in my house that will knock the pain out is the few Tylenol-3 I have left in my medicine cabinet, and as a result, I am hoarding them and counting them repeatedly like a junkie. Oh, and I'm snorting them like a junkie, too. And considering prostitution.

(Note, I wrote and attempted to post this at 11:25, but TypePad freaked out and wouldn't do it but whatever I'm still timestamping it at 11:25.)

I am doing NaBloPoMo again this year. Gird your loins.

Almost forgot to post today, though, so I'm off to a smashing good start. Who posts on the weekends? I do exciting things on the weekends, like play video games and sleep in.

Day 20: In The Past Week

• My grandmother went into the hospital because of a staph infection, which was scary.

• The cat began pooping worms.

• Due to a miscommunication about a due date in a syllabus and a professor who refused to acknowledge/correct his mistake, I ended up writing 40+ pages (single spaced) of reflective essays in the space of a couple days. 40 pages. I didn't even know I could write 40 pages.

• My grandmother came out of the hospital even though she was still obviously very sick, weak, and worryingly depressed.

• The cat took medication to fix the issue of pooping out pieces of tapeworms.

• My grandmother's health declined rapidly, rendering her unable to care for herself in any manner, and she ended up back in the hospital, where she is being held for at least a few weeks.

• Tonight, the cat started pooping worms again, indicating that he had tapeworms so bad the first time that he needs another round of medication to fully clear them up.

When you add in the normal stress that results from the end of the semester (6 exams, 2 term papers, etc.), I feel like I'm about go spontaneously bald.

Day Nineteen: Sorry I Haven't Posted. Or HAVEN'T I? *swirly magic effects*

Imagine that you're in the most beautiful place you can imagine, you're at peace, and you're happy. Now describe that place. Is it a meadow? A mountain top? K-Mart? (No judgments.) My point is, everyone who reads this blog is brilliant and imaginative.

So just imagine that I haven't missed like a week and half of posting, and that I have written a bunch of witty posts filled with wit and, uh, wit. See how easy that was? I bet my posts were HILARIOUS, too, because I am amazing like that. And also, witty.

Day Thirteen: Your Ears Are Big, But That's Pretty

Sometimes, I do homework with the TV on in the background. More importantly, I do homework with America's Next Top Model on in the background because Tyra Banks is my hero. She's Oprah's cracked-out younger sister; you KNOW they both went through the same crap growing up, but for some reason Oprah emerged relatively unscathed with a mild propensity to shake her fists in the air while making dramatic proclamations while Tyra is all half-nekkid, posing in men's magazines and running around crazily, twitching and screaming like that small balloon of coke she was smuggling in her butt burst on accident.

Best Tyra moments (complete with authentic captions of things she said while making these faces):

"I'm in a wind tunnel and it's uncomfortable!"


"I'm wrinkled but I'm so hot."


"Beyonce is all like uwah-wah-wah-uhhh! She doesn't go like this."


The look that Twiggy and Miss J had when one contestant said, "Okay, okay, I smell what you're stepping in." I like that Twiggy looks as though she may peck your eyes out.

Day Twelve: It's A Bird, It's A Plane

I have not been falling behind in my posting! It's all just a trick of perception, like that thing where you look at the dancer, and it seems to spin in different directions! I need to figure out some way to take focus off me and my bad posting track record. Hey. What's that? A kitteh?!

Um, for reals, though, my grandma has been sick and I spent the better part of the weekend going to see her. Hence the no blogging.

Day 8: A Bit Late

Me: Wow. I have been awake for 17 hours. That's pretty good for me!

Him: Except for that hour long nap you took this afternoon.

Me: CRAP!

Day 7: Farewell, Tiny Ones

At 7:30 tomorrow morning, Momo will be lighter in the produce section because that is when he is scheduled to have his nads removed.

I think the real injustice here is that it's at 7:30 in the morning.

Day 6: Music Is My King Sized Bed

I hocked some of my other older electronics, sold some old DVDs and books I had laying around, saved up some money, and bought this. I know I said it was too thin and fragile feeling and that I did NOT want one, but I have an explanation.

