Seriously? The sexy librarian?

GAH. I am so worked up that John McCain, whom I previously mostly supported and even received e-mails from him (his campaign, not himself personally, ala Obama and Scarlett) has SCREWED OVER THE ENTIRE PARTY with his ridiculous n00b, barely postpartum, obviously pandering VP candidate.

And now I’m tired and watching National Treasure and rediscovering why I am a history major. Because clearly why pursue law school when one can run around in pretty dresses doing God knows what but presumably she has a doctorate and is also “trained to handle delicate documents” and whatevs, I just want to be the waitress that Nicolas Cage picks up and impregnates next.

What? WHAT? SO I DON’T SHOOT HIGH. My parents are kind of proud of me, dammit.

Oh, also? Imladris is home and there is much jubilation and drinking. Can you tell?

Today was kind of boring, except for the part with Colleen coming home and the drinking. I’m wicked tired, had to get up super-early for Mass because I missed it yesterday.

Discovered two things during Mass- one, while I adore St. Eugene’s and would never, ever leave, I kind of TOTALLY wish we had a pretty church like St. Monica’s. And not just because I found myself mentally cataloguing all the late Gothic architectural elements (because that actually got distracting when I was writing an essay in my head about the transept instead of concentrating on the Lamb of God), but because it’s all big! and pretty! and churchy! And there is a real baptismal fountain instead of a Jacuzzi and some palm fronds.

(Ugh. I kind of hate my parish sometimes when I actually stop to think about it.)

Second, it’s really weird to see someone who you’ve kind of accepted as “your” priest being pastor somewhere else. I don’t know why, but it didn’t really occur to me that the guy I see being my pastor several times a week (well, at least the last month since the alcohol stopped working so much for the grief) would be saying Mass this morning somewhere else. Not sad or anything, like when Father Ken left, but just…weird.

Also, Padre? Why when I have nowhere to be is Mass over in 49 freaking minutes but this morning when I had to change and get to work you rambled about St. Peter for like THE WHOLE HOUR? Not cool, dude. Not cool.

But I got to work on time and goofed off with Derrick for awhile (There was Madonna. And dancing.) and completely restrained myself from throwing bags of coffee at the bikers (oh yes, they were plural) who ordered iced coffee but really wanted and iced flavored latte and dear, Lord, HOW IS IT THAT I DON’T HAVE A MASTERS YET!?!??!

I’m going to go have a Manhattan. Have a lovely sleep-in tomorrow. Unless you have to work, in which case your life sucks and my prayers are with you.

More embarrassing revelations.

The Sound of Music is on ABC Family RIGHT NOW and I am ridiculously excited. It’s the part where the kids go storm the convent and are all “ZOMG YOU MUST LET US TALK TO MARIA DADDY HAS A NEW WHORE AND DOESN’T LOVE US ANYMORE!!!” and the nuns are, “Um, I think not. She’s praying or something…” and the little one’s like, “Bitch, look at my boo-boo.” And the nun’s like, “Oh, God, there is a REASON I have a vocation. This womb wasn’t made for nurturing, Lord.”

I love that movie.

Anyhoodles, you know Hamlet 2? Which is supposed to be hilarious and offensive and hilarious again? Yeah. I must see it. First of all, I am a whore for a fun kicky musical story. And I find the idea of Hamlet 2 hilarious. Also, I had the sneaking suspicion that at some point I adored Steve Coogan, even I couldn’t remember when or why. So I searched him on IMDB, and DUDE HE WAS COUNT MERCY IN MARIE ANTOINETTE.

This is the embarrassing revelation. Not the fact that I freaking adored Marie Antoinette and even bought the DVD, which is embarrassing in and of itself, but that during the initial theater viewing of said movie (Yes, I paid to see it. On opening weekend. *shame* THERE WERE LOTS OF OTHER PEOPLE IN THE THEATER I AM NOT THAT WEIRD.), I totally kind of thought Mercy was hot. Like, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have wanted to talk about how my husband found having sex with me a physical impossibility around him.

At the time I thought it was just because I kind of find the idea of the historical Count Mercy adorable, you know, how she kept him around way longer than she needed to because she was lonely, kind of like when you find sixteen reasons to call your mom when you’re lonely. And he was all like, “Oh, it’s okay. You’ll get to have sex eventually. I mean, you can only miss so many times, right? Right? Please say right. I really want to go back to Austria and NOT DIE BY THIS NEWFANGLED GUILLOTINE. I signed up for driving a 14-year-old across the border. I DID NOT WANT THIS. *ahem* Love ya, hon.”

Now I’m pretty sure it’s just because I adore Steve Coogan.

I feel old.

I helped my sister move into the dorms today, or rather I sat in the lobby because eleventy jillion people in a teensy weensy little suite? Maybe not so much fun and also may spook the roommate.

