The Rambling Mistress Reigns Again ...
Jun. 6th, 2010
12:37 pm - New peeps ...
I hear, even though I haven't written here in narry a year that there are people still reading ... people that I didn't honestly really want to find my little corner of the world, but I wasn't having that grown up I'll-have-a-reputation-to-defend-someday thought when I was initially writing this bad boy at 17.
And see, even when I know they're reading, I can't keep the expletives from flowing. I mean, really, what's the harm now? They've likely already read all the sweet entries where I use nothing more than the F word or discuss incredibly personal goings on in my life that aren't fit for the eyes of children.
Then I remember they aren't children anymore.
So, alas, hello to them, and know that I will absolutely deny all of this. I'll delete it tomorrow if you think you're going to run copies off and distribute them to the masses with my name on it. I can hurt you.
Love love love love, and enjoy.
Aug. 19th, 2009
12:09 am - Life in Snapshots.
GV called me back ... finally (um, on TUESDAY ... which I hear is nearly a week since I called them). I was then transferred to yet another voicemail box after a long series of crazy that went a little something like ...
"Oh, well, we sent you a letter to notify you of this situation on July 10."
"No, you didn't."
"Well, yes, it indicates right here that we sent a letter to ... uh (trailing off) ... Citibank."
"Right, I don't live there."
"Yes, but of course we sent you a copy. Let me just find it here in the file."
(terribly long and uncomfortable pause)
"It would seem we did in fact not send you this letter."
I'm still holding out hope that this next person I'm supposed to speak to has their shit together. I will be stopping in at walk-in hours by the end of the week to resolve this if it cannot be remedied by phone, and I will not be happy about having to drive there, park in the hot fucking sun, and trek 72 miles through the newly brainwashed Transitions peeps to get into the building. Not thrilled before I even get there ...? Shiiiiit.
We have houseguests again. So far, sooooo-k. Dinner tonight was interesting. Tacos? Yes. Tacos for 10 on the fly? Hahahamazing.
The new grad school is cool and all (even if I can't start this month because of the GV transcript debacle), but I could use 287 less emails from the admissions counselor guy. I think he may be a robot. He has a phone number, which implies that he's a real person, but he keeps sending me 3 copies of the same email at staggered times, and then another host of terribly similar emails as well. I've responded kindly that I'm taking care of what he needs, and that I appreciate his concern, but he doesn't actually respond to my responses. 2 more points for Wayne Lamb is a Robot for sure.
Speaking of grad school, I recently had this conversation with my father ...
"Why don't you go to law school instead?"
"And, uh, pay another $100,000 that I don't have?"
"Well, you could go to that one school and take that one test and then when you score high they'll pay for most of it."
"Ah, yes, but that one test costs $253."
"Well, you agree to take it, and I'll pay for it."
Sweeeeet. Thank you, daddy-o. Now, the mind racing begins. Do I want to go to law school? What the fuck would I do when I graduated? Would I get law student anxiety and want to throw myself from a building? Can I really be ok with that many rules? Am I even fucking smart enough for the LSAT? And, what if he pays out all this cash and I don't do well enough to get more than 10% or so of my tuition paid for? What then? Am I still supposed to pretend I can lay hands on $90K, or am I going to waste the $253 that he paid for the exam? When the fuck is the LSAT? Am I really going to pretend that I'll really study for that stupid thing? Can I juggle that kind of schedule? Oh, and DO I REALLY WANT TO GO TO LAW SCHOOL?
Ahhhhhhhhhh. I'm not taking it in September. Febs for me for sure if at all.
My right knee is killing me today. I think it's because my Birkies are all but completely f'd in the still functioning department. Booooo.
Debate season is almost here, and I am not at all ready for it. Ever. I have a full case to write, and I currently can't even remember which of the kids is on my research team. School in 3 weeks, novice camps starts in 2. Balls, that's no fun.
Today is someone's birthday. Tomorrow is someone(s ... yea, there's 2 of them) else's. This points to us having a shit ton of cake in the house, some of which is from the ever splendid Ryke's in the Skee. The fucking torturous part: I cannot eat a single piece of it. If I hadn't learned my lesson last week I'd be all about the "F this Gluten Free Crazy". The heartburn memories are still far too fresh. Come on, brain, don't do this to me again, please.
