Who said higher education doesn’t teach you anything practical?

I now know how to pretend to be a virgin prostitute. Should I ever need to feign virginity, I know exactly how to use astringent to do so.

Ooh, and I got a 100% on my history paper. I fully believe it is due entirely to my beautiful endnotes that when I look at I am filled with the kind of joy people feel when gazing upon newborns, or having sex or something.
*End of the crazy shit going down in History 242*

Okay. End of the semester. Have a ton of stuff to do. Being an incredibly organized crazy bitch girl, I have come up with an ingenious solution to this issue, and using Post-It notes, I have created a sheet for each day until the end of school, outlining exactly what tasks I must complete each and every day or I don’t know, zombies will come eat me or something and I’ll die homeless and alone. When I finish a day, I cross off the stuff and pull off the Post-It.

Today I crossed off all my things and then celebrated by watching five episodes of Gilmore Girls straight. My sister got tired of my devoted fandom after hour two, and I’m pretty sure by the end even my mom was sick of it. But I do not care, because the Gilmore Girls? I loves them. I want to be them. Except I’d be the fat one. That would not be fun.

I’m taking a break for Criminal Minds. Then I’m watching more.

ETA: Lassie? From Psych? Just showed up on Boston Legal. And I’m pretty sure my mind literally exploded.

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Changed the template. And if you’re not like spectacular amounts of stupid you probably noticed that already. Unless of course you are, in which case I meant no offense, and welcome!!! But I’m pretty sure it’s just my mom, my aunt, and my sister reading this, and they’re all pretty darn smart.

My mom is too smart. That’s why when I took over the den she had to move her law degree, because we could both foresee sometime in the future when, during a dark night of the soul, I drunkenly rip it off the wall and scratch out her name and write in mine with Sharpie.

(Not so implausible. Our last names are the same, and my middle name is kind of the same, just have to take out the -ie part, and dammit, I know how to write Latin.)

(Also? Kind of crazy.)

Yeah. It’s safely up in her room now.

I forget where I’m going with this. I don’t know if I had a point, actually. I’m pretty tired, and kind of stressed about the end of the semester (I actually made out little pages for each day left, with everything I have to do written on them.)

(See? Law degree scrapage isn’t looking so silly now, is it???)

Ooh, Amazon! A Wish list! I has it again! It shows up on the bottom of the sidebar, so, you know, should you wake up one morning going, “How shall I show Kathleen that she makes my life worth living today?”, the DVD of A History of Britain, or- better yet- The Power of Art would totally suffice.

See, I’m kind of considering transferring to Columbia to stalk the guy who does those two DVDs. And not, for once, because I want him or have named our children.

(I know, right? He’s about the right age, by which I mean eligible to fight in Korea, the right nationality, and lacking in any pleasing aesthetic features, so he should be right up my alley. I think this is a sign of maybe becoming normal.)

(Eh, maybe not. The whole law degree thing just came back to me.)

(Oh, and I just remembered that I had a conversation about pig sex with two coworkers this afternoon and how we can apply this to apparently my artificial insemination. That’s not terribly normal.)

No. He’s just ******* hilarious, and awesome, and my essay about Rembrandt on my last art history exam was due entirely to the Rembrandt episode of Power of Art, which kind of says a lot about how I like to prepare for exams, and also quite a lot about the series, because I got a 98%, so yeah.

I don’t think I had a point here, either. Except buy me stuff.

Always a good point.

(ETA: Wow. I just realized that there are a gajillion parentheses in this post. Sorry.)

(Really.)

Queen Sugar was a bitch.

Haha. I’m a dork.

So I’m watching The Ballad of Jack and Rose with the squee-worthy Daniel Day-Lewis, and hot damn is that one freaky commune-dwelling incestuous hippie, but OMG SO HAWT.

*ahem*

Except no one will tell me if it’s actually incestuous or not, and I won’t have time to finish it tonight and SOMEBODY TELL ME IF HE WANTS HIS DAUGHTER.

And also? If it is incestuous? Gross that his wife wrote this for her husband and FATHER OF HER CHILDREN to be in. *shivers* They only have boys, right?

Only one other thing to talk about today. I had a presentation this morning in history. I don’t have a huge problem with public speaking, I don’t necessarily relish it, but it doesn’t bother me really. I had a lovely presentation worked out, with pictures even, and it was just a two minute informal thing.

So I get up there, and I can’t breathe. For reals. I don’t know what happened. It’s not that I was nervous, I just couldn’t breathe, and then I started feeling lightheaded and shaky, and my presentation sucked and was like thirty seconds long because I thought I was going to faint, and yeah, not good.

