The 40-Year-Old Dependent.

Had a minor meltdown today. Just a teensy little one. When it appeared that there are no loans available for graduate school if you are listed as a dependent for tax purposes. And yes, I am. Because I’ve been busy PAYING TUITION FOR THREE YEARS and WORKING EIGHT HOURS A WEEK. OF COURSE I’M A FREAKING DEPENDENT I CAN’T AFFORD TARGET.

So I had a brief dark moment of the soul when I wondered exactly how old you can get while still being claimed by your parents. 21 is okay. 25 is a little weird. But I’m hoping- praying- that I’ll have Ph.D one of two by the time I’m 30. And while I probably still be living at home because I can’t really take my term papers to the grocery as legal tender, it’s even more pathetic to have the IRS think you’re pitiful.

Then I stress-ate like four cookies and got massively ill.

And realized that if you’re in graduate school, you automatically lose the dependent status, even if you technically still receive a substantial amount of support (like, say, all of it) from your parents. Fear not, I will be able to get a loan. Oh. That’s good.

Ugh. The emotional taxation of that little exercise was way too much to handle. I spent the rest of the day watching Law and Order: Criminal Intent. Because Goren and Eames do not care that I have no money.


It’s over.

You know my fantastic soul mate Meghan McCain? Well, I don’t really care that we can have sleepovers and talk about small government and fiscal responsibility and omg did you see “Fox and Friends” this morning???

Now it will never work.

This afternoon she posted the following tweet: “On a sidenote, me and all my girlfriends might be a little too enthused about the jon and kate premier monday. Were planning food and drinks already for it.”

Really? Do you mean you and your friends planned drinks? Because that’s not what you said. You said that you previously planned food and drinks.


Thus ends tonight’s episode of the Grammar Nazi.


CHEM AND METHODS GRADES ARE STILL NOT UP ON PAWS AND I AM NOT AMUSED. God. UWM. I love you. I really do. I appreciate that I can afford (haha…kind of) to get an advanced degree at your campus, which is totally a much better academic institution than a lot of people give it credit for. I love Pacific Wraps. I love the Grind. I’m not okay with you only offering scholarships to AIDS babies from Asian and/or Aboriginal backgrounds whose parents did not attend anything other than a bush school but tell those of us who grew up in the North Shore and have parents with advanced post-graduate degrees to figure out some other way of paying for it I hear truck stops are relatively safe? but I’ll get over that. I AM NOT OKAY WITH YOU NOT POSTING MY GRADES FOR A WEEK AFTER FINALS.

After all, how will I be able to gauge my worth in the world if I don’t know how I did in Chemistry 106???

We’re beginning to watch Star Trek episodes, because that’s just the kind of nerdy family we are. This means that I shall generally embarrass myself by fangirling every member of the cast except Mr. Sulu because, well, I know now that he’s not interested.

This will be ultimately disappointing because, unlike my sister, I prefer new Mr. Spock to old Mr. Spock. In fact, if I were in a relationship with new Mr. Spock (and why the hell not, he is not, in fact, married to a Dixie Chick and really what else was stopping us?) I’d make him wear the ears and shave his eyebrows and possibly only dress in blue…


Me: Remember the Vulcan PMS episode? I’m going to figure out which one that is…
Colleen: Yeah, go to wikipedia and type in “Nurse Chapel”…
Entire Room: *erupt in laughter*
Me: Amok Time? Is that rig…
Mom: Yep. That’s it.

My hair is filthy. I should really wash it before work tomorrow. Meh. Too much work. There is Trek goodness to be viewed. Pigtails tomorrow, I guess.

Wow. This was disjointed. But I’m really focused on the television right now.

Only two?

Unacceptable items:

1.) Dogs.

I don’t like dogs. I know a lot of people like them, and that’s just fine and dandy. I, however, am not one of them. From my perspective? There was a reason the Romans left them outside.

Look. Okay, I know that little dog isn’t actually going to hurt me. I get that. I’m not stupid. But whenever one runs at me I get the urge to scream like a little girl and jump into the nearest pool of water in the hopes that I can lose the mangy bastard.

(Dogs swim? Oh.)

I have, in fact, almost killed myself on several occasions freaking out about a dog. When I was about four I went batshit crazy at Maker’s Mark and ran in front of a car. When I was eight my friend’s dog had the nerve to be in the front yard at the same time as me and I ran into the road. This happened several more times when I was eleven/twelve at the farm (The horses were no problem for me, but those dogs? Scary.)

Imagine my dismay when a stupid dog decided to follow me home today. I managed to not freak out, and okay, I had to call my mom because it felt better to be talking and I figured if I was just walking along the highway talking to myself passing motorists would begin to view me strangely. But I didn’t dart in front of a car or throw any rocks at the crazy thing (Seriously, it was dumb. Running down the middle of the road and all. Pssh.)

