OH I forgot!

Today marked the official opening ceremonies of Kimday 2008! I received my first Kimday present, a 24 pack of highlighters (I go through one a week) and a target gift card. Keep 'em comin'!

Back to the grind

Ok, I had one day off to relax and play on you tube, and now it's back to reality. Just did my stats analysis, and while I know the calculations are correct, I'm not sure my analysis is elegant enough. We'll see, I guess. Tonight, I had to do my first interviews for data collection (research project). It went well, and I got to see a weiner dog that looked EXACTLY like a root beer barrel. So cute. Sappho ain't got nuttin' on this dog. Cosette either.

Mmmm. I'm gonna dream about Levene's tests and mus and alphas. You know you're in grad school when you start looking at frat shirts statistically.

I'm here all night

Shakeys! Dude. I loved this place. I don't so much remember the pizza as I remember getting to watch them make the pizza.

And Farrells! I had my 4th bday party here.

OMG. LOL!

And that led to puppets. It always leads to puppets. i can't stop laughing. I'm like this girl.

Don't blame me. Blame the phd program.

I apologize in advance

It all started when I couldn't get this song out of my head. I tried to teach tonight, and it kept wriggling around in my head.

And what do you do when songs get stuck in your head? Well, you blog about them or so says the PPA. And as I looked for Webster, I came across some other obscure tv shows from the eighties. Strange thing--I don't remember watching many episodes of these shows, but I can sing the songs word for word.

"She's fantastic. Made of Plastic."

"A special kind of madness together through the years"

Kim Carnes. Oh yeah.

A little digital fugue

This led to me thinking about the show Day by Day and how I at some point wanted to go out with CB Barnes (or Christopher Daniel Barnes) as he was known on the credits. All I could find was a montage. This leads me to another musing: Why do the mission impossible theme and the Unsolved mysteries theme make me hot? Is something wrong with me?

Speaking of hot--because I *still* have a crush on Bruce Boxleitner...sigh. I'll admit it. I watched that one twice. ok thrice.

$700 but who's counting?

Ah. This made my day.

Ok that's it

Excuse me? Have we all forgotten Kimday is coming up? Hello! 9 days people. Though I will be stuck in this pit of the universe (90% decided to ditch the conference), I still expect everyone to party in their respective towns, sending a pic of you holding a poster that says, "I am celebrating Kimday in (your town)."

It's easy to remember: two days after election day. So get your ass in a voting booth and then begin the celebration.

Dreaming, dreaming everywhere

Ok CRAAAAAZY dreams last night. Crazy.

Dream 1: It was the entire enactment of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner except instead of an albatross, it was a black unicorn. As you can imagine, it was much harder for his neck to lug around.

Dream 2: An opera. Hamlet. I was commissioned to write a comedy version and had to deal with these difficult, heady actors/vocalists. God it was brutal. Anyway, the opera went off well, and I still have it stuck in my head.

Crazy long dreams.

Gimme 5

Just because it's 11:45 and I actually feel awake for the first time in a week (yea! The funk is leaving), I feel like writing but am not much inspired. So I'll just blather in fives.

Last 5 people I talked to: D, 'rents, McHopeless, Edgy, and McWalgreens
Last 5 things I read: articles for class, Love in the Time of Cholera, Persuasion, Glinda's blog, and SFV's blog
Last 5 songs I listened to: Gravity by Sara Bareilles, I Get Along Without You Very Well by Chet Baker, I am a Rock by Simon and Garfunkel, Across the Universe by the Beatles, The Moon by Cat Power
Last 5 things I watched: The Jane Austen Book Club, SNL, A Fish Called Wanda, last week's Grey's Anatomy, and an episode of Firefly
Last 5 things I cooked: lentil soup, baked beans, steamed veggies and edamame, 2 eggs, red velvet cupcakes (haven't been too hungry due to the funk)
Last 5 chores I accomplished: cleaning a toilet, cleaning the cat box, washing a pot, mailing off a wedding rsvp, and paying a bill (again feeling pretty ick)
Last 5 things I've written: blog posts, a few latent emails, notes for my presentation, a midterm, and notes from a meeting. Sadly, I wish I had written some poetry. Haven't written a poem since this one.
Last 5 moments of creativity: singing in the shower, making up my own version of banana choc chip muffins, singing happy birthday to my cat, and yeah, the rest are too damn long ago. sigh.
Last 5 trips I've taken: moving to Lubbock in August, Lubbock in June, San Antonio in June, Lubbock in April, Chicago in March

