Saturday, December 20, 2008
Wedding!
It's a shame that, of LoPro's two friends who decided to get married within a month of each other, this one had to get married first, because the second wedding will necessarily pale in comparison. The rumors I heard about the estimated cost of the wedding I attended last night were more than I make in a year. In truth, the total cost might have exceeded the combined incomes of both Logic Professor and myself.
I will probably never attend such a huge, beautiful, fancy wedding again, because I don't think I know anybody who would or could afford to throw such a wedding. Frankly, I need new friends. If last night taught me anything, it is that I can't trust myself with class and prestige. Although I might be one of those people who says "If I ever get rich, I'll [keep it real, remember all my friends, still live in Cupboardsburg, not waste my money on things like chauffeurs or chandeliers or butlers walking around with trays of tiny lobster empanadas]," in reality, if I ever get rich there is a strong possibility that I will be overcome by temptation and will not keep it real, remember my friends, or continue to live in Cupboardsburg, but will instead choose to waste my money on things like chauffeurs and chandeliers and butlers walking around with trays of tiny lobster empanadas.
I have never seen so many distinct kinds of appetizers at one cocktail hour. This was a cocktail hour that featured lobster tails- WHOLE LOBSTER TAILS- as an appetizer. The line of appetizers stretched for fifty feet and included attendants to help cook and serve some of them. Even after we'd loaded up our plates and were munching on crab cakes and sweet potato puffs and sushi and a selection of cheeses, waiters kept accosting us with silver trays of tempura shrimp and sesame chicken and miniature quesadillas. There were no pigs-in-blankets at this wedding.
But you know, it was even before we'd been ushered into the appetizer hall that the environment had gone to my head. Clutching my Sprite in its hip round glass, I critiqued the hideous outfits of the women around us. That puffy purple skirt does nothing to conceal the fact that that woman is, in fact, The Cryptkeeper, I confided in Logic Professor, who wanted to know what had transformed me into Joan Rivers in the space of half an hour. It was the leather couch we were sitting on, under the chandelier, surrounded by candles and general opulence. It also might have been the valet parking, the open bar (FREE SPRITE!), the coat check, and the huge, tiered display of champagne glasses, a single raspberry bobbing in each, waiting for hundreds of guests to come in and claim them. Oh, how a coat check can fuck with my head.
There were pyrotechnics. An entire string band's worth of fucking mummers were there (clicking on the link and looking at pictures is highly encouraged). The salads came in martini glasses. The bridal party's private room had two balconies overlooking the ballroom. This wedding was no joke, I tell you.
I tried to catch the bouquet, and would have gotten it if, in my courageous leap, I hadn't felt my strapless dress sliding perilously down Mount Cupcake and stopped short to hike up the bra I'd cut the straps off of and safety-pinned to the inside of the gown. In retrospect, my going the extra mile to get the bouquet would have benefited more than one person in that ballroom. The bouquet scramble was being filmed, though, and while I didn't expose my chest to the assembled crowd, I will be immortalized in the wedding video leaping out in front of the bridesmaids on the dance floor to grab my own breasts.
The girl who got the bouquet wound up on the floor, though, so I wasn't the most embarrassing party involved.
Later came the dessert spread. If you can think of a dessert, it was there. Bananas foster. Make-your-own sundaes. A manned cheesecake station with no less than six varieties of cheesecake. Cream puffs. Fruit bars. Carrot, chocolate, and vanilla cakes, each in plural. Tiramisu. I did not embarrass myself by diving at the desserts head-first, I am happy to note. Next to the dessert spread was the breakfast bar. I couldn't do it. Logic Professor got a custom-made omelet, but only because he couldn't let such an opportunity go by without being able to say that he had partaken.
We know that you're supposed to give the couple at least what they spent for you to be there, but in this case, even if we had known ahead of time what that would be, it wouldn't have been possible.
We had a great time.
I will probably never attend such a huge, beautiful, fancy wedding again, because I don't think I know anybody who would or could afford to throw such a wedding. Frankly, I need new friends. If last night taught me anything, it is that I can't trust myself with class and prestige. Although I might be one of those people who says "If I ever get rich, I'll [keep it real, remember all my friends, still live in Cupboardsburg, not waste my money on things like chauffeurs or chandeliers or butlers walking around with trays of tiny lobster empanadas]," in reality, if I ever get rich there is a strong possibility that I will be overcome by temptation and will not keep it real, remember my friends, or continue to live in Cupboardsburg, but will instead choose to waste my money on things like chauffeurs and chandeliers and butlers walking around with trays of tiny lobster empanadas.
