Obama’s talking again. I’m disagreeing. Again.

I got a test back in US/Israel relations today. I received a 115, and after I stopped smiling madly I read the comments on the front. There was the usual stuff, like “*Pick a fantastic adjective* effort!”, “Wow!”, and some scribbles that I’m pretty sure are scribbles but hell, they could be really dirty words or something, I don’t know, his penmanship is terrible.

Then, at the bottom, he wrote, “Keep it up!” I know it’s just another “yay!”, but it kind of made me laugh because…

Um. Okay.

This is the fourteenth test I’ve taken from him. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve never gotten anything less than a 95, and in this class I haven’t received anything lower than a 110. I’m obviously working incredibly hard and am capable of grasping material because I’ve been regurgitating his lectures quite successfully for thirteen months.

So does he think that number 15 is the one where I stop studying? Like I’m not going to show up for class anymore? I think if I’m going to memorize the dollar amount of debt that the US forgave of Mexico in 1848, I’m in it for the long haul.

(It was $3.3 million, by the way.)

Items of Note

-Please, please, Whitefish Bay. Will you seriously stop working on Silver Spring and open it again? I think the few weeks it actually was open both ways was more a cruel test than anything else. Honestly. What are you doing?

-Cuban history was, quite possibly, the most boring class of the semester. I think that an actual visit to the slums of Cuba (Which apparently don’t exist because Castro! Is awesome! He’s like a warm cuddly grandpa! Who shoots you when you talk.) and the inevitable arrest upon my arrival back in the US would be more fun than that damn class.

-Josh Groban is rumored to be dating Katy Perry. What. WHAT? “I Kissed a Girl” girl? That’s what turns you on? I will kiss a girl. I’ll dress like a circus freak. I’ll look constantly surprised and wear bright red lipstick. Hell, I will become a freaking lesbian if that’s what you want! *headdesk*

-This guy in methods would not stop talking to me. Like, for reals. I was very obviously trying to study the chapter that I hadn’t read yet and we were being tested on in three minutes. I was talking to other people. I was not making eye contact. Stop asking me what I did over break, if I’d seen the documentary “Che”, do not listen to my conversation with someone else and comment on it, leave me alone, and my God is it like twelve hundred degrees in here??? (It was.) I’m pretty sure he asked me out for a drink then, but I couldn’t really tell because he kept mumbling. Gah. It was so annoying.

-My art history professor wrote, “Excellent. One of the best in the class,” on my exam. Him? I’d get a drink with.

-Jon and Kate of “Plus 8” are having marital issues because Jon went out and got drunk with coeds. And now they’re “frustrated” with the whole fame thing. Oh, bite me. You’re ridiculously wealthy, have everything sent to you because it’s being shown on the show (including insurance- why hello thar, camera! I was just checking up on my Allstate website…) and a year ago those coeds wouldn’t have given you the time of day.

Sometimes they bug me.

Not Aaden. I love Aaden.

I should be insulted.

Um, hi! If you’ve gotten here from the What Did Glenn Grothman Get Wrong This Week post (and I know at least a few people have), welcome! This corner of the internet is mostly reserved for my drunken musings on Johnny Depp’s hair or my hair or my nail-biting academic inferiority complex, normal stuff, really. I’m sure you won’t be terribly interested. Unless you’re independently wealthy and feel like paying for my brain, which will be worth over a hundred thousand dollars by the time I’m finished with it, please leave a comment and I’ll call the judge.

Anyway, I think my mother thinks I’m particularly stupid.

Mom: Hey, did you go for a walk?

Me: Yes.

Mom: No cars hit you?

Me: Well yeah, but I just laid there thinking “What would Natasha Richardson do?” I figured I’d get up and walk it off. And yeah, now I’m nauseous and dizzy and can’t see colors, but I think I’m fine. OF COURSE NO CAR HIT ME.

Mom: Just wanted to make sure.

I’m not terribly bright.

Sometimes, God needs to get Old Testament on me. I mean, none of my shrubbery has burst into flames or anything (mostly because I refuse to weed and we thus have very few things of the plant variety at our house), but there have been many times when I’ve been listening to the readings or homily and it’s like God is screaming, “OKAY IS THIS CLEAR ENOUGH FOR YOU? YOU ARE SO DUMB.”

Well, God isn’t actually that mean. But other than that…

Like this week, where it’s been like a constant battering ram of “omg love your neighbor for reals” and forgiveness and you know what, God? I’m trying, okay?

I’m generally a nice, not-too-bitter person. (Stop laughing, Colleen.) But I do hold a grudge. Like, for a long time. There’s this woman at church who I still get angry at every time I see and secretly am thankful that she’s old and alone and lives with her parents. She was babysitting a whole group of us when I was seven. My friend’s toddler sister grabbed my Little House on the Prairie book and when I took it back this Evil Horrible Bitch Woman took it away from me because she thought we were fighting.

Yes. I’m still mad. Even though the friend and I are juniors in college, his sister is sixteen, and that woman is, again, old and living with her parents.

The last few months haven’t exactly lent themselves to personal growth either. Because it’s really hard to be forgiving when someone that you love (or loved) deeply doesn’t call when your mom gets freaking cancer (again). It’s really hard to be forgiving when your whole life seems to be falling apart and you can’t believe that theirs isn’t too. It’s really hard to be forgiving when you feel like a horrible person because you have to smile and pretend on the one day I know I’m going to want to wake up, have a drink, cry, and go back to bed.

As we already established, I’m not good with the forgiveness.

I really need to work on that. But I am listening, God. So maybe for the second half of Lent…

I definitely need to marry well.

Thoughts that I had this morning:

“Hmm. The gas guage is on empty. This is weird. Is it really empty, or just the normaly bopping around empty?”

“Probably bopping around empty. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s really stupid. You should stop and get gas.”

“Where is there even a gas station around here?”

“Oh. Right there. And it’s even a Citgo. God knows the parentals like their brand loyalty. Screw the whole Venezualen oil company thing.”

“Wait, is it closed? It says “For Lease”. But there are little numbers on the pumps. Hmm. Oh, credit card sales only. I have a credit card! Not mine, but still.”

“Hmm. This is kind of a scary abandoned ghost-towny type place.”

“That’s stupid. You’re on Port Washington Road in Mequon, for heaven’s sakes.”

“But why are there no cars? Just scary shadows?”

“Someone could strangle me with my pretty scarf.”

“I’ll only do ten dollars. That should be enough. $9.60. $9.85. $9.98. $10.03. Dammit.”

“Yes, I want a receipt.”

“Why aren’t you giving me a receipt?”

“Why are you beeping?”

“I can’t see the attendant! The damn building is for lease!”


“You know what, I’m leaving now.”

“There is a reason I don’t do this often.”

“Eww. Now my hands smell.”


Meanwhile, I now know when and where my favorite professor’s firstborn was conceived. And now I’m pretty sure I’m going to spend most of Tuesday focusing not on the push for Home Rule and but him having sex in Ireland. Which is just weird.