In case you wondered

I do miss you sometimes.

This is why we love Google Talk

So the Prax and I have been drinking russians (or bourbon for prax) and scoping out our next houses in the Stepford vintage township, and this somehow led to a discussion about various places I might want to live when I graduate. And then we talked about the one person who apparently reads this blog from NY, whom I am halfway convinced is John Cusack because well, why wouldn't it be John Cusack?

And so then, we began trying to figure out how to woo said John Hughes creation (god that sounds like something from Rocky Horror, doesn't it?) via blogger. And Prax made the excellent suggestion of a top 5 ways of wooing John Cusack list. I added a mix tape into the discussion, and so here we are.

The problem, however, is that despite the absolute futility of the task, it is not an endeavor to be taken lightly, for John Cusack is not merely a trophy husband, a dollar store prize to be won! And so, I retire to an evening bubble bath with the sounds of The Clash echoing through my house--thinking, pondering, musing...

suggestions are welcome. :)

The future is unwritten.

Fast breaking news story

So I'm sitting in class today, and I have this sudden realization that I kind of have the hots for my professor. This isn't so out of the ordinary--he's lanky, wears glasses, granolaish, and devastatingly geeky with big feet. But there's something that keeps bothering me about the attraction. He reminds me of someone. But who? Who is it? I keep listening to the voice, watching the mannerisms, and then he does this little squeaky thing with his voice when he is passionate about a subject and suddenly, I know who it is--AAAA! LOL! Just that realization made me start giggling uncontrollably in class. I had to excuse myself.

Ah man. Anyway, class ends, and I'm walking across campus in shorts and a tank when out of nowhere this freak thunderstorma and hailstorm hits. People begin running like it's Armageddon. I can't run because I'm in the most slippery flip flops imaginable. Then, the temp drops about 30 degrees it seemed, and people cram into the bookstore to buy sweatshirts, and I hate to say it, but I was among the throng. It is FREEZING!!

And now it's off for a nap but not before I recount the events of yesterday. I was at my practicum, when we hear this screeching and crashing sound. One of the women says, "Omg, did you see that," and I begin looking in the direction of the crash, when the other woman screams, "Kim, look out, he's behind you!" Yes, behind my desk, separated only from me by a pane of thin glass, was this man on the run from what appeared to be the SWAT Team. Unmarked police trucks come circle the building, and men in flak jackets and ski masks pour out like clown cars to chase the guy down.

Lubbock is becoming more exciting folks.

Pearly Whites

Today is a day that I would really like to get paid for my smile again. I'll settle for the $4 I got for selling my books back. Guh.

Me llamo baño?

So I left the crazy coffee shop to study elsewhere since there was a residue of weird energy (perhaps from the refractory reincarnation beams) left in the room. Plus, I needed some guacamole, so off it was to one of my favorite little Lubbock-Mex places in town. This month they are running a special on margaritas: Top Shelf are the same price as House, plus you get an extra shot of your fave top shelf tequila as a floater. The food is good, too, and I'm a sucker for any place with homemade tortillas. Anyway, they were having a contest of liquor consumption with several other Lubbock-Mex restaurants in town, so they were begging us to stay after hours and have more fishbowl shaped 'ritas. Guy next to me paid, and who am I to say no to such a worthy cause?

But the thing about this place is the bathroom. They pipe in language learning tapes, which I've heard in restaurants before, but this one is on a perpetual loop so that all you learn to say in Spanish is your name. It repeats: "Me llamo Carlos. Me llamo Sara. Me llamo Ricardo Montalban." You get the picture. Anyway, by the second or third fishbowl (and subsequent shots the bartenders gave us randomly to keep us there), we began calling the bathroom the Me llamo, as in, "I need to Me llamo." "Excuse me, I must go me llamo." "Pardon me, I hear the me llamo calling." "Oh, what the hell, I'll have another. I just me llamoed."

It traveled 'round the bar area to the waitstaff, and so I encourage you all to use the euphemism, "Excuse me, where are your me llamos?," the next time you are out and about. Maybe it will be the catch phrase that sweeps the nation.

A real live mouseketeer

And I thought they were extinct like leprechauns, unicorns, and debutantes. G, you would appreciate this.

