BBC owns my soul.

At work today I was ordering a Doctor Who DVD for some kid and his mom and I said, “Oh, I love this show!” They then proceeded to geek out and ask me who my favorite doctor was.

And I felt really badly saying, “Um…the latest one? Because he’s pretty?”

I’m a bad fangirl.

Meanwhile, watching a Doctor Who right now. Aww. I love it when the companions work together.

I watched this show a lot this past summer, and, if you been reading for, oh, a few days, you know that this past summer? Notsomuch with the fun. So it is a testament to the greatness of Doctor Who that it can still make me feel happy.

Or. Really. Maybe it’s just the pretty.

Dear Retail Establishments Everywhere,

It’s February. It’s Wisconsin. It’s very definitely winter and will be definitely winter for a few more months.

So even if I did want to wear a rattan floral-print wedge heel (which I don’t think I would, because, unless you’re Heidi Klum, and I think we can all agree that I am not, wedges are a horrible look), I would look pretty silly in one until the middle of May.

And some of us have been stumbling all over the east side (and I do mean stumbling- I wiped out in a crosswalk the other day) in boots that seriously need to be replaced but NO, you cannot find shoes that have an actual toe.

Well, that’s not true. You can find adorable round-toe pumps with a little bow that you don’t need but buy anyway and you know what, not the issue here!

So, Retail Establishments. I’d appreciate it if you would keep real shoes around after Christmas. Thank you.


Thank God for the United States’ issues in the Middle East.

Because they, my dear reader, earned me a 110 on my exam this morning. Oh. Yes. Not only an essay so good that it earned all the points, but ten extra. Plus a “superb” and a “wow” on the cover. *sigh* I love it when I get “wow”‘s written on my tests.

I’m not kidding.

You ever want anything from me?

Write “wow” on an essay I’ve written. I’ll write the check/kill your boyfriend/hit the floor faster than you can add the exclamation point.

Yes. I want an exclamation point.

(Then I took and Ireland test and I think I promptly ran out of time. Whatever.)

Our babies would be Catholic!

I love it when Stephen Colbert does his show with ashes on his forehead. He didn’t this year, and it’s a little bit sad. I think it’s adorable.

Ignore the fact that he’s married. And twenty-four years older than me. And lives in New York. And has politics that I find morally reprehensible. And I don’t know him.

Shut up. I’ve had a very long day of studying failed Irish revolutions (Oh, so many. Too many to count.) and writing a paper for Cuba that is, I am not even going to front, five pages of COMPLETE AND UTTER CRAP.

Not bad writing, per se, but yes, I am going to spit this analytical essay out in two hours I don’t care you gave me next to no guidance and I have more important things to do. Like, TLC’s afternoon lineup.

All I can say is that everything I learned last semester in Northern Ireland had better still be in my head tucked away safely underneath “Depressing Irish Failures: Remove When You Are Too Tired To Focus”. Because that is the only way I’m getting through this.

I can sing the Preamble if you want.

Today started kind of poorly. I noticed that the gentleman taking the gifts up at Mass walks exactly like Grandpa did in the last few months. And from the back he looks almost the same. I know it’s stupid, and it’s been seven months tomorrow, but it’s weird stupid stuff like watching some guy you’ve known your entire life stumble that brings everything back up. So then I was tearful for the rest of the morning.

Except when the a woman whose kids I used to play with when I was little told me I looked really cute. That was okay. 🙂

But then I got to school and found out that Dr. Crain talked about Schoolhouse Rock. And even may have recited the lyrics. And the image of him forcing his children to watch it even though they don’t like it makes me smile so hard.

Oh, and I really miss Schoolhouse Rock. I could sing all the songs RIGHT NOW. But I won’t. Because that would be weird. Conjunction Junction (What’s your function? Hooking up words and phrases and clauses…) I’m Just a Bill (yes I’m only a bill, and I’m sitting here on Capitol hill.). God, I loved those. My little brother would wander around the house singing “Shot Heard ‘Round the World” when he was four.

(Yes, I’m my mother’s daughter.)

ETA: Watching President Obama’s address to Congress. A few notes:
1.) He’s very good at the public speaking. Halfway through I forgot that I am diametrically opposed to him on nearly ever issue.
2.) I remembered, just so you know.
3.) What, did Scalia want to stay home and watch a movie or something? You have better things to do?
4.) The new Treasury Secretary looks like Gary Sinise from the side. I don’t think Gary would take a job with the Obama administration. But I know I’d watch more press conferences.