The Funk Strikes Back

Damn, dude. I thought I was getting better, and then yesterday, I was slain by the funk. I slept until noon. Got up, drank some water, tried to check email, fell back asleep until 5pm. Slept until 8 when I watched/slept through A Fish Called Wanda and then crashed by about 11. Those times are rough estimates given the fact that I was so zapped by the funk.

Thing is, I don't feel that bad aside from a few sniffles. I'm just exhausted. Tired to the bone. It's very bizarre. I'm chalking it up to poor nutrition and sleep deprivation. Prolly a little stressed mixed in there, too. Kimday's coming up, and I'm too tired to be excited about it. That should say something.

But the Nyquil induced sleep afforded some interesting dreams, many about the CP which hasn't happened in awhile. One, though, was a dream in numbers during which I took stock of my life.

7--number of cities I've lived in since graduating from college
12--number of jobs I've had since college (some happened concurrently)

Tried to count the number of relationships in my dream, but the computer went to blue screen (in my dream). Lol. We'll just leave it at that.

The computer (which kinda looked like Marvin from Hitchiker) did this whole pie chart of time spent working, schooling, playing. Sad, sad, sad. I need to relax more. Seriously.

Sigh, have to gear up for working on a conference worthy presentation on Tuesday. So tired. Want to sleep.

I'm sorry...

Milf soul? WTF? Who types that into Google? And what is it?

I just did it and got nothing substantial, and now Google has me forever tagged as a person who is curious about milf souls, and I don't even know what one is. If you know, and it's something that would disturb me, please don't tell me.

La la la la la la la la la. Vapidness is bliss.

Keywords

So I'm analyzing my blog stats, and I keep chuckling at the keywords that bring people here. Not that they stay, but they alight like little sparrows for awhile, and that makes this blogger happy.

Ok, so top keyword results in a 3 way tie between 26.2, ex communicado, and I hate potlucks. So glad to know that there are other people out there who hate potlucks and love marathons as much as I do. Now why people are worried about being ex communicado, I'm not sure.

Funniest keywords: (Glinda, you will love these)
legs in latex
make it and peed
milf soul
bug with human looking face
rosebud asshole
[sorry I'm recovering from that last one. Give me a moment]
hair bands that make your hair stand up

I don't actually recall blogging about any of those things, but it's good to know that I've got a diverse audience even if only for a moment.

Ok, and it's 2:30 in the am, and I am blogging about this, but it just feels so damn good not to be working on some paper. I just spent awhile reading a book--an actual novel, for gods' sake. And now I'm just sort of reveling in the fact that I don't have to write about theories. I don't have to think even. It's brilliant and beautiful. Tranquil even. The bliss of vapidness.

Ok, yeah, I'm gonna do some logic problems now.

A case of the fridays

Seriously something is wrong with me. We had a guest speaker in one of our classes today, and the woman's voice literally almost gave me a panic attack. I'm not kidding. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but the woman's voice made me anxious to a point that I thought I was going to have to leave the room. No hyperbole here, people.

Everything's fine as class starts. Prof introduces her; she smiles and takes the podium. And then it happened. She opened her mouth. First of all she has a soft voice, like a whisper of a ghost as it brushes past your shoulder. And it's high pictched like snow white. Add a dash of the slow Lubbockite drawl and the lisp of a bubbleheaded teenager. Plus, she smacks before she says things. "[smack] well [smack] you know [smack] I'm jusssso happy to be here [smack, little audible inhale] teeheeee."

ugh at this point I'm starting to shudder visibly, and I'm feeling this anxiety creeping up from the pit of my stomach. It's getting harder to breathe, you know, like that feeling you get if you're claustrophobic and stuck in a hot airplane with the windowshades down. yeah, that's the feeling. And I keep trying to make it go away, but she keeps talking.