I have never seen so many distinct kinds of appetizers at one cocktail hour. This was a cocktail hour that featured lobster tails- WHOLE LOBSTER TAILS- as an appetizer. The line of appetizers stretched for fifty feet and included attendants to help cook and serve some of them. Even after we'd loaded up our plates and were munching on crab cakes and sweet potato puffs and sushi and a selection of cheeses, waiters kept accosting us with silver trays of tempura shrimp and sesame chicken and miniature quesadillas. There were no pigs-in-blankets at this wedding.
But you know, it was even before we'd been ushered into the appetizer hall that the environment had gone to my head. Clutching my Sprite in its hip round glass, I critiqued the hideous outfits of the women around us. That puffy purple skirt does nothing to conceal the fact that that woman is, in fact, The Cryptkeeper, I confided in Logic Professor, who wanted to know what had transformed me into Joan Rivers in the space of half an hour. It was the leather couch we were sitting on, under the chandelier, surrounded by candles and general opulence. It also might have been the valet parking, the open bar (FREE SPRITE!), the coat check, and the huge, tiered display of champagne glasses, a single raspberry bobbing in each, waiting for hundreds of guests to come in and claim them. Oh, how a coat check can fuck with my head.
There were pyrotechnics. An entire string band's worth of fucking mummers were there (clicking on the link and looking at pictures is highly encouraged). The salads came in martini glasses. The bridal party's private room had two balconies overlooking the ballroom. This wedding was no joke, I tell you.
I tried to catch the bouquet, and would have gotten it if, in my courageous leap, I hadn't felt my strapless dress sliding perilously down Mount Cupcake and stopped short to hike up the bra I'd cut the straps off of and safety-pinned to the inside of the gown. In retrospect, my going the extra mile to get the bouquet would have benefited more than one person in that ballroom. The bouquet scramble was being filmed, though, and while I didn't expose my chest to the assembled crowd, I will be immortalized in the wedding video leaping out in front of the bridesmaids on the dance floor to grab my own breasts.
The girl who got the bouquet wound up on the floor, though, so I wasn't the most embarrassing party involved.
Later came the dessert spread. If you can think of a dessert, it was there. Bananas foster. Make-your-own sundaes. A manned cheesecake station with no less than six varieties of cheesecake. Cream puffs. Fruit bars. Carrot, chocolate, and vanilla cakes, each in plural. Tiramisu. I did not embarrass myself by diving at the desserts head-first, I am happy to note. Next to the dessert spread was the breakfast bar. I couldn't do it. Logic Professor got a custom-made omelet, but only because he couldn't let such an opportunity go by without being able to say that he had partaken.
We know that you're supposed to give the couple at least what they spent for you to be there, but in this case, even if we had known ahead of time what that would be, it wouldn't have been possible.
We had a great time.
A Little Of Everything
- School Updates! Because at least two people have an interest in hearing this. All papers are in, and all finals are done. Three final papers were returned on the last day, and here, for the benefit of my parents, are the comments associated with each:
- English Literature journal: A- An intelligently-written, thoughtful series of entries.
- Critical Methods of English research paper: I never thought of Ragtime as a work of travel literature, but you have convinced me that it is a major technical device in the novel. A flawlessly written, highly original paper. 30/30
- Linguistics paper about Russian: A few gaps, but overall this is an excellent piece of work! I appreciate the time and effort that must have gone into it. (it's too bad they never taught you to speak proper Russian when you were a child). 25 + 5 pts. extra credit = 30
- Crazy Bar Story Du Jour! On Wednesday, the bar was dead. It was cold and the street was a deserted. I had been sitting around on my ass for a few hours, eating Indian food and reading the local alt-weekly, when suddenly the door burst open and twenty or thirty people poured into the bar. A pub crawl! Hooray! It was all set to be fantastically profitable, until the third or fourth person I would have served handed me the worst fake ID I've ever seen. It literally fell apart in my hands; the front of the ID fell off, revealing another ID underneath. "How old are you?" I asked, laughing. "Eighteen," he said. After laughing at the kid and giving him a hard time, I told him he could stay, but I wouldn't serve him.
But that wasn't good enough. The guy who appeared to be organizing the pub crawl flipped out and started shouting. "THIS BARTENDER DOESN'T WANT OUR MONEY! FUCK THIS PLACE! EVERYBODY LEAVE!" He took drinks out of people's hands and pushed them toward the door, and even though the kid with the fake ID was a sweetheart and shook my hand and apologized, everyone left. "You just lost a couple hundred dollars," shouted Asshole Ringleader on his way out. "Compared to the thousands she would have paid in fines," retorted an innocent bystander who had been at the bar when the pub crawl came in.