And I can’t figure out why.

Maybe I should go watch some more Daniel Day-Lewis.

ETA: Okay, there is no plot summary, but the plot keywords are “sex, loss of virginity, dog, ox, stepbrother.” And now I’m even more confused.

ETA 2: On Samantha Who?, Samantha just went into a Borders to attempt to find a guy. She was unsuccessful. Uh. Yeah. I know. I’ve spent 12-20 hours a week for the past two years in one of those, and I can tell you- THERE ARE NO GUYS IN ANY BORDERS.

I guess…

…it’s technically Sunday, as per the little clock that says 1:02 A.M. on my computer, but I haven’t been to bed yet, so that counts as today, right? Right??? I’m saying it is, because I am not losing my totally self-imposed year of blogging on some ranodm day in April.

So…dinner dance.

I now have seen and heard drunk people do so many different things that I never ever wanted to see or hear, and I’m pretty sure that I have to change parishes.

Not to say that I didn’t have fun, because I totally did, and it was quite possibly the best night of my life because OMG THE THINGS I HEARD!!!, but I had a total Nanny Diaries moment when I was sitting alone at the ticket table, and there’s the group of hugely successful parishoners standing right in front of it, being complete drunken assholes. In front of practically a child, and a woman. It was kind of annoying.

Anyhoodles, no nudity (which happened last year, apparently), but I did get to see a priest dancing to “Brick House”. So I guess it’s a wash.

I’m going to bed now.

Whore for an accent.

You all knew that already, though, didn’t you?

Anyway, I am in love with Doctor Who now. Seriously. Joined two Facebook groups. Almost joined the one that said I wanted to do naughty things to David Tennant but thought better of it in case future employers found out (current employers wouldn’t care, I don’t think, as James and I spent a good chunk of time discussing the Great Sex Bible last night), even though I TOTALLY DO. I contemplated running down to Best Buy to buy Goblet of Fire TONIGHT. Cannot wait until tomorrow. NEED NOW. DAMMIT WHY ARE THE DVDS SEVENTY DOLLARS GARH!!!!

*ahem*

Good Lord, people should not let me teach their children.

In other news, you know The Cool Crowd??? This morning, there was an ad for new people to contribute to the column. I am seriously considering applying. I believe my e-mail would go something like the following.

“The weekend started early last night when I dealt with unruly hair and plucked my eyebrows. Today I really must do something about the pimples breaking out, so I’m thinking mudmask. New Numb3rs on at nine!!! MUST NAME SELF’S AND DAVID TENNANT’S BABIES. Tomorrow I’ll be sleeping in and then assisting at the dinner dance, the highlight of which should be watching old people get tanked (bonus points if they’re a member of the clergy). Sunday I’m sleeping. Again. And maybe reading my British history textbook. Oh, wait. A showing of Baby Mama was also discussed. I’ll probably fall asleep at nine. And sometime I need to get to the grocery to buy more Dannon Activia, which actually really works and you totally didn’t need to know that about me, did you? No wonder I’m single. I want to die.”

Please, Journal Sentinal. Don’t keep calling me.

First Hot Guy and now Irish Girl?!?!?!

Oh, American Idol. How you toy with my affections.

And she totally rocked last night, and it’s not just because I’m a whore for a kicky Gospel musicals. (Godspell!!! Like taking acid and then going to Good Friday services! But without all the nasty side effects like, you know, taking acid and then going to Good Friday services.)

She was way better than Dread Guy, whom my sister apparently wants, like, BAD.

Which is slightly disturbing.

I wonder if, perhaps, she were to ever hook up with Dread Guy, if she would FINISH HIS PRESCRIPTION MEDICATION AND NOT TELL HIM UNTIL HE FOUND THE EMPTY BOTTLE WHEN HE WENT TO TAKE HIS PRESCRIPTION. And then be all, “Oh, I didn’t know you were still taking it- but good news! I refilled mine and it’s now ready at Walgreens!!!”

WELL THAT DOESN’T HELP ME MUCH IT’S SIX THIRTY IN THE MORNING AND MY NOSE IS RUNNING NOW!!!!

*ahem*

Because that may have totally happened. It is as I suspected. Separate bedrooms are not enough.

ETA: Oh, dudes. Boston Legal last night? With the Supreme Court? Was amazingly ridiculous. First, I’m pretty sure you usually have more than forty-eight hours to prepare. Second, they usually don’t let you bring friends. Third, the look-alikes sucked. Clarence Thomas? Was black. That’s the only resemblence. My brother called Scalia though, which was pretty funny.