Attn: Readers

My mother would like you all to know that we are not, in fact, hill folk. Our Christmas decorations were put away a long time ago, during a month that was definitely not April, and any indication to the contrary was merely poetic license. So. Don’t discuss us and snicker at your next family gathering.

That being said, I have nothing else to add except I think I bombed a chemistry quiz this afternoon (well, only one question, but it was worth about 45% of the quiz grade so yeah. Bombed.) and I registered! For classes! For my senior year!

Well, almost completely. I got into Renaissance art and architecture in Italy, a comp lit class about gnosticism, intro to Jewish history, the Arab/Israeli conflict, something called Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed but whatever I’d take something called Watching Me Make A Grocery List if Dr. Crain taught it, and, of course, my thesis. Which I keep forgetting about even though it’s going to be significantly more work and more nausea-inducing than the rest of them and all I can say is be thankful you don’t live with me! Because for those of you that do? Fall is going to be a bumpy couple of months.

I still need to manually add Jews in Wisconsin, because the stupid computer won’t let you do more than 18 credits. Pssh. Whatever. So far there are exactly…no people enrolled. I don’t think I should have too much trouble getting in.

So. Yes. That was my day. Fascinating, no?

It’s a little blasphemous.

My family generally likes St. Joseph. I mean, my parents are pretty convinced that he’s the only reason they got married, they only have live children because of St. Joseph’s hospital, etc. But for some reason we have not only one, but TWO beheaded St. Joseph statues at our house right now. One met with an unfortunate accident while being taken out of the nativity scene (SHUT UP I know it’s April but you know what? Until like last week we were under six feet of snow), and the other? Well, John came downstairs this morning, looked out the door and went, “Oh, my.”

Poor St. Joseph. I mean, you were the earthly father of Christ, but it was hardly an easy gig. You put up with the whole virgin birth thing, try to teach the Son of Man to use a hammer, and then aren’t even mentioned after the first few chapters of the canonical Gospels. I mean, as long as you’re messing with the story, John, why don’t you add something about Joe in there, huh?

And then we can’t even keep your head on.

St. Joseph? I thought you might like to know that Mary is watching from the other side of the porch and feels very badly for you. And she wants you to know that she’s glad you didn’t divorce her quietly. She’ll try to stop the alarmingly large hawks that come RIGHT UP TO OUR HOUSE from mistaking your head for a small furry creature and stealing it.

I am the grammar snob about whom your mother warned you.

Oh, internets. Did no one else have to diagram sentences for years on end? Or was that just me?

Oh. I think it was actually just me.


Thanks, Mom.

Anyway, I’m reading this book written by this woman whose brilliant poetry professor husband left her for some other faculty member and her subsequent almost-mental-breakdown. Just because I want a fun read, you know.

No, really it’s because she played Det. Stabler’s wife on SVU and I FREAKING LOVE SVU.

Except this woman? Can. Not. Write. Like, for shit. The prose is awkward and she misuses contractions and it’s just…bad. I make no claims about my ability to do anything remotely creative. I could not write a story. Academic paper? Sign me up. I will hit that baby out of the park. So I’m not judging her, I just feel like someone, ANYONE, any one of her friends should have attacked this manuscript with a red pen at like the very beginning of the process. Really. It’s only polite.

Because if you are going to write a scathing tell-all of how your loser husband dumped you for a freaking poetry professor who looks like Winona Ryder? You had better make your your prepositions are in the right place. He is an English professor, after all.

(Oh, and there was a story about getting a job in academia that made me want to take up drinking a permanent hobby.)

See? THIS is why you never leave a Law and Order. Bad things happen.

Thoughts During an Extra Credit Chemistry Video

Ugh. It’s 7:00. I don’t want to be here. I’m missing HIMYM for this.

There is like no one else here. How big a dork am I for showing up?

15 points. I would do anything for 15 points. Perky little TA Sandra down there could say that her boyfriend was bugging her and needed somebody to take him out and I’d be like, “Do you provide the weapons?”

Ooh, video guy says “exquisite” like Alan Rickman. *swoon*

ACK! Video guy looks nothing like Alan Rickman.