It is very, very shiny. And pretty. And did I mention the shiny? Because it is extremely shiny.

Day 5: The Most Normal Conversation We Had All Night

Him: Oh THERE'S the lint from my [long pause] bellybutton that I dropped earlier!

Me: I am so glad you said bellybutton. I was worried because of the pause.

Him: I forgot how to form words. Also, maybe I should have lead off with bellybutton. Something like, "There's the bellybutton lint I lost earlier."

Me: 1) Yes and B) That wouldn't have really made things any better.

Day 4: Aw, Crap

I was all set to hop into bed when I realized that I had yet to post today. This blogging every single day thing is very hard work when you're dying of the grippe.

I am a fan of using old terms for sicknesses. It makes them seem so much more romantic and tragic. You're not old and feeble -- you're suffering from decrepitude! Your tonsils hurt and it's probably because of the dreaded quinsy. You aren't demon possessed, you have St. Vitas Dance (ceaseless occurrence of rapid complex jerking movements)!

It makes me sad, though, that if I told people I have the vapors, they would automatically assume I meant that I have some sort of uncontrollable farting problem rather than a severe mental illness. THAT is what is wrong with society today. A lack of recognition of the vapors.

Day 3: At Least The Fall Back Tonight Means I Have An Extra Hour To Blog Tomorrow

I am sick with a flu so bad that it has permeated the very fabric of time itself. This afternoon, the 3 o'clock hour lasted for 2 days, and now the clock reads 11:31, even though mere moments ago it read 5:47.

After a fulfilling day spent playing the Sims 2 and reading the sequel to Flowers in the Attic, I attempted to bring some cultcha into my life by watching The Comfort of Strangers. Maybe it's the immense amounts of cold medicine (enough to stop several full grown hippos in their tracks), or maybe I'm just a boorish rube, but that movie was incredibly boring. I got 30 minutes in before I finally just gave up and turned it off. The Comfort of Strangers, despite starring those fabulous dames Rupert Everett and Helen Mirren, was unbearably slow. It made me long for a good fast-paced, rollicking Merchant Ivory film.

At one point, I heard Homer Simpson's voice in my head going, ""I've seen plays that were better then this, honest to God PLAYS!"

Maybe I'll try it again tomorrow if I don't have anything better to do. You know, after I've caught up on cleaning my bellybutton and alphabetizing my nail polish.

Day 2: I Am Dying

Of both writers block and the side effects of a flu vaccination.

When I finally bite the big one, I want to be buried in this, okay?

Day 1: Doing My Part To Explode The Internet

It is that time again: NaBloPoMo!

It might also be known as "The month this turns into a cat blog because I ran out of ideas last year."

Dear God, let's hope not.

(Not getting off to a good start, are we?)

Take THAT, November!

This month is finally drawing to a close, and I thought I'd be happy that it was just OVER and I wouldn't be pushingmyself to blog every single day. But instead, the last week hasn't been so bad -- sort of like when you run (or, in my case, bike because this girl? She does not run.) and at first it hurts real bad and you're looking for a place to stop and sit down so you can catch your breath and drink a martini. Then, the longer you run, the more you convince yourself that you might actually be able to make it without dying. Pretty soon, you're enjoying yourself, and not just in the hitting your head on the wall because it feels so good to stop sort of way.

I am actually going to attempt to continue to blog every day. Reading back over November's posts have been fun because, even though most of the posts are less than a month old still, I have already forgotten some of the stuff that's happened during themonth. It would be nice to continue to keep a somewhat regular account of my life.

Adventures in Computing

After dropping my iBook for easily the 20th time since I got it (onto concrete, no less), the optical drive stopped working. It made a delightful ka-chunking noise and then spit discs back out at me whenever I tried to use it. Since spending 150ish dollars on a new superdrive for my laptop wasn't a high priority currently, we decided to see if we could fix it ourselves by cleaning the lens.

We got the plastic outer covers off, but when it came to trying to get the metal lining underneath that off, we ran into a roadblock. I think all the droppings have bent some of the metal in the infrastructure, and there are screws inside my iBook that aren't coming loose any time soon. However, I still managed to get the optical drive working again ("fixing" would be a really bad term for what I did) via a little percussive maintenance. After locating where the drive was, I thumped the spot that the lens should have been several times with my fingers, and apparently it was enough to knock some of the gunk off of it and make it work again.