And while I was sitting in the lobby watching the masses of heavily eyelinered, skinny jeans-wearing, slouchy incoming freshmen, I noticed several boys wearing the same (heinous) outfit.

Apparently, it’s considered attractive for young men to wear sleeveless t-shirts with the sides cut out. Like, really, gone. There was just a band around the waist. I saw like sixteen different boys wearing a shirt like this, and it absolutely astounded me.

I have never seen it before. I have missed and ENTIRE trend. I am only 20, and these kids today are completely not even consulting me long enough to mock, for heaven’s sake. (Much like I did with the boys-wearing-girls pants trend. Grow up, Pete Wentz. You’re going to be a father.)

So now I’m old. *sigh*

And yet, I want to be a perpetual student.

This afternoon I was driving home and passed Cardinal Stritch. It was small. It was pretty. There was a parking lot. That you parked in, and then walked into the buildings. It was like Concordia, but with the Blessed Mother. I had walked three blocks one-way to one of two bookstores only to discover that all my books were actually more expensive there than on Amazon. And then I seriously considered transferring.

So, the whole perpetual student thing. I know, I know, you thought I was over this. The general law school vs. history thing hasn’t shown up here a lot, and that’s really been my only issue for over a year. In terms of a solid academic trajectory, barring major flubs like failing the GRE, I’m pretty much set.

But today I was reading a fantastic book by the guy who wrote My Life with the Saints, about his work as theological advisor to an off-Broadway troupe doing a play about Judas. Even discounting my glee as I paged through the photo insert and realized that the guy playing Satan was TOTALLY THE CAPTAIN ON LAW AND ORDER: CRIMINAL INTENT AND DO YOU REALLY KNOW GOREN???, I loved it really. And it made me feel smart, because in the “For Further Reading” section, he recommends John Meier’s A Marginal Jew for the “truly ambitious”. AND I’VE TOTALLY READ THAT. *self-satisfied squee*

That’s right. I’m truly ambitious. So while I’m not going to be completely irresponsible and abandon the history Ph.D thing (which is still what I want to do for a career), I think I’m going to go for a doctorate in theology or religious studies too. Maybe concurrently or possibly right afterwards (really, once you’ve defended one thesis, what’s the big deal about the second?), but I think I definitely want to supplement my background in “secular” history (history is very rarely secular, particularly before 1700) with graduate studies in theology.

And not just so I can meet Law and Order cast members.

Apparently there is a bird that you cannot change. Who knew?

So…went with the fam to see Lynard Skynard tonight, because they are The Artist Formerly Known As The Boy’s favorite band evah omg. They were at some Harley gathering. There were 30,000 of them.

And me.

I’m trying to put this delicately. In a way that doesn’t make me sound like a horrible snob, because while I am kind of a snob, I swear to God that’s not what I mean here. These people make more money than I ever will, even if I have to sell my Ph.D to make rent. No, it’s just that…they’re not really my people.

I’m fairly confident that out of the crown of thirty thousand, I was the only one wearing a Josh Groban sweatshirt, listening to Mozart, and reading about the Easter Rising.

So it was just kind of awkward because I got the feeling that each and every one of them (including the women) could WIPE THE FLOOR WITH ME.

I’m really bad at the being young thing, so I have no desire to go stand in a pulsing mob of my peers listening to a band I actually like and getting beer poured on my head. I have less desire to stand in a pulsing mob of baby boomers listening to somebody scream “The South shall rise again!” and getting beer poured on my head by someone my father’s age wearing a Confederate flag bandanna.

Guess which one happened?

And, oh, the second-hand smoke. And the saggy boobs. Lord, if I never see a boob that really should be supported but is instead shoved into a thin tank top that may or may not be lacking an actual BACK, I will be happy.

So when I marry that rich guy so that I don’t have to sell my Ph.D to make rent, I’d better make sure he’s not into motorcycles. Because there is no way I would do this for anyone other than my brother.

In which I live up to my family name…

…and royally freak out.

Doesn’t happen often. But when it does, you can bet your ass it will have something to do with school. Because the normally rational me completely goes BATSHIT CRAZY whenever you mix academics and any amount of stress (and, um, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve become an incredibly devout alcoholic, which is not entirely normal behavior). This could explain why when I think about taking the doctoral preliminary exams, I break out in a cold sweat and want to dry heave because WHAT IF I FAIL? THEN WHAT? BECAUSE I CAN ONLY RETAKE IT ONCE AND IF I DON’T HAVE A DOCTORATE MY CAREER PROSPECTS WILL BE EVEN WORSE THAN DISMAL AND NO ONE WILL LOVE ME AND I CANNOT WORK RETAIL FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE IS THAT WHITE ZINFANDEL????

Just a little bit.