And she talks to us like we're preschoolers who know absolutely nothing, asking us to fill in the blanks of her presentation: " [smack] And sssso [smack] when you have them fill out a consssssent form,[smack], you would have them put *what* on the line that ssssayssss ssssignature? hmmmm? [smack] That'sssssright. A *sssssignature*."

Worse than this, though, is that her vocal tone switches from the Snow White pitchiness to this weird voice that sounds like a little kid trying to imitate an adult talking--like that "case of the Mondays" woman. Yeah, that's it. She sounds exactly like that woman in a split personality with the cake passing woman! Oh my god it got under my skin. An hour and a half of this, and I seriously thought I was going to jump out of my seat. I couldn't breathe.

And I thought I was crazy--that the scone I ate for breakfast was just giving me some sort of weird reaction, but no NO! As soon as she stopped talking and showed a clip from 60 minutes, I swear it went away. It just melted away in reverse order of the way the symptoms appeared in the first place.

AND THEN SHE TALKED AGAIN! And it came back. It did! I'm not kidding.

Seriously, I'm getting all worked up thinking about it. ugh.

Breathe, Kim, Breathe.

clarification

You know, I play hard as nails on tv, but inside I'm such a softy. Here I am feeling bad about the hockey puck woman. She got knocked out but was ok, and so then it was ok to enjoy the magnificence of the shot, ok? I'm not a sadist. That's G's job.

It's like the bhb. I still feel bad about that.

Aaaa. Now that's off my chest, and I can focus back on fighting thru my Nyquil and feverish haze to finish my damn 10 page midterm. Guh.

One more midterm left after this. Just one more.Just onemorejustonemorejustonemoreallworkandnoplay...

ice ice baby

Just found out Tech has a hockey team, and the tix are only $4 for students. I can afford $4. Finally, a sporting event I can afford to go to. It's the ACHA, and we're ranked 11th in the West. LOL.

Let's just hope there's blood. Do they stop the fighting in college hockey? Laugh all you want, but that's all I care about. Big guys on skates are funny enough, but you add blood and teeth to the mix, and I'm in. I watch football for the strategy, basketball for the finesse, baseball...well, bc it's baseball, but hockey holds interest for me mainly in its freak show appeal. No offense to the PPA. ;) I doubt we've got any Czech players for you to write about anyway.

The last time I saw a hockey game, it was bc I (or rather my company) had a nice little box for the 'Hawks. Freakin' awesome seats, but you got lost in the luxury of it.

Wasn't quite the same as when I used to watch the Waco Wizards play. Wow. No plush seats, waiters, free food, and import beer for me there. In fact, it was played in an open air coliseum. The game was fogged out once because of the heat. LOL. Ah Texas. It's amazing our state actually had a Stanley cup champion. Then again, I imagine we just imported them straight from Canada.

You know, though, I can't dog on the Wizards. They were hard core, and I used to drink with the team at my local watering hole. Nice guys, but damn. I remember one game where a slap shot actually broke the glass and knocked a woman out. Wow. That was a good game. See, again, it's the freak show aspect that gets me every time.

Ah well. It's something to do if I can shake this funk. I just wish I could get into football games cheaper. Since we're undefeated, I'm not thinking they'll give us $4 seats. Sigh.

Did I mention we're undefeated? Eat that, McBaby. ;) Oh and Glinda, if they throw any dildos, I'll take a picture for you.

I've got the funk

I don't know what kind of funk I've got bc it just started. What I do know is it feels like the Sniffling, Sneezing, Aching, Coughing, Stuffy-head, Fever Funk, and I don't have any Nyquil.

Whimper.

note to self

must do a dialogue--tag team wrestling between sheik and goulet/warrior and walter. shomer shabbas get outta my ring.

Sorry for the clip show

Ah, I just don't dream dreams like this anymore.

Epicurean Epiphany

When I have papers due, I always bake/cook compulsively. I've done this since college. In fact, people in my complex couldn't wait until finals because I'd have a veritable feast awaiting anyone who walked in the door. I bake more than one person can possibly eat because it's not about the eating; it's about the baking, and it has to be from scratch.

What I thought, for a long time, was that it was merely procrastination. I enjoy writing, but I don't enjoy being forced to do ANYTHING, no matter how much I might enjoy the activity. So a paper deadline, in nature being out of my timetable, is not something I embrace readily.