And to think, it only took about 3 hours out of my evening. Blah!

Man's Best Friend & Some Blog Business

Every night, we tell the Dog to go to bed and she takes off like a rocket -- ears flat against her head, tail pointing straight out behind her, the whole deal. She moves faster in those two and a half seconds than she does at any point through out the day. Then she shoves herself against the back of the crate as tightly as she can so that we can't drag her out of there and force her to love us and play with us like the horrible dog abusers that we clearly are.

I've gotten a fair amount of comments from readers throughout the month (at least they've been a lot as far as my blog goes), and even though I've been horrible about reciprocating, I really do appreciate them! This week I have been trying to visit and comment on the blog of anyone who commented here and left a blog link. I think I'm about half done -- because I'm easily sidetracked -- but will complete the list by the end of November.

Speaking of the end of November, it's almost here. Sweet relief is almost upon me -- I don't know if I've ever been so happy at the thought of shutting up. And even as I complain about having to post every day in November, I am also kind of enjoying it and considering joining up with another ring of bloggers that's doing a daily blogging thing for December. Any thoughts on this? Can the readers (all 32 of you!) stomach more once a day of Annie?

I'm the Boss of You

Annie: You know, I haven't talked to JM in a few weeks. I saw online that he didn't switch jobs like I thought he was going to, AND he got a new girlfriend. Don't my friends realize they're supposed to run decisions by me first?

Ryan: I'll run all those decisions by you.

Annie: I appreciate that.

Sorry. Fresh Out of Ideas.

Did you know that I have less than 30 ideas in my head? Neither did I, until this wretched blogging month snuck up on me. Turns out I have 15 ideas -- 20 maximum. I'm a little frightened that I didn't just use up my monthly allotment, but I may have even used up my yearly or LIFETIME amount. At a dinner party 10 years from now, someone will ask me my thoughts on something or turn to me for a witty anecdote and I'll have to say, "Sorry. Used 'em up when I was 21."

Freshman Year

My old roommate, whose name was similar enough to mine that everybody got us confused and nobody bothered to actually learn our names, had a boyfriend who was several years older than us. He was a kind, charming, boy who was a little light in the brains department.

One day, he was looking at my roommate's fish bowl with befuddled and perturbed look on his face. When asked if something about the fish offended him, he said in a puzzled tone, "Where is the hole?" After receiving a round of blank looks from all the people in the room, he clarified, "Well, you keep putting water in, but it slowly leaks out over time and the water level goes down. I don't see a hole. Where's the hole?" By this point, he was frustrated because the tricksy fishbowl was really starting to bother him.

After a couple seconds of complete silence, Roommate finally spoke up and said, "Evaporation."

You Don't Become Good With Money By Letting the Little Things Slip By

Ryan: Ow, my side hurts.
Me: Did my mom punch you there earlier? I heard you shorted her a dollar in Monopoly.

I Was Practically A Member of Hells Angels

Motorcyle Baby
Originally uploaded by Shoesonwrong.

This isn't the photo I was talking about in my previous post, however it is a photo of me on a motorcyle at a very young age, which makes it somewhat relevant and worthy of a post. At least a nablopomo post.

Thanksgiving

My Thanksgiving was pretty normal -- you know, turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, pumpkin pie, dirt bike riding, hot tubbing, etc. Okay, maybe it wasn't quite normal in the traditional American sense. It was, however, normal for my family.

Last Christmas, Ryan got a motorcycle from my parents -- an old Husqvarna that he has spent a year restoring with my father. (And when I say "old" I mean old. There's a picture of me on the bike when it was much newer being held by my mother and wearing a tiny little helmet. I'm perhaps a two years old the time.) They didn't get it fully working until a few months ago, and we've been so busy since then that Ryan hasn't had time to ride it. So for Ryan, Thanksgiving is pretty much a four day motorcycle vacation. He rode today for a few hours, and tomorrow I'm planning on going with him. Due to mechanical problems today, my motorcycle experience was limited to riding in a large circle around my parent's house/racing the dog from one end of the yard to the other. (She won.)

