Sure, the one thing he doesn’t have…

I mean, I know there hasn’t been anybody menstruating in that house since well, my mom left in 1983, but honestly, I didn’t think that meant anything. But I guess it’s okay to keep expense reports from 1968 but can we hold on to one box of Tampax? Nooo. I guess not.

So I finished the kitchen this morning, which I am now calling my kitchen because I may just decide to stay in there it’s so pretty. Like seriously. They’ll have to rent it with a redhead sitting on the floor in the corner. It’s all eggshell and clean and I cannot wait until the doors are back on the cabinets and it will be so pretty!!!

And now I’ve realized a teensy weensy little baby problem with this whole fixing-it-to-rent-thing.

Um, I don’t want to do the rent part.

In my head I’m fixing it for me. And then I realize that some other losers are going to be eating breakfast and *gasp* showing in my shower for like five years while I write about how maybe a well-timed nuke could have saved the world a hell of a lot of trouble by just wiping Northern Ireland off the map.

(No, for reals. The nationalists hated the unionists. The unionists hated the nationalists. The nationalists wanted to be Irish. The Irish didn’t want anything to do with the nationalists. The unionists wanted to be British. The British wanted nothing to do with the unionists. And then Tommy Makem wrote a song and confused the whole damn matter and wow, Ireland really didn’t want Northern Ireland back. OH MY GOD JUST BE NORTHERN IRISH ALREADY HOW DID IT TAKE YOU UNTIL 1999 TO FIGURE THIS OUT. GAH.)

(Yes. Yes, I did just pick the single most frustrating twenty-five years in western history for my focus. I enjoy pain.)

Anyway, there will be other people in my kitchen. And my bathroom. And my pretty white bedroom. DO NOT WANT.

This is like buying a fixer-upper and then letting somebody else sleep in your pretty new fixer-upped bedroom. I have never been very good at sharing. I’m not any better now.

But the kitchen! Pretty!!!

(I’m taking the linen closet, btw.)

(No way are Hypothetical Gay Couple kicking their gross little Hypothetical Gay Toes into my linen closet.)

I tire of this.

I have a pretty high pain threshold. Don’t get me wrong, I still whine. A lot. Like, all the time. About everything. But not usually about being sick or in pain or anything. I mean, I literally haven’t not had a sinus headache a single day since July, I have a pinched nerve in my back that must be a thoracic nerve because it hurts every time I breathe in (thank you, Dr. Moyer and your physiological psych class of doom, but at least I know where my pain originates from now), and I swear to God I have endometriosis. None of this really bothers me.

But oh, my, God, the head cold. I want to die. DIE.

So there was supposed to be studying and imperialism flashcards and maybe some rambling about how Belgium totally took over the Congo and omg, not cool, Leopold II, what the hell, man? But there wasn’t. Instead there was some cuddling with a quilt. And some sneezing. And some Office-watching. It was funny. Really funny. The sneezing? Not so much.

Le anyhoodles, my colds usually go through phases, and I really hope that today marks the end of the runny nose thing, becuase I will be spending tomorrow in a drafty house doing manual labor, and I really, really do not relish doing that with a swollen nose.

Really. Really not.

A severe lack of television.

Morena is not amused. As I do not feel like watching a half hour Obama orgasm, my viewing choices are limited to ABC and…um…Discovery Health? Maybe?

(Although if you do want to watch a half hour Obama orgasm, knock yourself out. My main problem with it is less that it’s not the guy I want to win and more OH MY LORD A WHOLE HALF HOUR??? SERIOUSLY??? You’ve been campaigning since like 1995 already, what more could there possibly be to say??? *ahem*)

And I seriously laughed when I read this article, because, um, my reaction today- at 21- would be exactly the same as that little Obama girl if my father were running for President and bought air time during primetime.

Oh, hell no, Daddy. I don’t care if you think you can save the nation, you will not preempt Pushing Daisies.

Thankfully, Pushing Daisies is going to be on. Even though it’s a stupid ratings decision because it’s dead already and putting it up against the most popular candidate ever omg, not smart, ABC, not smart. But I don’t care, because I need something to watch.