I was discussing this compulsive baking with a friend the other day, mainly because it's harder to giveaway food to people in their late twenties and thirties than it was at 18. She suggested that perhaps it was more my need to destroy/create than a need to procrastinate. I gave a slight nod to her notion, but really, it was the procrastination thing that I felt glued the whole thing together.

That leads me to my epiphany. Since I started this program, I'm wondering why in the hell I started this program. I remember my masters' program clearly. I loved it! I was working full time, reading 4 novels a week, and writing four 10 page essays a week and it never felt like drudgery. On top of that, I had to write poetry for my thesis. Not a problem. So workloadwise, this PhD is not a problem either. Academically, it's a cinch, as well. Aside from one blip of a paper, I've gotten a perfect score on everything I've turned in. So what's the damn problem?

Here it is: as with everything, I'm lured into it with false hopes. Here's where my usual cynicism gets put on the back burner. A new opportunity is exciting, and I turn off the inner cynic just long enough to ignore the fact that the bastards I'm talking to are blowing sunshine up my ass. Case in point--this dumbass program. My entrance essay and my initial interview were all about my hopes for my dissertation. I won't detail it here, but it's creative. For my master's thesis, I chose the creative option--writing a chapbook of poetry. For this, I had a similar creative option in mind. They liked it. It was fresh, new, original. Now? Not so much. Now they are forcing me into this stereotypical little research box, and that is so not me. They're trying to morph me into a little automaton, and I don't like it. I resist it every step of the way.

So yes, my friend is right. I have an overwhelming need to destroy and create. I sometimes fantacize about having the ability to paint or sculpt because the thought of getting my hands wet with goo and letting that goo become something exhilarates me. My writing is the same way. I don't write what's in my head or what I observe. I let the writing form from the chaos, words twisting in a tornadic fury and splattering themselves on the page--the Big Bang of creative writing, I suppose. And lately I've been missing my old job. Why? Because despite its problems, I was allowed to run free and create whatever I wanted. I wasn't stifled (at least not until the end), and because of that, I was one of the best at what I did.

But these people are shooting my ideas down with the phrase, "Yeah, that's just not what we do here. Why don't you just use someone else's data set and write a nice little dissertation on it." Where did that come from? What changed in 2 months? Prior to my acceptance, I was this budding genius on the brink of something new. Now I'm some fucking tool? Fuck that. Fuck it. I won't do it, and the thing is, I don't need this damned PhD. I went back for me. I don't want to teach in academia. I don't need the damned thing, and I suppose that's what frees me.

It explains my distaste for Lubbock, as well. Even their art complies to some mandate for fear of censorship. Yes, they censor art here. Poetry, too. I was asked to participate in a poetry jam next weekend, but the stipulations were too much. Nursery rhymes wouldn't even comply. And it explains why I feel like an outlier. I don't fit in because people here, well, they fit in anywhere. I don't.

So where does that leave me? Well, I don't know. Because I'm really not the type of person who can have creativity in one part of life and not the other. I can't just find an "outlet." It's not the way I'm wired. I need meaning and creativity in every aspect of life or I feel out of sorts. And this program--despite the rigidity, it is a phenomenal and rigorous program. I'm learning by leaps and bounds, so I will continue as long as I am learning something. But whatever I do, I will find some way to create.

Ok paper time, but first--red velvet cake. mmmmmm.

If I had the guts

and the mad skillz, I would so be on SNL.

Sadly, I don't.

Ok, and is it just me or is it hard to tell Tina Fey's Palin and the real Palin apart now?

The New Catbirds

First of all, my apologies to the horsefaced women I dissed in my previous post. It's not so much that I have a problem with your horse face (like your ass face--why, Prax, does it always lead back to a Christopher Guest quote?); it's that I have a problem with your cartoon chipmunk voices, your vapid brains, and the fact that you end every comment with an upward intonation. Translation=horsefaced. So forgive me my vodka ramblings. It's your personality and essence i loathe.

ugh. I have no Vault today, only coffee. Really, though, I don't need the Vault as much as I need Visine. This damned dryness is killing my eyes. I look strung out all the time.