I need my bike rim fixed. This may not happen until fucking winter, which will do me approximately ... NO GOOD.
I want candy. Who doesn't?
Love, kisses, and cold feet,
Aug. 13th, 2009
11:32 am - On Warning ...
GVSU ... I'm putting you on warning ... again. I'm not yet ready to rant (ok, I'm ready, but I'm not jumping to conclusions) about your bureaucratic craziness, or your random policy changes, but it's coming if we don't work something out post-haste. I don't understand why you won't just let me leave ... pretty please ... for real.
That's all for now, but watch your ass,
Aug. 4th, 2009
01:27 am - Oh burning heart ...
When I fall, I fall hard. I've been on the gluten free wagon for 2.5 (ish) weeks. Not one piece of bread, not one single wheat noodle, no delicious spongy cakes ... nothing. Week one was amazingly easy. Week two was not as much. I spent a lot of time convincing myself there was not.one.single.thing.in.the.world I could eat except hummus and carrots, which we ran out of Saturday (and I'm too lazy ... read: disorganized after the office rearrange for shopping).
Then it happened.
Ah yes, the bastion of wonderous thin crust pizza so greasy and fat laden that bright orange, completely unnatural to this world drippings must be cleansed from your hands and face afterward. A simple napkin doesn't suffice ... you nearly need a shower.
My father brought this wonderous mecca of food pleasure with him for us to enjoy this evening. I knew he was coming all week. I knew I'd have to stand at a crossroads and decide: Eat this and want to die or Not eat this and want to die anyway? Alternatives were considered. My mother offered to cook up some corn tortillas and help me transplant the pizza topping goodness from the Scribbies bed of doughy death to a more wholesome, less gut-rot inducing option. I considered it, honestly, for ... about 12 seconds (mostly so she wouldn't feel bad about me thinking her suggestion slightly ludacris). I never really decided I'd be eating pizza, awful for me, villia killing pizza. It just kind of happened. My psyche and my stomach had a meeting, and the conclusion was: Eat the fucking pizza or we're both out of here.
So, I did.
(They're powerful and necessary extortion artists, these parts of me.)
Then, for good measure, because I'm already in the stomach destroying mood, I threw in a wee fistfull of Oreos as well. Ooooooh cookies, how I missed you. Sweet, sweet, corn syrup laden, artificially created cream filling magic, you. In case I could make it any worse, I also haven't had a green smoothie in 4 days (because we ran out of fruit ... for reference, please see above ... I'm a slacker for reeeeal), I've been ditching vitamins for the last 3, and I didn't eat anything today pre-pizza except chocolate no bake cookies, Diet Coke, and bananas (the fruit fairy ... it just shows up sometimes ... with nanners).
The gut rot trifecta.
... and a fabulous way to spend an evening.
Now, of course, my psyche is vindicated. It, of course, arguing both sides (Eat this because I want it and Eat this so you can learn a lesson, you fucking gluten intolerant yet hard headed moron) can get away with such things. I have heartburn to end all heartburn. I've been gargling battery acid for going on 6 hours. My belly hurts (obviously?!), and I have done a significant amount of texting tonight (something often reserved for ... well, let's just say it's the new rolled up newspaper tucked under your arm as you wander off for some 'alone time').
The conclusion: THIS SUCKS.
Also, I am pretty much an idiot for putting that shit in my mouth. Lesson fucking learned. Thanks body for the reminder that I'm doing the right thing by denying myself all the good food in the whole world. I'd forgotten (for a second) what it felt like to want to fire extinguish your insides every night after dinner.
Love, kisses, and a new appreciation for extra plush toilet paper,
Jul. 29th, 2009
06:34 pm - Oh, Communal Energies.
If you're old enough not to be at your parents house anymore, you've probably experienced the joy (and torture) of roommates. Did you ever have those moments when every single person went from fabulously happy and content to sniveling and militantly pissed all together, at nearly the same moment?
That's my day here.
One stinkin' apple spoils the whole bushel, I hear, and the same works for the moods of people in close proximity. One snappy response leads to another to a different person which leads to door slamming and stomping around and tense, tense air that you could likely take the Sawz-All to. It's a slippery slope domino effect hurricane of bullshit.