Damn it.
At least we all had a good time laughing at the fake ID for the rest of the night. Because it is personal property, the law says that we can't keep it if the minor asks for it back. The policy of every bartender I've talked to, though, is to tell the kid to go get a cop if he wants his ID returned. Most don't ask in the first place. - Bunny News! Parsley seems to have hit puberty, and oh my goodness, somebody get this rabbit off of my leg. I AM NOT A BLOWUP DOLL, PARSLEY. All day long I have to sit with my feet up on another chair or the bunny will keep trying to wrap himself around my foot. Logic Professor maintains that it's sad for Par to have such a basic need that he can't fulfill. I maintain that, um, I DON'T WANT MY PET RABBIT FUCKING MY LEG.
- Holiday Update: has anyone else not started shopping yet? Because I haven't. I'm making a few presents at the moment, but I don't know if I can get them done in five days. Looks like you're all getting glitter-coated pine cones. If you provide the pine cones. And the glue.
And the glitter. - Virus News! After feeling better Thursday evening, I woke up at 5 o'clock in the morning on Friday, after tossing and turning all night. I couldn't stand to lay back down in bed, but didn't feel well enough to get anything done. Besides, there wasn't much I could get done with my boyfriend still sleeping. I sat in bed until Logic Professor's alarm went off at 6:00. "Yay!" I exclaimed, and then turned on all the lights in the house and set about making us tea.
"Why are you getting dressed?" Logic Professor asked groggily, after I'd handed him a cup of tea. "Because I can't sit around in my pajamas ANY MORE," I stated.
I decorated the Christmas tree while Logic Professor graded, then sat down for a while. Felt like crap. Had some toast. Drank some tea. Took a nap. Eventually took some cold medicine.
By yesterday evening, I was in pretty good shape to go to a wedding! - Best Wedding Ever! But that is for the next post.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A Very Quick Virus
The plans for today included visiting my sister and nephew at our parents' house, buying a present for my Friend, and then having said Friend over for our Christmannukah gift-exchange. Then I would go get some shoes and a shawl for the wedding LoPro and I are going to tomorrow.
But none of that happened.
I was getting dressed- just about to stick my first foot into some skivvies- when I became overwhelmed with nausea. LoPro was on his way to the kitchen to make us some tea. "I feel sick," I said, but thought the tea might help. Two minutes later, I was sitting on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, still naked but for the green fleece blanket that I'd snatched off the foot of the bed so that I wouldn't have to puke naked. I was trying to pay attention to my own breathing before I hurled all over the place. That's where my boyfriend would find me: naked, bent over the toilet with my ass facing the door, streaks of vomit clumping my hair into puke-locs and smeared on the blanket I had apparently chosen to wear instead of clothing. I tried to get up and walk a few steps to snag a hair-tie before I threw up into my own hair. No dice. Back to the floor. "LOPROOOOO," I called pitifully until I heard him shut off the water in the kitchen, where he was washing our breakfast dishes.
My hero. He came and got me something to wear.
We sat on the floor for a while, then when I felt well enough to stand, he put me in bed and bundled me up. I was shivering. My lips were blue. The thermometer read 96.5. LoPro piled a flannel sheet and four blankets on top of me, then went and got an insulated hoodie and a pair of mittens. They didn't help the shivering. My knees and back and every other joint hurt.
So we called the doctor. They said that plenty of viruses were going around, and that I should feel fine by morning. Indeed, by the time they called us back, an hour or so after we'd called, I had already stopped shivering. Now, a couple Advil later, the headache is subsiding and my knees feel fine again. I'm still kind of woozy and weak, but otherwise healthy. As far as viruses go, the two-hour kind beats the 24-hour kind hands down!
This man is an angel:
In his arms? That is Mitten, the stuffed kitten I got him to make up for the fact that we have a rabbit and not a cat.
But none of that happened.
I was getting dressed- just about to stick my first foot into some skivvies- when I became overwhelmed with nausea. LoPro was on his way to the kitchen to make us some tea. "I feel sick," I said, but thought the tea might help. Two minutes later, I was sitting on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, still naked but for the green fleece blanket that I'd snatched off the foot of the bed so that I wouldn't have to puke naked. I was trying to pay attention to my own breathing before I hurled all over the place. That's where my boyfriend would find me: naked, bent over the toilet with my ass facing the door, streaks of vomit clumping my hair into puke-locs and smeared on the blanket I had apparently chosen to wear instead of clothing. I tried to get up and walk a few steps to snag a hair-tie before I threw up into my own hair. No dice. Back to the floor. "LOPROOOOO," I called pitifully until I heard him shut off the water in the kitchen, where he was washing our breakfast dishes.