Ok, so The New Catbirds (TNC). This place is not as cool as the original but cooler than Bizarro Catbirds for sure. It's on the college bar strip, but it's nestled somewhere in between, so it has a nice mix of students, grad students, profs, and locals. Really, I was having a great time all night celebrating D's bday there. The band was an odd mix of Funk and RunDMC with a little Michael Jackson thrown in for good measure. Oh, lol, and they played a strange remix of Play that funky music white boy (how much do I fucking hate that song) and Ice Ice Baby.

Clientele? There were bikers and hippies with hula hoops (the hippies not the bikers, though that would've been funny). Did I hula hoop? Oh hell yes. And there were Robert Smith lookalikes and a guy that looked like someone from Devo. And like I said, your typical mix of students.

Convos were fun. Had a Lebowski quote off with one guy. Talked about how this would be the last year we'd ever love the Cubbies again(yeah right) with another. Taked about how Lubbock doesn't get any better with another. And listened to a chipmunk talk about something incoherent for about an hour. Neither D nor I could make out what she said, but she was sweet, I suppose.

Only one fight broke out, so it's not quite Catbirds, and I was able to leave unscathed from the vodka within, unlike Catbirds (or really, was that MoMongs?). What I find also cool is that the bars in the place are actually handmade by a guy who teaches in my building at school. I just find myself examining it. So cool.

So yeah, a good night despite the jaw clencher. And now it's time to bake and focus on paper writing.

question

Before I describe my new watering hole, I just have to understand something. I probably know the answer to this, but I will ask it anyway.

I think we would all agree that I'm not an eyesore. I mean, I get mistaken for 22; I run marathons, so my body is in great shape; I get told I look like Nicole Kidman (used to be Kelly McGillis, but no one knows her anymore). I mean, I'm not a dog, ok?

Second, I'm getting my PhD. I have a genius IQ. I speak several languages, including Geekspeak. I love the arts. I love sports. I love beer. Adore wine. I drink vodka on the rocks and whisky when I'm grumpy, and I can hold my liquor. I'm well read, and I write poetry. I can quote movies with the best of them. I love to cook, and I'm a fan of both cats and dogs. I know a little bit about everything and can hold my own in a conversation on just about any topic. OH, and I think Firefly is the best series on TV.

Here's what I don't (or do but hate it) understand. Why is it that I can have phenomenal conversations with men at bars, coffee shops, you name it, and no matter what, they go home with the dingbat horsefaced bimbo at the end of the evening? Doesn't even matter if they don't have a good body. Doesn't matter. Everyone is matched up but me.

Oh and here's the clincher. It's not like I don't get hit on. Oh no. After I have the fabulous conversations with the normal guys, they leave and are replaced by the guys who manhandle me, whip out their goods, ask me to watch them masturbate or lick my face. All of these happened to me in the past 2 weeks. Tonight, for example, a guy grabbed my throat from the front and tried to force me to take a shot I didn't want to take (Rumplemintz--ugh). He literally forced my jaw open with one hand while clinching my throat. I had him thrown out.

And it's not just me. My friend D was with me tonight, and a guy came up and drank her drink right in front of her. It seemed as if we were the only two people left to the dregs. Even the guy who looked like Sloth from the Goonies went home with someone normal.

and if the answer is that I am the beautiful apple on the top of the tree but the rotten apples are easier to get or whatever bullshit that hasn't evolved since high school--here's my plea: guys--stop doing that shit. Go for the brilliant ones. We're a dying breed.

Still I found my new catbirds. Stay tuned tomorrow for tales of hula hoops and hippies.

Holy Eskimo Boots, Batman!

Are those damned boots really $300?! Oh my god!

Ok, now that's fucking funny!

LOL!

Finding Funny--Day 1

Yep. Nope. Nuttin'.

Nothing was funny. I saw strange things, but they just irritated me. People, for example, assume that because I wear a leather jacket, I must be in some sort of female motorcycle gang. This made me chuckle once, but when I heard it 3 more times today, I became irritated. Example 2, I would laugh at the undergrads wearing track shorts, hoodies, and Uggs. It would make me laugh except that I couldn't find but a handful who weren't wearing them. It's 39 degrees outside, sure, but track shorts and eskimo boots? You've got to be kidding me.

