The next person who mentions the weather *or* the Packers is going to get snow shoved up their ass.

Seriously. It’s Wisconsin. Grow a pair and shut up.

Also? My interest in purported game tonight is only that I heard there was going to be snackage? And perhaps some unconfirmed taco dip?

Today I feel like nesting or decluttering or taking yoga or something.

I know, right? Totally unlike me. So instead I drank a lot of water and cleaned my room and took a lot of Aleve, which is actually so unhealthy that it probably counteracted the whole water thing, but I DON’T CARE. It felt like there was a withdrawing meth addict inside my uterus with a flaming melon baller and a grudge and dammit, fine, I’LL TAKE THE DAMN HEART FAILURE.

I think the nesting/decluttering/yoga urges are a desperate subconscious attempt at sublimating my lack of control over EVERYTHING else this semester (yes, I have taken a lot of psych classes. Shut up.)

And, well, the Family Crazy? Manifests itself in Crazy Control Freakage in me.

Here, tastefully bullet-pointed, are some issues/questions that are BUGGING THE HELL OUT OF ME right now.

  • one class doesn’t have a book listed yet, and the little “History 236” thingy was trampled to the ground when I went to the bookstore.
  • one has several books listed as “omg required” depending on what bookstore you go to
  • one syllabus has the wrong date, time, and section listed
  • will they take harmonica du mort back?
  • one class had three of the four books available, but no fourth. Gah.
  • how, exactly, shall I kill myself?

Ugh. Why can’t college be like kindergarten when they give your parents a sheet detailing exactly what you need to bring, like-inexplicably-three moss green crayons, two rolls of paper towels, and three boxes of Kleenex?

(BTW, was that just a racket of my teachers’ to avoid running to Target? Or were they used for something?)

Watched the Boy serve Mass this morning, and during the homily several points arose that I feel I need to comment on.

And I swear I’m not going to correct the grammar. Which would be appropriate, but whatever.

Un, the priest had a weird Caesar haircut thing going on, and it was distracting me.

Deux, God, my flute makes me feel like a loser. It’s just like a little box devoted to my untalentedness and unwillingness to do ANYTHING other than watch Rock of Love II on VH1. Oh, wait. I’ll watch Scott Baio is 46…and Pregnant! too. God I suck.

Trois, they want to redo the Baptismal font and knock down walls and take over the bride’s room and all sorts of stuff. And the priest was all, “OMG SO FANTASTIC STAINED GLASS!!!”.

Well, yeah, that’s all fine and good for you, Mr. Celibate Who’s Jumping Ship Before Anything Gets Decided. I have to GET MARRIED here!!! And where the hell am I going to get dressed?!?!?!

Bottle Shock trailer. Please. Alan with a ’70s porn mustache? Worth the download.

DUUUUUDE. Ralph Fiennes? Dominic Cooper? Keira Knightly? DOMINIC COOPER!?!?!? I think I just wet myself with excitement.

Hmmm. Colleen’s watching a documentary on the Travel Channel about funerals and naked people (“I’m kind of glad that in our culture it’s an hour and you’re out. Why can they show boobs on this channel, but not on regular cable?” She’s so smart.). It is perplexing.


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