The issues with Nazim continue to multiply.

I’d like a lab report grade please. I am not exactly sure of my chemistry prowess and I am .002% away from losing my honors bracket and I DID NOT WORK THIS HARD FOR MAGNA CUM LAUDE DAMN IT. So I’d like a grade.


Sorry. I get a little crazy about the whole chemistry thing.

Just chemistry, you ask? Oh, well, of course not. In fact, I’m having some issues in Cuban history too, would you like to hear about them?

I thought so.

1.) It’s Cuban history.
2.) I hate Cuban history.
3.) I refuse to believe that Castro is really a warm fuzzy human being.
4.) No tests. Just papers.
5.) Papers are only worth half the grade, the other is this weird ambiguous “participation”.
6.) The professor refuses to define a.) what participation is, b.) how much is required, and c.) how much this will actually count towards the grade.
7.) There’s a paper due next week.
8.) I have to write a cohesive analytical essay about all four incredibly disparate sources.
9.) The thesis must read “This paper argues that…” I’m sorry. Are we in the fourth grade?
10.) She speaks way too slowly and doesn’t even pretend to bs an answer to questions. That greatly annoys me.

Oh Lord. If I don’t do well on the paper I’m dropping the class. I can put up with anything for an A (See last semester, when I was lectured on socialism twice a week by a rabbi who seemed to find my drivel appealing and spewed praise all over my papers, aka Hebrew Studies 249.), but there is no way in hell I am losing summa cum laude for this.

I am such an old woman

I really want them to stop singing songs from Slumdog Millionaire and just do Best Picture already so I can go to bed.

It’s embarrassing.

I will say that when the camera panned to Brad and Angelina while Jennifer Aniston was presenting? Best moment of the night. Oh, the awkward.

Okay. They’re still singing. I’m not sure why.

Typical Saturday Night at Chez Morena

John: I’m probably a little bit hard on myself.

Me: *snorts*

Mom: No, really? You all are like that. You’re crazy. And your father and I never pushed you guys into ANYTHING. We’ve been nothing but supportive. You *pointing at me* couldn’t talk and we thought you were brilliant! But no, John’s horrible at guitar, Colleen’s horrible at everything, and if Kathleen doesn’t get an A she’s worthless.

Me: No, we do this all to ourselves. We know that.

Dad: What are we talking about?

Mom: How psychotic the children are.

Dad: Ah, yes.

Mom: I mean God knows we never pushed you into sports!

Everyone: *laughs*

Dad: Thank God you guys never got into soccer. I did not want to go to all those games.

Freakin’ Fabulous

I read Clinton Kelly’s book Freakin‘ Fabulous today and I think it was around the time where he wrote about spending 40 grand on a master’s degree in journalism and his pet peeve being people saying “try and” instead of “try to” that I decided I definitely want to be in a sexless marriage with him. We clearly are soul mates.

I had a rather unfabulous day otherwise. I pulled tack strips up off the floor without damaging it or my eyes. I discovered that you should perhaps check the box of flooring before the gentleman shows up to install it to make sure that it’s NOT THE WRONG COLOR.

And then I decided that being able to play with nails without blindness and deciding that “%&*^ it, the flooring and the guy to install it are RIGHT HERE, this is a lovely color yes, I totally think it looks good with the counter. Excuse me while I go dry heave in the corner,” is, in and of itself, kind of fabulous.

(Yes. There are pictures. They’ll be on Facebook…sometime. Later. Fabulous needs to go to bed.)


Just in case anyone was wondering, the week you have two tests and papers and I don’t know, EVERYTHING else? Not a good week to recover from a cold. Because even though thanks to the good people at Vick’s you won’t feel that decapitation would be more humane than one more second with your current head, you will feel like the work it would take to, like, stand up, is just way too much to even contemplate.

But tomorrow I have off. And I can sit on my hardwood floor and talk about the Penal Laws until the installation guys decide I’m crazy and decamp for more normal work conditions. And it shall be sweet.

Oh, and this has nothing to do with anything, but that kind of hot guy from Eleventh Hour? Could tell me to have a second-trimester c-section any day and I’d be all, “Sure, sign me up. Hold me till the pain goes away?”