My hero. He came and got me something to wear.
We sat on the floor for a while, then when I felt well enough to stand, he put me in bed and bundled me up. I was shivering. My lips were blue. The thermometer read 96.5. LoPro piled a flannel sheet and four blankets on top of me, then went and got an insulated hoodie and a pair of mittens. They didn't help the shivering. My knees and back and every other joint hurt.
So we called the doctor. They said that plenty of viruses were going around, and that I should feel fine by morning. Indeed, by the time they called us back, an hour or so after we'd called, I had already stopped shivering. Now, a couple Advil later, the headache is subsiding and my knees feel fine again. I'm still kind of woozy and weak, but otherwise healthy. As far as viruses go, the two-hour kind beats the 24-hour kind hands down!
This man is an angel:
In his arms? That is Mitten, the stuffed kitten I got him to make up for the fact that we have a rabbit and not a cat.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Parsley vs. Lettuce
You have spoken! This video is for Erin, Iselyahna, Christine, Klynn, and Lou, all of whom requested that Parsley be in the next post. I'm not forgetting about the rest of you, though... more posts to come!
Labels: Bunny
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Argutive
This conversation just took place as I was working on something for linguistics:
CUPCAKE: O adjectives, what can't you do?
LOPRO: Lots of things.
CUPCAKE: That's not true.
LOPRO: Yes it is.
CUPCAKE: You don't know what adjectives can do. Adjectives made me breakfast this morning while you were gone.
LOPRO: No they didn't.
CUPCAKE: Yes they did. How would you know?
LOPRO: They didn't.
CUPCAKE: O adjectives, what can't you do?
LOPRO: Lots of things.
CUPCAKE: That's not true.
LOPRO: Yes it is.
CUPCAKE: You don't know what adjectives can do. Adjectives made me breakfast this morning while you were gone.
LOPRO: No they didn't.
CUPCAKE: Yes they did. How would you know?
LOPRO: They didn't.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
End of Semester Roll Call
Alright. As hard to believe as it is that any academic material exists in a non-electronic medium, and as hard to believe as it is that such a material could exist that would draw me away from my precious internet to go touch a book, I'm heading to the library on a tiny research mission. While I'm gone, tell me:
1. Who you are.
2. Where you are.
3. What you are doing with this fine Saturday.
4. What I should blog about next, or what picture I should post.
Get to it!
1. Who you are.
2. Where you are.
3. What you are doing with this fine Saturday.
4. What I should blog about next, or what picture I should post.
Get to it!
Labels: Cleaning Out The Cupboard
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Party, Etcetera
I made it to school just in time to hand in my paper. Captain Language was finishing up advising new students. I forked over the paper, he asked if I'd gotten his email, I said yes and talked about it for a bit, and then I beat a hasty retreat. I had emailed him asking about tenses, and he had replied with a quite detailed message.
When I walked out, I saw a girl from class, and we chatted. She did not finish her paper. Her language was F!nnish. "You picked WHAT?!" I exclaimed. "What's wrong with you?!" It was one of those languages that came up in class because it exhibited some mind-blowingly complicated grammatical clusterfuck(s). And I thought Russian was tough. Poor girl. I asked if she was going to the party, and she replied that she hadn't known there was a party. Together we walked upstairs to the room where the department holiday shindig was to be held; I was supposed to help decorate, but nobody was there yet. So I decided to suck it up and go talk to Cpt. Language for real. Clearly he would not be averse to going above and beyond to help students; after all, he didn't have to take that much time to write back to my stupid email.
I don't know if I have mentioned this, but my school doesn't have a linguistics department. Captain Language IS the linguistics department. I went back downstairs to the department and announced, superfluously, that I was back.
I feel better now that I've told him what the plan is; I already have some useful information. I expressed confusion about which schools to apply to, and fears about whether any school I'd want to apply to would take me without my already having a bachelor's degree in the subject.
"Which schools do you want to go to?" he asked.
"Well... there are... schools... but that doesn't mean they'll take me," I said. I have a mental list of the Top Five Schools That Will Send Me Rejection Letters Next Fall.
"Like...?"
