You think you’re so clever.

Dear Skeevy Undergraduate,

Hey. What’s up. Yeah. It’s morning. Pull your head out of the puddle of your own sick in which it’s most likely resting. I need to talk to you.

It’s me. Yeah, I know. You don’t know me, but I’m the grad student who has recalled this one book you checked out like eight times. See, I really need this book. Like, for multiple papers.  Like, NOW.

I really don’t think you need this book. I really don’t think you have that much to say about Vatican II. In fact, I’m positive I know which class and paper for which you checked out this book and I can see right through you, gross little undergrad.

And I promise, you won’t score any more points for writing about Poland.




Post-Spring Break (’08)

(You know, just for continuity’s sake.)

So. Spring break was…eventful. If we define “events” as “cardiac” and “curled on the bathroom floor begging for death.”*

In an effort to return to productivity, I have devised a to-do list for the week(s) following spring break.

– Don’t throw up.

So far so good.

(I’m counting yesterday as part of spring break.)

– Wash hair occasionally.

Do you know how tiring it is to wash and dry your hair when you can only stand for three minutes? VERY THAT’S HOW MUCH.

– Disconnect the DVR.

Because that is way too addicting.

– Finish (okay, fine, START) all those books I wrote about reading during spring break.

– BS way through meeting about that major history-changing idea for interpreting Vatican II. Because I…kind of don’t have it yet.

Eh. We’ll work on it. How hard can altering the time-space continuum really be? Right?

– Spend some time in a convent visiting sick nuns.


So. I shall keep you informed of all progress.

(Except that first one. Because I really hate it when people talk about their own sick.)

*And not even in the way that the majority of students did that exact same thing over spring break.

Brilliance Courtesy of Vicks

Still spring break, blog groupies. Let’s see how we’re faring with the to-do list, shall we?

– DVR watching. Check.

Oh, what a check. I watched a documentary on polygamy. BECAUSE I COULD.

(Also, I’m fascinated by polygamy.)

– Netflix watching. Check.

Morning Glory would have been disappointing except I refuse to be disappointed by Rachel McAdams.

(Except in The Notebook. That was just insane.)

– Cookies. Check.


Witness to Hope, Final Revolution, etc. Sort-of check.

I’m 150 pages in to Witness to Hope. So…about 10% finished.

(Didn’t you hear about the polygamy thing?)

– Real books. CHECK.

So we’re doing pretty well, I think, given that it’s only Tuesday.

I’m going to go read some more…or you know, see what the fine men of Law and Order: UK are up to. In the meantime, enjoy this rambling draft that I just found on my dashboard.

I wrote it two weeks ago when I was dying of a cold (and quite possibly an overdose of cold medicine) while trying to write a paper and figure out my schedule for fall. Madness ensued.

Episcopal. THAT’s the word I was looking for.


I may have said John XXIII couldn’t talk to women. And…I need to go back and read that section of my paper again. Because…well, I think “scrupulous” may be a better term.


I could rearrange my netflix queue. That’s way more pressing than German. TOTALLY.

Wait. What book was I supposed to read?


I’m trying to figure how to say “Um, okay, I know I’m not allowed to know that you have anything to do with this process but I totally do and I really really really want to impress upon you how much I want to teach this class next semester like a lot without being creepy but seriously whatever you want, you got, donuts? I can do donuts, but you know, just casual like because you don’t technically have anything to do with it. *cough*” in a normal way.

I think maybe I’ll wait until I’m off of the cold meds before I attempt that one.


OMG I really really like this Moroccan Oil treatment on my hair. I should buy some more. Lots more. Ooh, they make a styling cream. Why do credit card numbers have to be so tiny?


Pius XII gave us the liturgical guidelines for the Triduum? I frickin LOVE the triduum. Awww. Pius. I love you.

Ah, memories.

(I dropped German, by the way. Turns out Netflix was more pressing.)

Spring Break ’08.

Somebody in my freshman journalism class got drunk and yelled that out a car window once. In 2007. Not during spring break. Yeah…drunk.

ANYWAY. I am on spring break! And thanks to the joys of being (marginally) employed by the same place you go to school? I DON’T HAVE TO WORK EITHER.

That’s right, kiddos. Don’t talk to me about the Indian Removal Act until March 28th. Because I DON’T FRICKIN CARE.

(Not about the Indian Removal Act. I care about that. It was horrible. Just about talking about it.)