Really, I'm sitting at the coffee shop working on coding interviews, and I keep hearing this voice that sounds like a person on helium. And there is a kid in here, but her mouth is not moving, so unless she is a ventriliquist, it's not her. And then I see her, it's a full grown woman, but her voice is like Minnie Mouse. In fact, her voice is like Minnie if Minnie sucked down some helium. It's crazy wild!!! I just KNOW she is from Disneyland. I am so excited. And she's wearing gingham and a little sweater with a total Disneyfied haircut. I think she's short, too, G. Want me to get her number?

Cupids, and Pixies, and Nessie, Oh MY!

Just sitting here at the coffee shop, brain completely melted from sifting through and coding qualitative interviews that mean nothing to me in terms of a dissertation. Just pays the bills. For awhile, I was able to half-ass listen to a convo about various poets, making me wish I was back in the English department--sigh. The choices we make...

Now the tie to my literary past is gone, and I am left with nothing but thoughts of mythical creatures: gorgyles, leprechauns, slykicks, unicorns, big headed babies. This came about because next to me, there are three people sitting abreast on a couch drinking nothing, saying nothing, and simply staring at a sleeping baby with a look of prozaced bliss on their faces. Seriously, they look like Medusa sneaked up behind them and turned them to stone with this look on their face. I'm ok with it and all, but you're taking up a couch, dude. Then again, I'm taking up a table writing about them, so I guess I'd better get back to coding. At least I'm drinking coffee!

I've got another refill coming on my coffee, or I'd just leave. Please, gods above, grant me something interesting to watch or talk to.

Cheers

To whomever gave me the bottle of Evan Williams Single Barrel Vintage 1994 at my last Stock My Bar Party: Thank you. I am enjoying it while watching the sunset.

Good thing I didn't delete this blog

Ok, 3rd post of the day: I can't get Pachelbel's Canon in D out of my head, which is horrendous because I hate the song. It reminds me of taffeta and baby's breath. [shudder]. Of course, it's one of the hardest songs to get out of your head because canons are innately repetitive and wormlike and because this particular canon is embedded in nearly every pop song on the radio, or so says one comic.

Maybe I need to fill my head with one hit wonders. Ok. Here's one. No damnit, that sounds like a canon, too. Ok. um. Walking on Sunshine? Only if it's ala Jack Black. Yeah, that might do it. I needs me a little High Fidelity.

pivot

This morning (er afternoon), I am enjoying a strong cup of coffee while watching the rain melt upon my windows. It is a good day. yesterday, I found out that I received two more scholarships and that my paper was accepted into a national conference. I'll be headed to SF in the fall, one of my favorite places.

It's completely silent in my house (well aside from my cat snoring), and I'm a straining to hear the rain as it falls, but as I mentioned earlier, it's not falling but melting out of the Lubbock sky like goo from one of those chocolate fountains at weddings--a hideous sight until it produces chocolate yumminess. There is no sound, though I know there must be outside perhaps, but here in my sheetrock cocoon, I hear a surreal nothing.

It is a good day.

Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition

Am listening to the Dixie Chicks. Sin Wagon is on. I really do think I'll include that in my wedding soundtrack. LOL!

In other news, pre-prelim exam essays are done and approved. So is my Annual report. Now I just sit and await my exam date and evaluation meeting. Good thing I have the Chicks.

Pondering eccentricity

There's some small part of me that wants to be the eccentric outlier who just lives in her little world and communicates with those whom she feels like interacting with and ignores those whom she feels are not worth speaking to.

But here's a question: I know I won't be the hip but blase sort of eccentric who has green nail polish, pink starched pigtails, and wears a tutu (well, maybe the tutu) and carries a giant lolly. Those are the people I would feel would be not worth speaking to--if I were eccentric, I mean. So then, will I be the eccentric but brilliant scientist who lives in the Alps observing the burrowing and hibernation patterns of marmots and is highly revered but at a safe distance bc "well, she's kinda weird?" Or will I be the type of eccentric who writes poetry and smells of turpentine, wears knee high rainbow socks, a tiara, and quite possibly a tutu while sitting at a local fair trade coffee shop, uncrossing and crossing my legs continually (and not in a Sharon Stone way either). Or will I wait til the winter years to be eccentric and have strange garden gnomes in my yard, play the latest version of WOW, and tell people to go to hell randomly while blaming it on dementia? Or will I look perfectly "normal" but devote myself to speaking only in haikus or in iambic pentameter? Or will I be the Andy Kaufman sort of eccentric who just does things solely because I find them funny? Or will I be the PhD graduate who locks herself in a treehouse finding hidden messages in tree bark and froot loop box prizes, only to be ignored by those who don't see the messages, thus sending me to a spot under a bridge where I make a house out of the empty froot loop boxes and live on dandelions and buttercups?