I named the nearest, best program. He reported that they are in some respects pretty vicious, and that the "best" schools might not be the best for Cupcake. It depends on what I want to study. And now that I have delegated some of the fretting to another person, I feel better.
After consulting Cpt. L, I went back upstairs for the party. A couple people were already there to decorate, including the poor, poor girl who'd picked F!nnish. "Did you know she picked F!nnish as her language?" I asked another kid from our class.
"WHAT?!" he exclaimed. "What's wrong with you?!"
"I KNOW," she said.
The party itself was a lot of fun. I think the idea was to have more mingling of faculty and students, but all of our contingent (with the exception of the lone grad student) piled into one corner of the room. When one of us would get up to read a poem, the rest of us would do a wave as a show of solidarity.
I have one paper left, due tomorrow. It has to be good because the professor saw me at the party, not working on it. Finals are on Monday and Tuesday. Then I want to go have a cup of coffee with my mother. Maybe it hasn't been that long since I've seen them, but it feels like it. I miss my parents.
When I walked out, I saw a girl from class, and we chatted. She did not finish her paper. Her language was F!nnish. "You picked WHAT?!" I exclaimed. "What's wrong with you?!" It was one of those languages that came up in class because it exhibited some mind-blowingly complicated grammatical clusterfuck(s). And I thought Russian was tough. Poor girl. I asked if she was going to the party, and she replied that she hadn't known there was a party. Together we walked upstairs to the room where the department holiday shindig was to be held; I was supposed to help decorate, but nobody was there yet. So I decided to suck it up and go talk to Cpt. Language for real. Clearly he would not be averse to going above and beyond to help students; after all, he didn't have to take that much time to write back to my stupid email.
I don't know if I have mentioned this, but my school doesn't have a linguistics department. Captain Language IS the linguistics department. I went back downstairs to the department and announced, superfluously, that I was back.
I feel better now that I've told him what the plan is; I already have some useful information. I expressed confusion about which schools to apply to, and fears about whether any school I'd want to apply to would take me without my already having a bachelor's degree in the subject.
"Which schools do you want to go to?" he asked.
"Well... there are... schools... but that doesn't mean they'll take me," I said. I have a mental list of the Top Five Schools That Will Send Me Rejection Letters Next Fall.
"Like...?"
I named the nearest, best program. He reported that they are in some respects pretty vicious, and that the "best" schools might not be the best for Cupcake. It depends on what I want to study. And now that I have delegated some of the fretting to another person, I feel better.
After consulting Cpt. L, I went back upstairs for the party. A couple people were already there to decorate, including the poor, poor girl who'd picked F!nnish. "Did you know she picked F!nnish as her language?" I asked another kid from our class.
"WHAT?!" he exclaimed. "What's wrong with you?!"
"I KNOW," she said.
The party itself was a lot of fun. I think the idea was to have more mingling of faculty and students, but all of our contingent (with the exception of the lone grad student) piled into one corner of the room. When one of us would get up to read a poem, the rest of us would do a wave as a show of solidarity.
I have one paper left, due tomorrow. It has to be good because the professor saw me at the party, not working on it. Finals are on Monday and Tuesday. Then I want to go have a cup of coffee with my mother. Maybe it hasn't been that long since I've seen them, but it feels like it. I miss my parents.
Labels: Higher Education, Linguistics, The Application Process
To School I Go
Time to turn in the Linguistics paper.
*deep breath*
*deep breath*
Tea and Phonemes
12:00 midnight - Realize there are no pants for tomorrow. Debate merits of wearing pants at all.
12:05 am- Start load of laundry.
12:12 am- Make cup of tea.
12:20-1:something am- Phonology.
1:something am- Hang laundry on lines strung across kitchen.
1:something am-1:30 am- PhologzzZzZzzzzzzz
zzz
ZzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
1:30-5:20 am- Nap.
5:30 am- Make tea with damp laundry in face.
5:40 am- Ahem! Work.
5:43 am- Come on, Wikipedia page listing allophones of Russian phonemes...
5:43 am, Part II- Shit.
5:45 am- Angry letter demanding to know where in the fucking fuck the Slavic allophone page went.
5:47 am- Apology, followed by formal request for Wikipedia page listing allophones of Russian phonemes whenever someone gets around to it.
5:48 am- Postscript: an impassioned case for having such a page available before 6 am.
5:49 am- Start work listing allophones of Russian phonemes.
12:05 am- Start load of laundry.
12:12 am- Make cup of tea.
12:20-1:something am- Phonology.
1:something am- Hang laundry on lines strung across kitchen.