Headed down to UnWed Mothers today to buy books and get UPasses and walk Imladris around and generally take care of pre-school stuff. Bought about half of my books. They were inexpensive and depending on how much of a personality change the professor has undergone over the summer, I may be able to return one or two of them. Happiness. Got my bus pass, and took Colleen around to find her rooms. Yay.

Then I picked up a bus schedule.

And proceeded to freak right out.

THEY CHANGED MY ROUTE. The beautiful little schedule that I have had the ENTIRE time I’ve been at UWM, a schedule I could recite in my sleep, one I depend on and can even figure out when they’re going to be late. IS GONE.

They’ve added a stop at MATC North and changed the times and now I’m very confused and have to wait around until after two every day to be picked up and on Monday and Wednesdays I only have eight minutes and what if they’re running late? Believe me, I’ve tried to get from Mequon to Brown Deer during rush hour and IT CANNOT BE DONE IN A TIMELY FASHION I WILL HAVE TO DROP OUT *WOE*.

Then I calmed down and actually read the route on the back and discovered that the route avoids the freeway, so it shouldn’t be late. So perhaps the rending of garments and gnashing of teeth was slightly uncalled for. And I actually get to leave later in the mornings for a few days. So, um. Yeah.

I’m still confused and it will take a little while to memorize the new times, but I’m back to my calm, cool, collected (shut up) self.

I know you’re all thrilled.

Jon and Kate Plus 8 is WAY more my style.

We’re watching the Democratic National Convention. Or rather, we’re watching three fake pundits on PBS talking about the Democratic National Convention. Because the real pundits on actual networks (except Comedy Central, which will be beginning it’s Daily Show coverage tomorrow night- and I am way too thrilled for a halfway intelligent student of international history and politics) don’t come on until nine, and other than Michelle Obama debuting her brand new White House Black Market find, not much is going on tonight.

Oh, I’m sorry. There’s also a tribute to Teddy Kennedy, who is still alive but apparently not letting that stop him getting his glory. I’m so glad I live in a nation that puts together glorified PowerPoint presentations of murderers to some ridiculous power ballad. (ETA: They’re using Orleans’ “Still the One”. Oh, *barf*.) This is really what the founding fathers had in mind. Well. Maybe Franklin. He was kind of a loose cannon.

Meh. I like politics, I really do. That’s why I was initially involved in international relations, because I loved the political arena but certainly didn’t want to run for office. (I did a three-paragraph reading at my grandfather’s funeral in the church I’ve spent my entire life in, in front of pretty much immediate family and Mary laughing behind my back, and I ALMOST DIED RIGHT THERE. Actually. That would have been dramatic, and at least I would have gone out in a pretty dress. Huh. Anyway, somehow I didn’t think public office would be the most amazing career choice.)

(OH MY GOD THEY ARE INTRODUCING CAROLINE KENNEDY WITH SWEET CAROLINE. I think I might throw up.)

(“Barack Obama makes them feel hopeful like they did when my father was President.” Oh, bite me, Caroline. The best thing that happened to your father’s political career was his death. Had he lived, we all would have been screaming, “Hey, hey, JFK, how many babies did you kill today?” That is, if he hadn’t already run the country into the ground because he SUCKED at domestic policy and we were actually damn lucky that the Russians started building nukes in Cuba because at least it distracted him from SCREWING US OVER at home. *ahem*)

(Okay, back to the real post.)

But while I’m interested in current politics, I’m really more of a historian. The part of politics that absolutely fascinates me is the way in which the political process is used to create (and destroy) countries and empires. This is part of the reason I’m an Article III groupie, because the privilege that the Court has is the ability to make history with every single decision, and they’re (at least on paper) free from the disenchanting, unpleasant side of politics.

So listening to hours of newbie Democratic senators crying over how alive Barack Obama makes them feel? Makes me want to drink. (Which I am! Because this month has sucked! And I hate the world!)

And I’m not remotely a Democrat. Occasionally, I try to convince myself that I am. I think, being young, that my entire society tells me that the only thing worse than not being a Democrat is killing African AIDS babies by beating them with the body of a kitten that you’ve gutted while your grandmother watched. But I’m really not.

I’m a Republican. I’m a rather independent, tolerant, middle-of-the-road Republican, but I am a Republican nonetheless. I don’t have a problem with gay unions, I’m against the death penalty, I am against any and all wars on principle, I think we need some health care reform, and I certainly don’t always agree with Bush. But I’m fiscally conservative, I think that less government (at least in the context of our political system) is better. And DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON ABORTION.

I’m also cynical enough to realize that private industry is good for the economy. Seriously. It is. Take a history class. Any history class.

(Side Note: The phone just rang and I looked at the clock to see if it was nine o’clock. Now I’m going to get another drink.)

So I’m voting for McCain in November, even though I don’t agree with him on everything. Now you know.

Although, only because they took Stephen Colbert off the list. Because I would become a Wiccan, Green Party member if that man told me to.