Or will I just not be eccentric at all?

Thinking Happy Thoughts

Ok, yeah, I got nothin'.

Nothing like waking up to an ax and broken glass

Last night I went to bed at 11:45 due to the glycemic crash from the starch laden goodness I consumed while watching House, The Biggest Loser, and Law & Order. It was very strange coming down from the adrenaline rush of this semester. I think I likened it once to the steeplechase--hurdle after hurdle with no thought but the next hurdle, with the exception, perhaps, of the big water hazard ahead. Therefore, having absolutely nothing to read, write, study, or analyze last night was just confusing. I was unsure of myself. I even texted a friend, "Um, what do I do?" to which she responded, "I don't know. I'm not sure myself."

Of course, there are millions of things that need to be done before I leave for the weekend, but for some reason I was paralyzed last night, except for the shoveling motion of chip to mouth and the one finger remote changing reflex. My friend termed our stupor decompression, and I suppose she's right because about 20 minutes into the relaxation period, my emotions started going all whackassed.

Everything, and I mean everything, on tv was choking me up. I got choked up over House looking at Cuddy with the baby. Tears welled up with every pound lost on The Biggest Loser (WTF?). And the clincher--I even got choked up at a Verizon commercial, not when the wife was giving the husband the phone but when he turned around and saw his network behind him. What in the hell? The only things that choke me up are Rudy, Rocky, Miracle, ET, and that lion video where the lion remembers his previous human caretakers. That's about it. So why did I get choked up when the guy saw his network--it wasn't even intended to be sentimental! I'm losing it.

Shortly after an intense episode of SVU, I made it through the grueling local news to see the weather, and then I started crashing. I got horribly cold and clammy, and my body was shaking. The last time I felt like that was right after my first marathon, and this was about as intense. So I decided to hit the sack, as they say in the parlance of our times, and was surprised to see my head on the pillow before midnight.

Sadly, I was awakened at about 2am by this thunking sound. About a month ago, someone tried to beat down my door, so thunking at 2am sets off alarms in my brain. So I grab the phone with thumb on the 9 when I hear glass shattering. I peer out the window, and there is a young male figure with a ski cap on, holding an ax over his shoulder, the blade gleaming in the moonlight like teeth on an Orbit commercial. This is all happening right over the fence that divides my house from the neighbors. Luckily, my neighbor sticks his head out the now gaping hole and screams, "Richard, you moron, you just broke the window." Richard, drunk off his ass, starts screaming in that tone that only drunk off their ass people can do, "Oh Duuuude. No Way! [chortle] I totally was trying to chop the wood and I guess I got mixed up, duuuuude." Neighbor explains to Richard that he's got an early test tomorrow blah blah blah go home. richard says ok dude but doesn't comply.

The next thing I know, I hear Richard in the back yard chopping wood repeatedly. and I'm thinking to myself, "Guy with ax + drunkenness = disaster" and then I hear, Ow. OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Dude! I think I chopped my hand off". So neighbors all come out (at this point it is 3am) and it turns out he didn't chop his hand off. He just imagined that he did, and so they once again tell him to go home, not daring to come near him because he has an ax.

Ok, so at this point I'm thinking, wtf is going through this guy's head? Obviously his friends didn't invite him over. They were all asleep (from the fact that they were in their jammies with sleepy looks on their faces and girls wearing nothing but tshirts beside them (in 19 degree weather). So did the guy just get drunk at his house, pick up an ax, and come over to his frat brothers' place to start whacking away at wood (no pun intended)? So weird. Anyway, they talk him out of whacking saying it's a bit late, and he sits down on a stump in the back and says he's just gonna "collect his thoughts."