And I’m only 21.

2.) I’m still missing two grades on PAWS. And it goes down for maintenance on Saturday. And so help me God if I don’t have my official GPA by then I will NOT BE PLEASED.

I’m pretty sure I got As in everything in chemistry (I have four As right now officially and methods is outstanding, but it should be an A unless Big Daddy decided that I wasn’t one of his special students…I don’t really want to think about that), and chem should be an A- which I’m actually okay with because the – isn’t for anything stupid like I didn’t show up or study or anything- I worked my ass off for the class, and I did all the stupid extra credit. So while I’m mourning the loss of my 4.0, it’s not the end of the world.

Well. It kind of is.

It’s amazing what you pick up.

Saw Star Trek again this afternoon, and wow! It’s so much better when you’re not looking for a quiet place to throw up! I don’t know if it was the sick or the tired thing last time, but I understood like the actual plot this time- last time it was pretty much “zomg they’re so young Spock is hot Spock/Uhura que? zomg so gooood!!!”

(Yes. I am articulate when I’m tired.)

This time there was, like, time travel and stuff.

Also decided that I shall go see Angels and Demons again on Monday because Mary and I traditionally do a movie and the inaugural Memorial Day movie was even an Ewan McGregor flick and well, I cannot think of any better way to mark the day than by viewing totally damning hotness that Colleen was mocking earlier. Whatever. She doesn’t have to come. *sniff*

I’m pretty sure I’m still high.

Hey, remember that day last fall? Yeah. I don’t do well with anything in the turpentine family. I just don’t like things that are caustic and have major warnings about how dangerous they are unless it also comes with a Carlo Rossi label and a 7% alcohol by volume certification.

Imagine my delight then when today’s task was using Goof-Off on the floors. All the floors. There was cursing. And crying. And more cursing and I may have damned several people to hell in my head, but hey! It was rough and the fumes, they get to me.

Especially since Goof-Off is not actually that fantastic a product. They neglect to mention that it doesn’t work on actual drops of paint, unless you already attempted to wipe it up while it was wet, anything remotely old, and sometimes not so much depending on the grain of the wood. So if you’ve got a smear of paint on a perfectly smooth pane of wood that you wiped up within the last fifteen minutes? You are golden. Anything else? Not so much.

Particularly fifty-year-old paint on slightly damaged floors. Yeah, that…is going to stay for another fifty years.

If I could have seen straight at the end of endeavor, I would have been really angry. As it was, I was just nauseated and looking for a drink.


Re: Last night’s fangirling of Meghan McCain. She was fantastic on the Colbert Report, but I think she could have laid off the eyeliner a little.

Whatever, I was five.

I am deeply fascinated by Meghan McCain. Infatuated, really. I want to be her friend. We can Twitter and be slightly overweight but altogether not hideously deformed together.

This is due, I feel, to a number of issues. I have always wanted to be a political daughter. It was my neverending dream as a child that my dad would ditch that whole architecture thing and run for prez in 1996- what, like he couldn’t beat Perot? My little sister and I would dress up and play “Chelsea Clinton” which was less a game and more fevered “OMG CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW MUCH FUN I’LL BET SHE HAD THE REAL BARBIE CAR, NOT THE GENERIC ONE, AND A KEN DOLL WITH BOTH LEGS!!!”

(What. I was easily distracted from her father’s seriously lacking policy issues.)

But that’s not all. I seriously need some youngish Republican friends (other than Katie- but hey! She could hang out with Meghan and me too!) . It’s a cold world out here when you have Bobby Jindal freaking out and being pissy in the corner while Obama is hanging out with the cool kids across the room and beckons you over, “Hey, you wanna join us? We’ve got beer. I mean technically, you bought the beer with your tax dollars, so you should totally have some!” And you have to reply, “Um…no…thanks. I’m just going to sit over here with my lemonade and try to keep Bobby from talking too loudly. But Meghan is young and not a fundamentalist and has gay friends and hey! I have gay friends too!

And yes, she said that she voted for Kerry in 2004, which is an almost unforgivable offense because SERIOUSLY? KERRY? But I can get over it, because I love her clothes and she uses eyliner which is, again, seriously lacking amongst Republicans.

She got into a fight with Ann Coulter about how bitch crazy she’s become. And I respect that something fierce.

Also I have always harbored a desire to be named Meghan. With an H. I don’t know why.

So while I have never compared leg hair with her, as my sister did in a dream that is chronicled in a remarkable Facebook note that I can’t link to because her profile is locked down like the Pentagon, but if you know her you should totally go read it, I think Meghan and I are basically soulmates.

And tonight? Tonight she’s on the Colbert Report. Yes. Now she has my name, my party affiliation, my penchant for empire-waisted dresses, and gets to be on my favorite show ever. It’s almost worth staying up until 10:30 for.