Irish Fest and Sexual Harassment Tips

Okay. So they tell you not to do your BA and MA (and certainly not your PhD) at the same school because, well, presumably if you’re going to be admitted to the cushy intellectual life you should be able to convince more than one person that you’re not a drooling fool.

My point is that while I may never be hired and live with my parents until I die, there are advantages to staying at the same school. Like I know where the hidden ladies rooms, a valuable skill when they turn 130 women loose for five minutes every three hours. And I know where to escape while everyone else gets herded into lunch. Yeah, like hell I’m eating your union sponsored lunch, UWM. I’m blogging and watching Inspector Lynley on Netflix. (ZOMG BILL NIGHY GUEST STAR! AND THAT KID! THAT KID FROM HISTORY BOYS!)


Also? The only thing I got from the sexual harassment talk was that if you’re going to allow yourself to be manipulated and screw (sometimes literally) with a student, you’d better go all the way and give them an A. Because otherwise those sluts get mad. And vindictive. And we don’t want that. I look forward to the afternoon session.

So! Irish Fest! Was kind of amazing. Friday night I got stuck in a tent in a thunderstorm and there was screaming and breaking glass and apparently my mom was in another tent royally freaking out and screaming (oh yes, screaming) “My babies are in there! Is it a tornado?”

Some poor woman had to talk her off a ledge.

(It’s nice to be loved.)

Sunday was Mass- lovely. I mean, not Dolan-lovely (the general standard by which all Irish Fest Masses are judged). We stayed for the whole day, which I think was probably a bad idea in the long run even though I had an amazing time.

The snarling this morning when I realized that I had to drive to campus by eight o’clock on four hours of sleep? That’s the part that probably was a bad idea.

But, you know, the whole please don’t mess with the kids because they will mess with you part was kind of worth it.


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