1:something am-1:30 am- PhologzzZzZzzzzzzz
zzz
ZzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
1:30-5:20 am- Nap.
5:30 am- Make tea with damp laundry in face.
5:40 am- Ahem! Work.
5:43 am- Come on, Wikipedia page listing allophones of Russian phonemes...
5:43 am, Part II- Shit.
5:45 am- Angry letter demanding to know where in the fucking fuck the Slavic allophone page went.
5:47 am- Apology, followed by formal request for Wikipedia page listing allophones of Russian phonemes whenever someone gets around to it.
5:48 am- Postscript: an impassioned case for having such a page available before 6 am.
5:49 am- Start work listing allophones of Russian phonemes.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
A Moment
It is 10:40 PM. I am working on my final paper for Linguistics. This is the important class. This is for the instructor who, although he doesn't know it yet, is going to write the recommendations that get me into grad school, damn it.
Does that sounds scheming? Because I didn't mean it that way.
This paper is not easy. A few days ago, when discussing noun cases, Russian came up as an example in class. Thank your lucky fucking stars that English doesn't have those. "What does this mean?" asked the instructor, referring to something on the board.
"IT MEANS I PICKED THE WRONG FUCKING LANGUAGE," I thought to myself, horrified. Nevertheless, it's going well. So far.
Of course, the fact that it's 10:40 PM on a Wednesday and I am not flipping caps off of beer bottles and concocting shots means that, for the second week in a row, I called out of work. "I thought you never called out," said my sister the last time I did this. So did I! Alas, I'm getting spoiled. I like this. If I could study professionally, I would.*
My dad helped me out earlier, answering a barrage of loaded questions, and my mom offered a really, really encouraging text message. It was also reassuring because I had felt so guilty for not being around to take her to the doctor tomorrow, it being the day of the English department party. It had better be a good party.
My adorable Logic Professor is sleeping in our bed on the other side of the wall, all the lights on, all his clothes on, on top of the covers with a little fleece blankie pulled over him. He fell asleep early tonight. I've had a sore throat since yesterday, but thanks to the chewy vitamins he got me a couple weeks back- vitamin C in little gummy snacks shaped like orange slices!!!- I think it's on its way out already.
I'm going to start writing about declensions and then make a cup of tea. My goal is to be in bed by 2:00 am.
* One more reason to go to grad school.
Does that sounds scheming? Because I didn't mean it that way.
This paper is not easy. A few days ago, when discussing noun cases, Russian came up as an example in class. Thank your lucky fucking stars that English doesn't have those. "What does this mean?" asked the instructor, referring to something on the board.
"IT MEANS I PICKED THE WRONG FUCKING LANGUAGE," I thought to myself, horrified. Nevertheless, it's going well. So far.
Of course, the fact that it's 10:40 PM on a Wednesday and I am not flipping caps off of beer bottles and concocting shots means that, for the second week in a row, I called out of work. "I thought you never called out," said my sister the last time I did this. So did I! Alas, I'm getting spoiled. I like this. If I could study professionally, I would.*
My dad helped me out earlier, answering a barrage of loaded questions, and my mom offered a really, really encouraging text message. It was also reassuring because I had felt so guilty for not being around to take her to the doctor tomorrow, it being the day of the English department party. It had better be a good party.
My adorable Logic Professor is sleeping in our bed on the other side of the wall, all the lights on, all his clothes on, on top of the covers with a little fleece blankie pulled over him. He fell asleep early tonight. I've had a sore throat since yesterday, but thanks to the chewy vitamins he got me a couple weeks back- vitamin C in little gummy snacks shaped like orange slices!!!- I think it's on its way out already.
I'm going to start writing about declensions and then make a cup of tea. My goal is to be in bed by 2:00 am.
* One more reason to go to grad school.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Hints
Stories from your old college days of staying up until holy-fuck-o'clock in the the morning to finish essays. Tips for not going crazy during the end-of-semester crunch. Hints for not going crazy after the end end-of-semester crunch when the responsibility is suddenly lifted.
Give them to me.
Thus far, I am doing admirably well, if I do say so myself, on precious little sleep and on precious little caffeine. (Like a reverse Mormon, I will drink coffee and tea but not artificially caffeinated beverages like soda or energy drinks.) Sleep? Bah! Sleep is justa land of milk and honey a crutch.
Back to work.
Give them to me.