15 points. Come on. Your GPA is so worth this.

And, okay, now there are…no, there can’t be…you can’t show that in an educational video…this isn’t cable…okay, yep, there is definite nudity there. Oh, ick.

Meh. 15 points.

Come on, you’re an actual female. It’s not like you’ve never seen boobs before. Granted, these are large, saggy, native-type boobs, but the general thought is the…okay. No. This is just wrong.

15 points. 15 points. 15 points.

I had better get summa cum laude for this, so help me God.

Video Guy: “Something prophetic about that mid-summer bonfire that I will attempt to conjure in the present.” Oh, good. I was worried this would be a dull night.

15 points. 15 points. 15 points.

Video Guy: “Cold, calculating, cantankerous, prim, precise, puritanical…” Did you just learn alliteration, Jim.

Lavoisier perished in the French Revolution, like a good chunk of the entire nation.

Seriously. You have to stop saying “climax”. It’s freaking me out.

15 points.

And…now they’re explaining atomic theory with those balls you use for lawn games.

You know, this would have been a hell of a lot more fun with Simon Schama.

I’m skipping Cuba tomorrow.

And because of that, it’s going to be a good day.

Yes, I have a ton to do. Yes, I have five hundred dry Irish history pages to read because everybody bombed the last test and now Dr. Crain is convinced that we’re not reading it. Yes, I have to kill two hours after art history and there will only be a wrap place open for an hour of it. Yes, I have to stay on campus until eight for a chem extra credit thing.

But it STILL will be a fantastic day.

Because NO CUBA.

Frick yeah.

Everyone will probably remain fully clothed.

It’s been a really long week. I could have gotten together with Mary and Nick tonight, or I could have gone to the dinner dance.

Oh, the dinner dance. Last year was…well, it was amazing. But this year it’s actually at church, which will significantly cut down on the drunken reveling. I’m guessing. Wait a minute. Yeah, maybe it won’t. That parish likes to party. I saw people I’ve never seen before at Mass tonight in sequins and enough foundation to make a Boston Store makeup girl weep. They were looking for a great time.

Also, everything was like set up through the narthex and the school hallway and it’s all congested and twisty and there’s crap hanging from the ceilings and yeah, probably nobody will fall down and expose their…ahem…area to the general public.

(I still want to know what’s going through your mind when you think, “Oh, I’m going to a church function. I know! I’M NOT GOING TO WEAR PANTIES!!!” Stupid whore.)

I freaking love drunk people.

But I don’t think it would be the same, and like nobody else was going, so I’m doing the significantly more dorky but FUN way and studying Irish history notes and drinking sangria (Carlo Rossi- who I also discovered this morning provides the wine for St. Monica’s. I knew I liked that place…). It’s a good time.

Oh, I served confirmation this morning despite not actually being a server this morning and the fact that it wasn’t actually at my parish. Whatever. It was fun. But their albs were significantly more like priest’s albs and less like the loser server ones that we have and damn, I think I have figured out the real problem facing today’s clergy. It’s not celibacy or the sex abuse scandal- it’s the fact that those albs are ridiculously unflattering.

Except maybe it’s just if you’re busty. Which shouldn’t be a problem, I guess. Hmm. So maybe it’s just a problem for post-pubescent female alter servers.


Oh, internets. It is 7:26. And it is NOT a good day already. I was lazy this morning and didn’t do anything I was supposed to, opting instead to sleep until the last possible minute. So I feel like schlub. Then I get out to car and realize that I don’t have keys. No worries. The keys are probably inside.

Except wait.

The Empress may have taken them a week ago to go to work and not returned them (NOT being snarky to the Empress, I should have asked for them.)

Okay. We must have another set.

Oh. Right. With my dad. Who is in the other car (to which I am holding TWO sets of keys right now) en route to UWM.

This? Is not good.

So now I get to carpool down to my advising appointment, where I will undoubtedly be told to take summer school to finished the double major that I can’t afford and I looked online this morning and Borders didn’t even bother to deposit a check because do you know how much money I made in the last two weeks NOTHING THAT’S HOW MUCH but I love Borders and I keep hoping things are going to get better and I don’t want to quit!!!