I’ve spent the last few days soaking in the glory of not having a paper to write (immediately), and figuring out exactly how I should best utilize my time. Because I have a lot of major projects (somebody wants me to write a thesis? seriously? Like, now?) coming up and as everyone tells you, grad school is mostly about time management.

I’ve come up with the following list of things I will be accomplishing this week, in order of priority.

– Figure out what  channels I get with digital cable. Because they were out of the welcome kit when my box was installed and the website is very confusing and so is the onscreen guide because sometimes it tells me I have certain channels that I don’t because it wants me to click on them and get mad when a blue screen pops up saying, “For only $12.99 a month you can get HBO and HBO HD!” and then buy HBO and THIS IS NOT HELPFUL TIME WARNER.

This is of supreme importance and must be dealt with posthaste.

Like, as soon as I get out of my pajamas.

– Catch up on my DVR’d episodes of Law and Order: UK. Because I am fascinated by accents and I need to clear space to DVR more episodes of Law and Order: UK.

– Get some serious Netflix viewing in. Because I feel like I’ve brought home a new baby and my toddler feels like mommy doesn’t love her anymore.

It’s not true, baby. Mommy still loves you very much. It’s just…the new baby has a British accent.

– Shower.

(This is negotiable.)

– Finish the shamrock cookies from St. Patrick’s Day. Because they’re awesome.

– Finish Witness to Hope. And The End and the Beginning. And The Final Revolution. Because George Weigel needs a hobby other than writing 100o pages at a stretch.

– Screw that. Read real  books.

– Figure out how to write about Paul VI without mentioning Humanae Vitae.

(Yes, I know I wrote about that like a month and a half ago. I’ve been busy, okay?)

(Law and Order: UK doesn’t watch itself.)

– Eat more cookies.

– Figure out my idea to completely revolutionize the historiography of Vatican II and permanently alter the time-space continuum.

There you go. I think it’s going to be a good week.

We need to talk.

This morning I got an e-mail from Vera Bradley with the very urgent subject line “We need to talk.”

Apparently it’s been awhile since I’ve ordered something, and Vera is very concerned about our relationship. So concerned, in fact, that they’re offering me a 20% off of an order over $75.

Uh. Okay.

I guess we do need to talk, Vera. Because I thought we were better than this. I loved you once. We had something real. I may have even inadvertently convinced a few people that you were my new baby (“Wait. Who’s Stephanie?”). We traveled the east coast together.

But now? You’re just too much. You parade around in your new colors even though you know I can’t afford them. Your stitching is actually sub par for something that is quite so expensive. And you FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY.

(Everyone else got a card. Why not me?)

But now? Now you want to get back together? By throwing not much more than ten bucks at me? And making me still pay $8.95 for ground shipping?

I mean, that’s like saying, hey, baby, I was wrong, I really love you, now could you hold my beer while I got hit on that blonde who probably has some job security (Really. You’re a TA at a [currently, for about ten more minutes probably] UW campus.) over there, okay, baby?

What kind of girl do you think I am? You’re going to have to do way better than that.

Cute but Stupid: Part 2

I have a theory that the glory of Netflix allows for your baser self to be totally happy at all times. And have control of the remote. Wait. That sounds like porn. I’m not into porn, I swear. But I do order a ton of really stupid movies. And really enjoy them, because I don’t care what you say, Katherine Heigl is America’s sweetheart.

For instance, if I feel that a particular actor is particularly talented, I may request his entire filmography no matter how awful the movies may be.

This is how I ended up with the 2010 Annette Bening film Mother and Child. Because Jimmy Smits had about fifteen minutes of screen time in it.

SHUT UP. He’s a very attractive sixty-year-old.


Last night I was reading an uncharicteristically intelligent magazine and came across a very favorable review of the film.

It’s worth noting that I received the magazine as a gift from someone who probably (hopefully?) doesn’t know the following things about me: the only magazine I subscribe to is InStyle; I’ve worn shoes so ridiculous that I’ve actually FALLEN OFF OF THEM; and I had to title this post “Cute but Stupid: Part 2” because I’ve already titled a post “Cute but Stupid” about CURLING MY HAIR.

Yup. I’m able to act like an adult for hours at a time.

Anyway, this clearly very intelligent reviewer frickin’ loved this movie. It was brilliant! And visionary! And had very serious and significant things to say about faith and life and femininity and motherhood and women everywhere should watch this film!

Uh. Okay.