Thus far, I am doing admirably well, if I do say so myself, on precious little sleep and on precious little caffeine. (Like a reverse Mormon, I will drink coffee and tea but not artificially caffeinated beverages like soda or energy drinks.) Sleep? Bah! Sleep is just
Back to work.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Yes, It Was. *Updated*
LOPRO: (walks into room)
CUPCAKE: Okay, I REALLY need to work. I'm going to be up until... tomorrow.
LOPRO: Oh, so no distractions?
CUPCAKE: Yes!
LOPRO: (belches in Cupcake's ear) Was that distracting?
Ten seconds later
CUPCAKE: (leaps up to turn up thermostat)
LOPRO: Look, you're distracted already!
Five minutes later
CUPCAKE: (struggling to hold up LoPro, who is leaning on her) Can... you... stand... up... now?
LOPRO: I love your struggle noises. They're adorable!
Many hours later
CUPCAKE (looking up from an essay about some heart-rending Donne poem): You know, it was bad timing for that I should become obsessed with my own mortality at the same time I have to read all this literature.
LOPRO: It is an overarching theme of literature.
CUPCAKE: I've never felt more connected to humanity... AND I'M PISSED.
LOPRO: ...
LOPRO: That was an unexpected end to that sentence.
CUPCAKE: Okay, I REALLY need to work. I'm going to be up until... tomorrow.
LOPRO: Oh, so no distractions?
CUPCAKE: Yes!
LOPRO: (belches in Cupcake's ear) Was that distracting?
Ten seconds later
CUPCAKE: (leaps up to turn up thermostat)
LOPRO: Look, you're distracted already!
Five minutes later
CUPCAKE: (struggling to hold up LoPro, who is leaning on her) Can... you... stand... up... now?
LOPRO: I love your struggle noises. They're adorable!
Many hours later
CUPCAKE (looking up from an essay about some heart-rending Donne poem): You know, it was bad timing for that I should become obsessed with my own mortality at the same time I have to read all this literature.
LOPRO: It is an overarching theme of literature.
CUPCAKE: I've never felt more connected to humanity... AND I'M PISSED.
LOPRO: ...
LOPRO: That was an unexpected end to that sentence.
Home Stretch
I do so look forward to the time when all my papers are turned in and all my finals are over and I can return to being a productive member of society.
Tomorrow I'm turning in a 30-some page collection of essays for English Literature. I'm revising the last 30-some page collection and re-submitting that, too. Then I'm turning in an 8-10 page paper about the melancholy Dane. That, so far, is the only one I haven't started, but really, there are so many ideas about Hamlet out there that, by dint of being afloat in a sea of implausability, whatever I manage to cough up should be fine. Lastly, I am turning in a 10-page paper in a class that I suspect is lit theory, but is masquerading under a misleading name. Critical methods my left foot. It would figure that even for the class itself nobody would be able to tell for sure, or at least reach a consensus, whether or not it was lit theory at all. Anyway, this is the paper that I am most prepared for, having done the most research and collected the most quotes from the text.
But then, on Wednesday, my linguistics project is due, and that is what I worry about, because it is promising to be not just massive but also massively difficult to complete. So far my topic is shaping up to look like Russian: Too Bad It Was Used to Exterminate At Least a Dozen Other Languages in the Soviet Union. And I fully expect one of my works cited to read:
Followed by:
I'd better get my ass to linguistics now, speaking of which.
Tomorrow I'm turning in a 30-some page collection of essays for English Literature. I'm revising the last 30-some page collection and re-submitting that, too. Then I'm turning in an 8-10 page paper about the melancholy Dane. That, so far, is the only one I haven't started, but really, there are so many ideas about Hamlet out there that, by dint of being afloat in a sea of implausability, whatever I manage to cough up should be fine. Lastly, I am turning in a 10-page paper in a class that I suspect is lit theory, but is masquerading under a misleading name. Critical methods my left foot. It would figure that even for the class itself nobody would be able to tell for sure, or at least reach a consensus, whether or not it was lit theory at all. Anyway, this is the paper that I am most prepared for, having done the most research and collected the most quotes from the text.
But then, on Wednesday, my linguistics project is due, and that is what I worry about, because it is promising to be not just massive but also massively difficult to complete. So far my topic is shaping up to look like Russian: Too Bad It Was Used to Exterminate At Least a Dozen Other Languages in the Soviet Union. And I fully expect one of my works cited to read:
Pseudonym, Dad. Why the Hell Are You Pestering Me About Russokrainian? It's Eleven O'Clock At Night. WHAT? Son-of-a... Bring Me My Coffee: An Interview. Interviewed by Cupcake Pseudonym, 9 Dec 2008.