Everyone goes back inside. It's quiet. And then about 3:30, you start hearing him sing! He's loudly crooning, in a drunken slurry slowness, "Golden Slumbers" through "Carry that Weight", stopping to sing, "You only give me your funny papers" several times, each louder than the first. And then he sobs and calls the dog over, who won't come apparently because he yells, "Fine! You won't give me your funny papers either, I see. Well, I'll show you. I'll show ALL of you!" and starts whacking away again.

This continued until daybreak, and I, gentle readers, am now exhausted from no sleep.

He loves me. He loves me not.

I woke up with this phrase running through my head, and I just liked the sound of it.

Picking the petals from a daisy.

I wonder what I dreamed about.

My "vacation"

I'm not really off next week. I have to work until Wednesday, so no going away for me, and lack of funds keep me here anyway. So I made my own holiday this weekend. Last night, I watched Grace is Gone, a depressing Cusack film that then had to be followed up with a marathon of Firefly. Went to bed at 3:30, and I slept until 1:30 pm, which was amazing. It wasn't so much that I slept, actually, as it was that I stayed in bed contemplating things. I'm not even sure what I contemplated, but it is what it is. Actually, the contemplation was interrupted by a loud banging on my door--you know, the "hey, it's your neighbor and it's an emergency bc someone is trying to slice my head open with an ax" kind of knock. Sadly, it was just another evangelist from the same damn church as last week. Seriously, if another one interrupts the Tech Game tonight like 2 of them did 2 weeks ago (at 9pm!!!), I'm calling the damned church. So far, 3 churches are on my list to call if they do it again. Really, what do I do about this? It's a nuisance bordering on disruption of the peace, my peace anyway. It's every freakin' saturday.

Anyway, then I got up and ran 3 miles at the gym (too cold here for a real run), and now I'm eating a veggie tamale and an applesauce muffin. Oh, and I'm back in PJs for the rest of the day. Tonight's agenda is the Tech game, an XFiles marathon, much salsa eating, a little reading, possibly some writing, and the consumption of at least one oreo.

Tomorrow I plan to sleep in, too, because Monday starts the work again. I've got an assignment due Wednesday and a final due the Monday after thanksgiving. Winter break can't come soon enough.

But aaaaaaa, I'm likin' this weekend.

Geez

Rosemary is $5 for a little bitty jar thingy at the store. Good lord. I wasn't about to look at the saffron after that. WTF is with Lubbock? Seriously, I thought it would be cheaper to shop here, but everything is a good 50 cents to $3 more. Unbelievable.

Well, did my workout. Rod would be proud. Everything's burning nicely. And I found out today that I have a strong network of centrality, which basically means I'm well liked amongst the grad students. Who knew? Apparently, since I backed out on the social on Friday night, everyone else dropped. I got a sad phone message from the organizer who blamed it all on me. Cranky moves. People follow. Not my fault. Trust me, I was punished enough with all the writing I did.

Ok, now it's time to watch Garden State and drink some eggnog. Mmmm. Eggnog. I love this time of year, and I ADORE the fact that I get to do NOTHING tonight!

Sidebar

Ok, I might go to feminist hell for doing this, but I took Feministing off of my sidebar. They've got too many writers, each with their own pet projects, which leads to absolute BASHING if someone disagrees with them. It begins to look like the schoolyard, and I'm tired of sifting through it. Hypersensitivity is starting to seep through, and it's actually beginning to read like an undergrad forum.

Plus, I feel like they often post things that have nothing to do with feminist issues.

I dunno. Sometimes they have some real gems--poignant posts. Maybe it's just the fact that you've got to log onto it several times a day because of the multitude of posts that annoys me. I'm just bothered. Anyone else feel this way?

In other news, I am finally done with round 3 of papers. All that's left is one mega stats assignment and my finals. At this point, it looks like a 4.0, but one of my finals is worth 40% of my grade, so we'll see about that.

For now, though, I'm off to the gym to weight train and then to the store for some essentials--eggnog, milk, and chips. Oh, and saffron, if I can afford it. Finally, it's off to Blockbuster to rent a free movie (love coupons). God, I'm actually going to get to watch a movie. Holy crap!

LeBron James

Just. Wow.

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.