I guess it shouldn’t come as a huge surprise to anyone that I didn’t particularly enjoy this movie. In fact, I’m gonna be totally honest with y’all. I hated this movie. Like, hated. It was long. And boring. And depressing. And Annette Bening bugs the hell out of me. And Jimmy Smits only had like fifteen minutes on screen. AND SERIOUSLY SO BORING.

I’m not exactly sure what it had to say about femininity and God and motherhood and the “new Eves” but I do know that it was like eight hours long and there was no sufficient Jimmy Smits make-out scene.

(Funny. First Things didn’t talk about that.)

It also should come as no huge surprise that the current disc I have out from Netflix is  the Katherine Heigl flick Life as We Know It.

I’m pretty sure First Things will not review it. Which is a shame, because it’s awesome so far.

How I Almost Became a Princess.

I am not a pageant girl. If we’ve ever actually spoken, you should know this.

I watch Miss America and do shots every time one of them says something that a third-grader should know to be false. Most of my closet is black or gray. I detest most other women. No. Seriously. CAN’T STAND THEM.

A few days ago, Iwas notified of an opportunity to represent Wisconsin at the Cherry Blossom Festival as a “princess.”

Yeah. I know.

That sounds like a pageant, right? And as we established, I am not a pageant girl. Like, at all.

I decided to Google it, just to be sure. I mean, it was a week in D.C. I frickin’ love D.C.

But it wasn’t really a pageant! It was really just a week in D.C.! With lots of awesome stuff that I got to do and yeah, okay, there was a big party the last night and I had to wear a long white dress and that’s ridiculous but I do love to shop maybe I can go to Zita’s and wear it ironically! And the rest of the time I was free to wander around Washington D.C. when the temperature was hopefully going to be slightly lower than the surface of Mercury, as it was the last time I was there.

(Not, incidentally, as hot as Charleston. I still have flashbacks.)

So anyway, I was in. I was ALL ABOUT this princess thing. I figure out a contingency plan for my sections,* notified the requisite people that I was totally interested omg!!! and basically started daydreaming about Monument Sitting.

(Oh. It’s a thing.)

Requisite people were totally interested too! And desperate. Like, really. Like, here are all the forms this is awesome just sign here in the next five minutes andohbythewaywedon’tpayforanyofthis I look forward to meeting you in D.C.!!!

Oh my gosh, me too…wait. What?

Yeah. Turns out I had to fly out there myself. And pay for eight nights in a hotel. But they found a hotel for me! Close to all the action! Four stars! Oh. Good. Because that won’t be expensive.

Okay. Whatever. In my head this was still awesome. I have some money. A little. But some. I mean, flights on Kayak were only like $400. And how much could a hotel be? Right?

I figured I should probably glance through the forms, you know, just to see if there were any events I didn’t know about.

Emergency contact form- got it. Totally normal.

Form that required a “responsible adult” in D.C….uh, first of all, I’m a responsible adult. Second, I don’t know anyone in D.C. Whatever, can’t be too important. So we’ll just kind of forget about that one.

Form that I need to fill out to be considered for “queen”…okay. That seems alarmingly like a pageant…but it’s totally not. Randomly selected. Oh, and the queen gets another trip! Two weeks…to Japan? In the middle of finals. Uh, okay. May have a slight problem here.

Escort form? Wait. I need an escort for this ball? Do I have to come up with him? Is there a lineup sort of situation? Do you have any nice Jewish boys who don’t mind baptizing their children? This is weird.

Head shot form? For the booklet? Like in Miss Congenality? Holy Mother of God, this is a pageant. I’ve got to get out of here.

Wardrobe requirments? They’re telling me what to wear? No jeans, no black, no nail polish, and 1-2″ heels. Well. That’s only MY ENTIRE WARDROBE. Oh! Look! Bright colors are preferred. That’s great. So I can ride around on a bus with fifty other annoying 19-24-year-olds in pink. Because that’s so me.

I’m pretty sure the next form would have told me I  had to submit to a medical exam to prove my virginity.

Then the hotel called. APPARENTLY eight nights in a hotel in Washington, D.C. will run you about $1,700. Give or take.

I know, right? Who knew?

So. Um. Yeah. GREAT opportunity and all, and I’m sure for a large number of people that sounds like an ideal week but you know what? I think I’m gonna sit this one out.

So once again I had the crown ripped from my hands. *sniff*

*Colleen’s thoughts on my e-mail to my boss: “You need to make it sound less like you’ll be doing body shots off of Malia Obama.”