The last 2 hours of my day perfectly described.
Now, of course, I'm in a piss poor mood because the rest of the house is, and I don't like a: dealing with their piss poor-ness or b: being treated like shit for funsies. I think I may start slipping some Xanax into the water supply ...
Love, kisses, and stormin',
01:40 am - Hello, again.
I like to take whole months off from writing here, apparently. I also like to skip meals, randomly tear up the carpet in my office, and stare blankly at the mess I've made with (almost) no intention of cleaning it up.
And that's just today.
I'm having a bloggy identity crisis. I've been blogging elsewhere, but not really about anything in my life other than menus, grocery lists, and the occasional set of gratuitous garden pictures. It's fun and all, but I miss the freedom of LJ where no one expects me to say anything important and I can cuss like a sailor without launching the second coming of BlogHer09 mommyblogger craziness. I, for the record, am not a mommy and ergo, not a mommy-blogger. I do have a nice quantity of them as readers on le other blogo, though, and I fear they may get the pitchforks out if I started dropping words like fuck and dickface and schwanze into polite little posts about the best sale prices on string cheese. I'm not sure I care, though. Therein lies the crisis.
(It's not really a crisis at all, btw.)
(And it's also a pretty shitty reason for me not writing posts here ... mostly, I get distracted by life: dishwashing, dinner cooking, retail job working ... you know, all those fabulous housewifey bullshit things I dreamed of doing my whole little politico-hippie-tree-hugging-feminist life. Fuck me.)
(Also, I love parenthetical references. It lets you see e.x.a.c.t.l.y. how my brain works (tangents and all!) and although that may be terrifying, it's how I fucking think ... constantly ... yea, you should try to fall asleep with that shit in your head all the time ... now wonder I'm up at all hours parenthetically and elipsing like a mo'fo.)
Dude. Did you see that last one? It has parentheses within the parentheses. Badass. Hahaha.
Ah well. I think I may try making it bedtime now. I have a long, long, (fucking long) day tomorrow attempting to reassemble the office. All I wanted to do was move the furniture so that the new (cheap) bookcases would fit in the corner and so, in turn, my books (yes, all of them ...) could come out of the dark abyss that is the office closet where they have been sadly calling to me for going on 2 years.
That furniture moving, which originally only included the desk moving across the room, a feat in itself considering both it's approximate weight and my absolute ZERO motivation to clean anything off of it, turned into an entire afternoon and evening of mini-remodel fun. Ben suggested we pull up the carpet and go with the hardwood underneath instead.
Then he tore the carpet up.
Then the tape had to be picked off the floor while pulverized carpet pad dust twirled around coating clothing and I'm most certain causing some kind of sweet carcinogenic lung thing.
But of course, after that the floor had to be polished with mineral spirits to kill the tape's stickiness (which only partly worked, fyi).
Then the swiffering.
THEN, the furniture moving, but not before creating a giant pile of death that I have to sort through.
Tomorrow, I will finish the death pile (if it doesn't eat me), and move on to cleaning out the office closet which is currently filled with shoes, bizarre office supplies, and an upside down dining room chair. Only AFTER all of that is complete will I even be able to haul the books out of the dark den of despair that is the back of the closet (read: sweet talk Ben to haul them out of there). Then the sorting. Then, finally, the putting-on-shelf-ing.
Whose fucking idea was this nonsense?
Ah yes, mine. Boooooooooo, me.
Love, kisses, and sticky floors,
Jun. 24th, 2009
10:10 am - Letters: GVSU Edition
Dear GVSU IT people,
In a building that has a million conference rooms, at a university that claims to be one of the "most wired" campuses in the country, is it terribly necessary to have your inane brainstorming session in the middle of the only open lab for students on this end of campus? If so, must you really speak soooooo fucking loudly? Must you be demeaning of college students in your conversations? Must you dress like slobs? Must you be so self-congratulating when your damn system doesn't work 3/4 of the time? Most importantly, must. you. keep. fucking. talking?! Must you continue to use the words "um" and "yea" over and over and over again? Lab = quiet work space, not crazy IT whiteboard markering craziness, thanks. You are SO LOUD, especially you grayhaired lady. You kind of look like Bam's wacky uncle from that Jackass spinoff.