And for all of you who think I am just a negative Nelly, I made it a point to notice something good about the LBK today. The skies are unparalled. Truly, they are beautiful.

Ah well. There's always day 2. Back to my midterm studies.

ah god the bhb

Just spent an entire minute laughing at her pic. Still can't link it. Just can't. It's just not right.

Nothin' Ever Happens on Mars--er--Lubbock

Remember the good ole days when I used to post fantastically funny things that happened to me. Remember the rants about my job and the big headed baby? [Ah God, Glinda, I seriously almost linked to your flickr photo of her, but my inner angel just couldn't let me do it].

Remember the awesome parties and nights out at the devilport? That just doesn't happen anymore. And it's not like I've lost my cynicism or caustic wit (no, certainly not that). It's just that nothing freakin' happens here. You would think that somewhere in this town something funny would happen. I got nuttin'.

Perhaps it has a bit to do with the fact that I NEVER EVER EVER STOP WRITING FUCKING PAPERS AND TAKING FUCKING MIDTERMS. Yeah, it might have something to do with that. Jeez, I need a freakin' vacation.

Mmm, well there was that guy, a nicely dressed MBA type--should've been my first sign to stay away, who bought me a beer and then asked me what lotion I was wearing. I said that it was perfume, actu... And then he interrupted me and said, "Well I hope it's not Bath and Body Works bc I don't like to use that. Don't you have anything tingly in your purse?" Keep in mind, we're at a bar, and I just met him. This leads to him making other requests about watching him masturbate when I'm luckily saved by my friends. Yeah, see, there was a time when I could make even that funny, but here, no, it's just fucking creepy because it's fucking LUBBOCK!

Ok folks, goal for the weekend--I will find something funny to write about. It's all perspective. Yes, I will triumph!

Dear 2shirts

Not sad. Missing a friend base and a catbirds. ;)

And so so so so so so busy.

But thanks and miss you!

Know what I love about statistics class?

It allows me to accurately describe the kurtosis of people's butts when they sit on bicycles. I've yet to see a mesokurtic normal distribution.

Who is this woman?

And why is she on my tv?

I need cable.

And no Karl Hungus jokes, prax. Don't be fatuous.

Save me from the nothing I've become

Seriously, I don't think I put as much work into school for my masters and undergrad combined as I am in the month that I've been in this program. Fuck, it's a lot of work.

Case in point, a midterm I've been working on for 8 hours. EIGHT HOURS and counting. Ok, well, some of that was spent procrastinating with running and baking and watching football, but still, WTF? It's not difficult, per se, but it is time consuming to sift through 45 articles worth of statistics in order to back up your points. This research should not be hard for a former English major, but FUCK! Novels are so much easier. I should've gotten my PhD in lit. I'm wilting.

So let's see. Oh my great whatever. Well, most of the day was fairly typical. I got a lot of research done for a survey I have to help write (and hopefully co-publish, and then I went to a meeting, but here's the cool part: I was walking back to my car and randomly was handed a free ticket (worth $75) to the wine festival outside of town. It was a fancy smancy affair, so I had exactly 2.5 min to run home, change out of running clothes and into a sexy slip dress and kitten heels, smack on some eyeliner and lipgloss, and then head to a winery in the middle of nowhere. And I did.

It is a beautiful winery for sure, and the wine is actually quite good for a local Texas wine. The food was odd, though. Everything I put into my mouth tasted remarkably unlike what it should taste like. The pasta marinara, for example, tasted like curry, sesame chicken like cumin, and so on. Plus, I was surrounded by rich, drunk republicans, which wouldn't be so bad except that the debates were on, and chauvinistic men were hooting and hollering about Palin's ass while at the same time rooting for "the little girl to do a good job." This boorish cacophany was so loud that I barely heard the debate, but it seemed pretty benign.

I could've had a date with one of the nicer of the drunk repubs, but Glinda wisely texted me not to, though a date with him would be much better than doing an 8 hour midterm.

Ok, need to finish up my last question (a 5 pager worth 30 points), and then it's on to the analysis paper due on Tuesday. Glug. I need a beer--Ooo and something fried.

Ha ha, oh and Prax, did you see SNL last night? He said "Delaware." Lol.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is my great whatever. We'll see what the day has in store.