As far as the hot tub goes -- yes, my parents have a hot tub. And a pool. And a beautiful house that they just finished covering in cedar shakes. Of course, all these improvements were done AFTER I moved away from home -- when I lived here, there was no hot tub! There was no pool! The house had no cedar shakes -- just ugly siding the color of old pea soup! And I had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, to school!

Tastiest Part of the Day: my mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies. I know everyone thinks that they know someone who makes the best cookies in the world, but I really do. Honestly. I used to trade them in the school cafeteria for things my mom wouldn't let me have for lunch (read: crappy, artificially flavored stuff that I yearned for instead of my healthy, homemade lunch). The going rate was one small cookie for 2 fruit roll ups, one medium cookie for a lunchable and a juice box, and 2 small cookies for a fruit roll up and a lunchable. Sometimes there was an actual line at my table.

Hope your Thanksgiving was wonderful. Don't go out shopping tomorrow! And if you do, at least do something great like clock some soccer mom in the head while fighting over a sweater that's been discounted 25%.

Highlights of the Week, So Far

1. I officially lost 37 pounds since I started trying to lose weight in mid to late July. Assuming that losing a pound means a making a deficit of 3,500 calories, and that an Oreo has 70 calories in it, that means I could have eaten (37 pounds * 3,500 Calories)/(70 Calories/Oreo) = 1,850 Oreos (Or roughly 51 packages of Oreos). And believe me, I have mourned every single one. I may not remember any material from my recent statistics exam, but I know my cookie math forwards and backwards.
2. Speaking of the statistics exam that I wasn't prepared for last Friday: I aced it. I'm not sure if this is evidence of the universe finally balancing out and making up for all those exams I've failed despite studying for, of if it means that the universe is now unbalanced and I will end up failing an exam I have studied for. OR, maybe I got one over on the universe -- I Punk'd the cosmos, if you will.

Day: Twenty. Ideas: Gone.

R: Have you posted for the day?
Me: shhhhhh! [sits very still]
R: Are you trying to hide from your blog?
Me: I said "SHHHH!"

Perks of Winter

I love winter, especially winter clothing. All those hats and mittens and sweaters to protect me from the cold that turns my cheeks a rosy pink. I essentially look like the Swiss Miss Girl.

It's the time when my Nordic genes finally stop betraying me -- during the other months of the year, my whiteness is blinding and I sweat in a way that only people who ought to be living north of the Arctic Circle can.

That's Pretty Gross, Actually

I was truly going to do a second post last night, however I was up until 3:30 in the morning studying for my 100-level astronomy class. I honestly don't know if I've ever had to study so much for a class not related to my major.

Nablopomo would be much easier if it came in the middle of the summer, when I have the ability to pontificate for pages about things like camping trips, good books, bad music, and why I would rather hang out with Luigi than Mario (Mario is a total prima donna, clearly.). Right now, however, I feel as though my brain has the consistency of tapioca -- except of course for the creative part, which has hardened into a tiny little dried out pea.

Sacrifice

Because the semester is building to a fevered pitch, it's homework, homework all the time and not a moment for fun since I woke up. I started to write something about identifying more with Jack Nicholson and "All Work and No Play Makes Annie a Dull Girl," but then I started googling The Shining, which led to me googling Shelly Duvall, and then that sent me down a long, dark, pointless road. And wasted 10 minutes I could have spent studying, STUDYING, I TELL YOU!

I know I missed yesterday for nablopomo. I will make it up -- today, even. On my next scheduled study break.

Huh. My 15 minutes are up now. You know what that means? Yep. I'm going to have to wait 2 more hours to pee, internet. I hope you're happy.

Tomorrow Is...

Board game night at my house!

Dog: A Retrospective

The other day, someone said to me, "Do you even HAVE a dog anymore?" Because apparently, I don't talk about her. Or, you know, as much as I used to.