Followed by:
Pseudonym, Mom. You CAN'T Let A Ukrainian Dress Himself. Trust Me, I Know: A Study In Cultural Relativism. Interviewed by Cupcake Pseudonym, 9 Dec 2008.
I'd better get my ass to linguistics now, speaking of which.
Friday, December 5, 2008
WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK YOU FUCKING FUCKERS
I have a neighbor who has band practice every day. He lives downstairs from me. They practice until 10:00 PM on the dot. They play hard rock. They play the same ten or so songs, throwing in some new songs here and there, every day. Every day. Every day.
It's 3:37 in the afternoon.
It is the last week of school. Four final projects are due in three days.
Band practice just started again.
It's 3:37 in the afternoon.
It is the last week of school. Four final projects are due in three days.
Band practice just started again.
Monday, December 1, 2008
No, He Takes The CARROT
The vet and her assistant fell in love with my bunny. Since last October, he's gone from 1 pound 3 ounces to 4 pounds 8 ounces (he's my little sack of sugar). His coat is glossy, full and beautiful. His teeth are perfect. His ears are clean. Aesthetically, he has a lot going for him, too. According to the vet tech, he is the perfect rabbit: his ears are just right, he's the best size, his markings are the prettiest, and he looks so snuggleable.
"I've seen a lot of gorgeous rabbits," she said, "but this one takes the cake."
Unfortunately, Par is not a holding rabbit. He's mostly for show, I guess. We sit on the floor to play with him, and he'll hop up to us to get petted or follow us around the house, but we don't pick him up. I warned the vet.
"He hasn't been picked up since last year," I said.
My, is he ever strong. They had to wrap him in a towel. Once they had him all snug in his bunny burrito, the vet clipped his nails swiftly and skillfully.
When we got home, he ran under a lamp table to hide.
"I've seen a lot of gorgeous rabbits," she said, "but this one takes the cake."
Unfortunately, Par is not a holding rabbit. He's mostly for show, I guess. We sit on the floor to play with him, and he'll hop up to us to get petted or follow us around the house, but we don't pick him up. I warned the vet.
"He hasn't been picked up since last year," I said.
My, is he ever strong. They had to wrap him in a towel. Once they had him all snug in his bunny burrito, the vet clipped his nails swiftly and skillfully.
When we got home, he ran under a lamp table to hide.
I'm Alive
Sorry about the long time no post situation. You'll have to take my word for it that I've been busy with school, work, schoolwork, hiding chocolate turkeys around the house for Logic Professor, and trying not to kill Parsley, who recently took up the hobby of rubbing, sniffing, and chewing on the cuffs of my pants ALL THE TIME. I stand still for a second and the rabbit, who has been pursuing me about two inches behind, runs straight into my foot. It sounds cute, and it was. For the first couple days. Yesterday, I nearly lost my mind, because I was home with him all day, and that little nose kept bumping into my socks. Bump. Bump. Nibble. Bump. GET AWAY FROM MY FUCKING ANKLES. GO! AWAY! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD.
In a couple minutes I'm taking him to the vet to get his talons sheared. That's what you get, ankle-biter.
Today I picked up a stack of books about Russian grammar. "That's a hefty one," said the wizened librarian, pushing the Oxford Russian Dictionary back across the counter with both hands.
"But a good one," I said weakly, mostly to try to bolster my spirits, since I knew that halfway to the parking lot I'd be wondering why in the fucking fuck I'd decided to carry that bitch all the way back to the car without a shopping cart.
I need them for a linguistics project. I need the Norton Anthology of English Lit- most of it, anyway -for an English Lit project. I need a couple Shakespeare plays for another two projects. I need to write a research paper about Ragtime by E.L. Doctorow as well.
I need vodka.
I can chalk it up to my linguistics research.
In a couple minutes I'm taking him to the vet to get his talons sheared. That's what you get, ankle-biter.
Today I picked up a stack of books about Russian grammar. "That's a hefty one," said the wizened librarian, pushing the Oxford Russian Dictionary back across the counter with both hands.
"But a good one," I said weakly, mostly to try to bolster my spirits, since I knew that halfway to the parking lot I'd be wondering why in the fucking fuck I'd decided to carry that bitch all the way back to the car without a shopping cart.
I need them for a linguistics project. I need the Norton Anthology of English Lit- most of it, anyway -for an English Lit project. I need a couple Shakespeare plays for another two projects. I need to write a research paper about Ragtime by E.L. Doctorow as well.
I need vodka.
I can chalk it up to my linguistics research.
Labels: Bunny, Higher Education, Linguistics