A quote from this craziness ...
-"It's a French newscast."
Ahahahaha, nice Spanish, ass.
Dear GVSU grounds crew,
As much as I'm sure it's absolutely necessary to grind and sand the concrete exteriors of the Lake buildings, does it really have to be done at 10am on a Wednesday? That noise permeates the building walls across campus, and is highly distracting ... annoying ... mindnumbing ... argh. Does anyone think of the impacts on actual students, the people this place purports to serve, when they decide to schedule these things? I'm as well fabulously impressed by the member of your staff I saw watering the lawn from a moving truck passenger seat earlier. Not only can we waste precious ground water on making the admin happy with green grass, but we can do so from an exhaust spewing vehicle as well. Cooooool, guys. Way to be 'green'. Nice.
Dear GVSU records department,
I am not currently unhappy with you, somehow. Keep it up.
Dear GVSU (in an overarching ethereal sense ... mostly, people that actually make decisions),
Is it terribly necessary to spend so much time on committees and task forces and planning sessions about website designs and Flikr photo choices and whether the IT department student training should have picture time at check in or during pizza time, opting for pizza time simply because of the fear of having to pay anyone for an extra 15 minutes? Must these task forces meet in public, where they are within earshot (and highly distracting) of the students they choose to regularly demean for their perceived generational defects? Is it an absolute necessity that FOUR full-time paid staff members, who likely make far more than anyone in their positions should, spend literal HOURS sitting in the lab, dicking around, eating doughnuts, giggling, repeating each other and talking about their Facebook mafia applications?! I am not kidding you, here. Perhaps the administration is not aware of the amount of potential productivity is wasted at these "meetings", but in the event that they are, I am woefully disappointed in the way my tuition is spent. Why spend it on funding student projects, research, or ... I don't know ... finding a way to get the "Get it at GVSU" library function to work ... um, ever? What the hell would the fun be when you can be paying executive or at least high professional salaries to people who operate within the bureaucraZy with little supervision and even less accountability for ACTUAL WORK. Fuck me, GV, is anyone running this show anymore? Read some Weber, please, and get back to me.
Love, kisses, and an educational institution where giggling about Wiki videos with GV campus pictures is more important than actual learning,
Jun. 9th, 2009
03:23 pm - Tuesday?
For how to waste an entire Tuesday (without a car), I bring you ...
It beats writing a discussion of your original research results that happens to be due tomorrow for sure. It beats cleaning your house. It even beats flipping between Law and Order reruns and The Doctors while waiting anxiously for Oprah to start. Now quick, act productive before others get home and realize you're a complete slough-off. Damn it.
Love, kisses, and a sore tailbone,
May. 28th, 2009
12:27 pm - Did I just run a marathon?
Last night, I was in bed by 1am. My alarm went off at 9am, and I was up by 915am. So far this morning, I've eaten breakfast, taken the dogs out, and watched the season finale of the L Word (Yea, I'm that behind on TV) among an assortment of other things. None of this is remarkable, except the part where I tell you I am
Seriously, I don't even know how I'm keeping my head up right now. Last night was the same way. Did I get hit by a truck and not realize? Did I run sleep-run a marathon? I don't think so, but damn if I don't feel like I've been actually hit by a ton of bricks. Boo.
All I want is a nap, and I've only been up for 3 hours. Now, off to work instead.
Love, kisses, and dragging ass,
May. 26th, 2009
02:16 am - 7 pounds ...
We just finished watching this movie, and thoughts on my own mortality are keeping me awake. Why must the cognitive and conscious effort to reconcile reality be consumed and overcome by the emotional and unconscious drive to avoid pain and in turn death? Its one thing to discuss the necessity and nobility of death and an entirely other thing to not still be terrified of the prospect in the dark, alone, when your mind isn't busy with other sublimating endeavors.
I don't know where I stand on this right this moment. On the one hand, I like to believe I would honorably offer up my own life for another. On the other, the mere thought of turning 25 has me within an arm's reach of needing some kind of psychological intervention. *sigh*
It's too late for this.
Love, kisses, and what promises to be a restless night,
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