Courtesy of Everyone On the Bus

Dear Annoying Couple,

Hi there. I’m the girl sitting in the seat across from you, scowling. Yes, that’s right. I’m scowling at you. Not at the bleak sky, or the fact that I’m sick of school and just really want to go home, or even at the twelve people who are scowling at me because I do not think that Barack Obama is Jesus returned to us in a more region-appropriate skin color and choose to tell UWM the world about this through a button on my bag. No, I’m scowling at you.

Because the bus? Is not cuddle time.

It is not the appropriate place to nuzzle each other. It is not the appropriate place to lightly kiss, grinning widely. It is not the appropriate place to mumble incoherently into each other’s (ungroomed) hair. It is not the appropriate place to grin smugly and condescendingly out at the rest of us poor losers without someone slobbering on our jackets (And yeah, we’re all staring. And not with envy.) It is emphatically not the appropriate place to lie down on his lap and then just…cuddle.

All of these things are nauseatingly okay to do in the comfort of your own apartment/back of the car/underneath a bleacher when your roommate/mom/parole officer is out of vomiting distance.

But definitely not okay on a bus. Some of us are already nauseated and our rapidly plunging electrolytes might not be able to handle one more Eskimo kiss.

Also rather inconsiderate. The bus is crowded. There is a guy standing. If you are going to sit on each other’s laps, would you please just do so and allow that poor guy to sit down, instead of having to slide underneath your butt as you lean in for another nuzzle? (He didn’t, I’m just saying that’s what would have had to have happened.)

So please, Annoying Couple. Please save the making out until you exit the rear of the vehicle. The student population thanks you.


Capitalism took a hit today.

I’m sitting in Hebrew Studies, pretending to study my Hebrew like a good little shiksa, and all of a sudden the professor begins whining about capitalism. And how this whole American experiment has totes failed and we seriously need to switch to socialism, which, in it’s pure form is totally awesome and yeah, communism didn’t work so well, but this! This will save us!!!

There are three Republicans in that class, and we all kind of huddle in the corner. And we all just looked at each other like, “what the…???”

Let’s ignore for a moment the fact that socialism will never be practically implemented for the simple reason that if it is practically implemented, it will never ever work. NEVER. Let’s instead focus on the fact that this is a Jewish civ class. And yeah, it may be a stereotype, but I’m fairly certain that the Jews? THEY LIKE CAPITALISM. A LOT.

Oh, and he was ostensibly talking about the transition from the period of the judges to the period of the kings, and how they threw off this whole broken system thing. Except the analogy totally breaks down because they were transitioning from a totally broken system to a not-much-better-and-oh-yeah-quite-possibly-completely-mythical system and the United States is…um…not.

Then I get home and Germ is keening in the corner because he has to talk about how Thoreau Emerson feels about 21st century capitalism in slightly more eloquent words than *headdesk*.

And wow, I almost hauled myself over to my local Democratic Party of Wisconsin headquarters and signed up to volunteer because MY GOD I will become socialist if it will make that assignment go away so I can turn the sound on for Chuck.

Yeah. The invisible hand? Was missing today.

Okay, 17 Kids and Counting is my new favorite show.

I freaking love to hate the crazy fundamentalists. My mom wondered how I knew they were fundamentalist. I replied that um, they were just reading Scripture in the car. I’m betting they think the Exodus was real too. (And let me tell you, after eight years of homeschooling, I have seen my fair share of women in long skirts who were fairly certain I was going to hell because I think breastfeeding is gross.)

Apparently, kissing before marriage is wrong. WRONG. SIN. OH MY GOD YOU WHORE OF BABYLON WRONG. (Again, I actually had a “health” book tell me that boys should save their kisses for the girl they were going to marry.)

So instead the newly engaged couple (who are both younger than me *barf*) just walk around holding hands. Sometimes both hands. Constantly. ALL THE TIME. Seriously. In the car, looking at the (disgusting) house, while buying a car, hanging out on the couch, ALL THE FREAKING TIME.

And wow, please just throw down and make out already because the hand-holding SO ANNOYING. Gah.