I informed them that yes, Dog is still alive. I haven't smothered her with one of my pillows that I find her constantly resting her hindquarters on. (Even though she knows she's not supposed to be on my bed, and she definitely knows she's not supposed to use my pillow as a butt rest. I mean, for God's sake Dog, at least use the pillow the right way.) I have not let her jump out the second story window onto a power line as she has tried to do twice. I have not even just gently used her own lips to strangle her while she sleeps all morning after waking me up in the middle of the night to see if, hey, am I maybe up for a 3 a.m. rousing game of fetch? I have however, obviously put a lot of thought into it.

It's not really all that bad. She is a good dog in general. At one point, she went all doggy-terrorist on me and started chewing up anything paper we left her alone for more than a half an hour or so. She was all, "One book for every half hour you leave me here to rot away [with food, water, toys, and the TV on for company]!" And the Ryan and I realized you don't negotiate with terrorists and countered with, "Would you like to stay in your crate while we're at school all day?" And after a few days in the crate, she started behaving beautifully.

She is 1 year and 4 months old currently, and she's pretty much reached her adult size. Except, of course, for the middle age spread that will inevitably come as her metabolism slows and my mother doesn't stop feeding her leftovers. It is only recently that Ryan and I realized we made a grave error in dog choosing; her body has remained small, but she has baby-horse legs. This is precisely the worst combination when it comes to ground speed -- it's nigh impossible to actually catch her when she doesn't want to get her bath or have her nails clipped. What we should have bought was a very fat dog with tiny little legs.

When we adopted her, her name was Hope, but that has been changed to Cassie. It's perfect because it rhymes with "sassy" and we frequently tell her to stop being a jackCass. She has also learned to answer to "Dog" and "Yoshi" (as her face does resemble that of Mario's dinosaur friend.)

However, despite her temporary paper shredding tendencies, her incredible leopard-like speed, and the fact that she is always giving me lip when I tell her what to do, we love her. She will sit, lie down, jump up, and stay in one position for a long time on command.

Pink House: Yay or nay?

  Pink House 
  Originally uploaded by Shoesonwrong.

I'm leaning more towards "Nay."

Kind of a Lazy Post

Best mental image I have had all day:

"I don't want to tell Reuters or the AP how to do their job, but if they're actually paying people to write these articles they might as well be shooting their money out of a cannon into an elephant's butt."

Most popular search that brought people here today:

"Does anyone else get wild hallucinations while huffing?"

And the answer is no.

The Joys of Academia

I, er, missed yesterday. Which means I have exactly 56 minutes to post TWICE and catch up. Why did I not post yesterday? I was busy studying for an exam scheduled for Wednesday that was pushed back to Monday of next week. Of course, the professor neglected to really tell anyone this.

I feel like I could write about nothing but incompetent and/or offensive professors on this blog, but seriously? It's just too frustrating to think about it for too long. The physics professor who told an entire lecture hall that it "wasn't his job" to answer their questions about physics. The math professor who can't calculate grades. The astronomy professor who kept mixing up the words "astronomy" and "astrology" for the first couple classes of the semester.

And just think; I am actually paying money for one thing (an education, theoretically) and getting something else altogether (a daily dose of personal tirades from bitter academics, lectures by people who have chosen NOT to stand on the shoulders of giants, etc.). It's like going clothes shopping and having the sales lady either tell me how huge my butt is or try to convince me to not buy anything and join a nudist colony instead. I AM NOT HERE FOR THAT.

Borat

Against my better judgement, I went to see Borat. Luckily, we left so early that they actually gave us our money back.

I know I'm in the minority here, but I didn't think it was funny. I thought it was crude and mean.

And listening to a Jewish person make fun of Jews? Potentially pretty funny. Listening to a couple dozen ignorant and racist people in the row behind me laugh and make rude comments about Jews while a Jewish person makes fun of Jews? Not very funny.

Friday's Findings

Don't Hate the Playa

Today, there was this extremely white guy walking down the hall in front of me wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt as well as one of those phones that clips onto his ear (except that it was bigger than the rotary phones in my Grandmother's house). He had his sweatshirt hiked way up on one side -- so that he could rub at his back while he limped along like a senior citizen -- revealing that his sweatpants were pulled up only to about crotch level (or, for me who was fortunate to be behind this guy, right below butt cheek level) and about 9 inches of his (ironically) hiked-up-way-too-high boxers. So he's limping and rubbing and flashing me his ugly boxers while he's chatting into rotary phone on his ear. After I got over the appearance, I notice the conversation.

"Yeah, my woman won't call me back. I might have to get me another girl to make my woman realize how lucky she is to have me. It's like she not grateful to have me or somethin'."

I simply cannot imagine why.

Sad Math

My stats professor spends 5-10 minutes talking about football at the beginning of every 50 minute lecture we have 3 times per week. At my tuition rate, I figure I am paying about 200 dollars this semester to listen to what starts out as a boring rant about football and always degenerates into a peeing contest between the professor and one or two other mega-jocks to see who knows the most useless trivia about college football in 1982.

He also frequently gives the class some example problems during lecture. The usual routine is that the class tries it independently and then the professor will do the problem on the white board. The majority of these problems are usually about General Motors, are made up of completely random numbers by him on the spot, and rarely actually work out because we end up trying to divide by zero or something. Of course, he doesn't realize at first that the problem is unworkable, and he spends about 3 minutes asking the class over and over, "So who wants to tell me the answer? Anybody? Anybody? Come on! Don't be shy! Anybody?" It's all very stressful and awkward for me because, more often than not, he calls on me to do the problem AND he doesn't like to hear "Your can't be solved."

In recent weeks, he's found a way to make my first class of the day even more stressful. He starts these bizzare, guy on the corner who yells about the end of the world-style rants while the class is silently working on the statistics problem he pulled out of his nether regions. And he's very loud.

"I'll tell you what! He couldn't make the play! He thought he had guts, but did he? I think we saw last night he did not. That is no way to coach a team! I can tell the how to coach a team!"

It's like being stuck in Remember the Titans while trying to calculate basic statistics.

Clearly Phoning It In

Tomorrow is the start of Central-Western weekend (the clash the football teams from two mediocre universities, one of which I -- unfortunately -- attend). It's a big ordeal here, involving all kinds of venomous school spirit (the sort that ends up with someone lighting a car on fire or being tasered by security) and drinking large amounts of cheap beer -- neither of which I participate in. (Today, when I was at the supermarket, I noticed they were sold out of a beer that advertised itself as "super malty" and "low priced." I freely admit that I am no beer drinker or expert, but I don't think that the word "malty" is the mark of a fine alcoholic beverage?)

So, we are fleeing the town like it's sinking ship. I would make a joke about it being a good time to rob us, but I think that's bad juju.

Vote Early, Vote Often

This post was written on the 8th, but is being posted on the 9th and backdated to the 8th because TypePad was being evil and not letting me sign in or even post via a third party application.

When I was a political science major, I felt constantly on the brink of an aneurysm. Because, hello? All those cartoons of George Bush (G-Dubbya, or just G-Dub if you will) wearing a party hat and looking like a monkey while he scratches himself and signs orders to send the military after every third world nation he doesn't like? You start to realize they're not too far from the truth after awhile. Then when the scope gets broadened to the world view, things get even worse. Thailand's having coups, the US trained Osama bin Laden, North Korea has nukes, and apparently little Norwegian boys are being asked to pee sitting down (in "direct defiance of God's will!").

When I switched majors, I tried be less politically aware. Not exactly hiding my head in the sand sort of unaware, but you know, not staying up nights -- worrying about whether or not the citizens of Qatar will ever be able to surf the internet using a non-governmental ISP. Will they? WILL THEY?! -- sort of unaware.

However, since elections were yesterday, I couldn't help but be mildly political. The Dems have taken the House and the Senate. Rumsfeld stepped down. To the Republicans, I say only the following: neener, neener, neener. You have been bugging me for a long time now, with all your doublespeak and war mongering.

The downside to this is, of course, that now the Democrats control the House and the Senate. And they bug me almost as much as the Republicans. To me, the only good thing about the shift in the House and the Senate is that there was in fact a shift. It seems to me that power being concentrated in one group for too long is dangerous.