See? SEE? This is why you need a real religion! Without two millenia of doctrine set down by people (who at times- I’m looking at you, Middle Ages- were totally gung-ho on the whole sex issue) you come up with crap like this.

And then I am forced to watch your crack-like TLC show.

Helpful Tidbits of Information from "The New Information Please! Almanac, 1949 Edition".

I ran out of paint and had no choice but to go through books. From when there were only 48 states. I also have a sheaf of pictures of the atomic bomb destruction that references the Manhattan Project on the cover with my grandfather’s name. And I am really trying hard to remember that that’s what we had to do, but wow, that’s a hospital that was just destroyed.


There are no Muslims or Islamic people in North America. There are, however, 1,400 Mohammedan people. Also, 50,000 Primates. I don’t know what that means.

The English Civil War began in 1946. Huh. Because I could have sworn that it began in 1642.

There were no individual Olympic medals awarding in women’s gymnastics, but six in mens. Boooring.

There was something called “Lawn Tennis”, which requires six pages and apparently is regular tennis but way gayer.

The term “cold war” was still placed in quotes and not a proper noun yet.

The Berlin Airlift was going on, and therefore the only part mentioned was the part where Stalin locks down Berlin.

“The Security Council took stern action under Chapter VII of the Charter to stop the fighting in Palestine between Jews and Arabs.” Good work boys.

Ulster is apparently only the six counties in Northern Ireland.

Great Britain controlled the Gold Coast, Uganda, Kenya, and Nigeria.

All history prior to 4000 BC is “nebulous”, and the Egyptian civilization had it’s start during this period. We think.

In 1300 BC Moses led the Jews out of Egypt. For shizz.

Wisconsin had exactly 23 Japanese.

3,437 single children and 13 sets of twins were born to mothers between the ages of 10 and 14. NO I AM NOT KIDDING.

Senility kills approximately 10,027 a year. Who knew?

There are no legal grounds for divorce in South Carolina.

In Louisiana, a man can get remarried a year after his divorce, but a woman must wait 22 months.

In Utah, a shooting range is a legal method of execution.

I am a riddle wrapped in an enigma.

Okay. For the past three months, I have been imploring you, my friends, indeed even random people on the street to never ever buy anything you will not use in the next month. Like that laundry detergent that advertises sixty loads? Unless you do two loads a day, BUY A SMALLER SIZE. Seriously.

But not today. Today I would like to put forth the idea that it is helpful if you stockpile batteries, aluminum foil, dishwasher detergent, and light bulbs. I know, right? Unlike me. I’m going somewhere, though, I promise. Stay with me.

Because my grandfather apparently enjoyed buying these things in large numbers and then stashing them in a scary little hole in the basement. Which I always avoided like the plague because um, scary little hole.

But today I was all geared up to be responsible and get the kitchen ready to paint, but when I went to plug in my iPod, I discovered that I had left the speakers on yesterday and they were all out of batteries. *woe* I was not painting without my tunes. Trashy Euro technopop is the only thing that keeps me from stopping to think long enough to actually feel anything in that house. “Self,” I thought, “I’ll bet Grandpa has some batteries. Perhaps in that little hole in the basement.” And lo! There were batteries! Lots of batteries! When we run out of batteries at home, we usually live in darkness or without speakers or walk across the room to change the channel for like two weeks because we never ever have any batteries and Target is like all the way at the end of the road. So I brought those batteries home.

Then I realized that I could completely avoid my trip to Target that I had to make! Because I needed aluminum foil and Cascade! And I found both of those things in the little hole! It was awesome!

So thank you Grandpa for buying more crap than you could use in your 91 years of life. Because your kitchen looks awesome now that I was able to paint with my iPod on.

(The rule still holds for anything that looks like a bronze basket, a marble egg, or a coin. Those things- NEVER EVER BUY.)

I apologize in advance for the shouty caps lock post.





I did totally hit the African art history midterm out of the park earlier. And I could pretty much not show up for Ireland tomorrow and still do well, so maybe they’ll let me adopt even if no one will ever love me.