Have You Seen My Math Major?

Woohoo! I registered for class!

When I registered for class, I noticed they finally (several months later) realized that I declared a second major, only they didn't. They thought I CHANGED my major, and they completely took that pesky math thing away. The good news? My philosophy adviser is...

DR. RON BOMBARDI, who is only the smartest person I have ever met in my entire life. I still recall my first encounter with him - he came in to guest lecture my Oriental Thought class and related Taoism to superstring theory. It blew my mind, and I remember thinking, "This hour of my life makes every dollar I've spent on my education worth it." It was also the most fulfilling and satisfying hour, and, yes, that does include every sexual experience I've ever had. What can I say? I dig being intellectually stimulated.

I'm making homemade chicken 'n' dumplins (I'm sure I fucked up the AP style on that) and trying to process the events of last evening, which I cannot blog about but I really want to. Sigh.

Odd side note: When I click "advisor" under my WebMT tab, it lists Bombardi and Kholdnyi (my math adviser), but when I go to my info, it says this semester I transferred to the College of Liberal Arts and that my secondary program is unknown.

I'm hoping this will all be solved by the pesky upper division form I should've filled out Fall 2003 during my FIRST junior year. Thank God it's still my junior year, and, thus, the form is still file-able. It's like I planned it, only I so did not. Oh, Lindsey, why didn't I listen to you when you told me years ago that that damned form mattered?

Tomorrow I get to: Go to class, go to counseling, go to patient services, go to gynecologist, go to class, go to Invitation to Initiation, go to Brink of Insanity.

Oh, and for those wondering, I still didn't win the Powerball. This time I bought a ticket, so I was ever-so-slightly more likely to win than last time.

"Everyone knows I'm in over my head"

Well, my MRI was normal...except for my lymph nodes. I, of course, wrote this off as something mono-related, given my stellar history with the disease, but the neurologist said I should have it checked out anyway.

I then went to the doctor, who said the only way to check them out was to refer me to a surgeon for a biopsy. First, she wanted to go over the family cancer history.

"Do you have any family history of lymphoma or any unusual cancers?"

There's some good news. Yes. Yes, I do. We have any kind of cancer except breast, which I why I'm still not concerned about that lump I'm getting an update on Thursday. However, my aunt had cancer of the glands several times, the most recent being seven years ago. The chemo killed it.

So I had to go get a disc with my MRI on it to bring to my appointment with the surgeon next week. I'm also supposed to find out as much as I can about my aunt's cancer. I'm not really sure how to bring that up.

"Hey, mom, what kind of cancer did Beth have? I don't really need to know, but I think whether or not they biopsy my lymph nodes pretty much depends on it. Oh, no, I'm sure I'm fine and not malignant."

Considering my mom didn't even know I was having the MRI, I'm not sure this cancer talk is going to put her at ease.

Fear not. I don't think I have cancer. I do think I have something, but I don't think it's cancer. Right now, I'm hoping for mono. I excel at getting mono, I'm just as good at relapsing, but I'm also good at getting over it. I've got to have killer antibodies by now. Epstein-Barr virus be damned!

"It's not a tumor!"

This afternoon I'll get to find out my MRI results. I can't wait to check out my illuminated brain. I'm excited. This is all, of course, assuming I haven't developed some weird neurological disorder since my CT last year. If I've got a tumor or something, I'm not going to be amused.

The brew sale has come and gone, and because of my excellent selling skills (or coercing all employees to buy from me - same thing, really), my boss has to take me to the Marble Slab Creamery in her BMW convertible! Woot!

I have more counseling on Thursday. I'm sure after tonight's meeting and vote, I'm going to need more than just 50 minutes.

The apartment search is on. We'll see how that goes. I may just end up moving to Hendersonville for the summer. I'd save hella rent money.

And now, for your enjoyment, some fun quotations courtesy of Overheard in the Office.

Co-worker #1: Are they going to do that thing where they make it get darker earlier again this year?
Co-worker #2: You mean Daylight Savings? Yes, I think so. I think it happens pretty much every year.

Payroll: Have you been outside today? It's getting really warm!
Employee: Yes, I magically teleported here this morning without ever stepping outside.

CSR on phone: No ma'am, I cannot get the part to you today. If I could beam myself to your house and deliver the part myself, I would. But since I can't, you will have to wait for overnight shipping.

Editor #1: Should we tell the author we lost that whole section of the manuscript?
Editor #2: No, let's not announce that we're incompetent.
Editor #1: Yeah, let's let it be a surprise.

Like High School, 80 Proof

I spent a few nights at home and got to looking through old yearbooks. I found my sophomore yearbook (the year my sister graduated), and I cried when I reread what she wrote. It kind of restored my faith in myself, at least temporarily.

Saturday night, we grilled out and then headed to the Italian Grill for some drinking and music listening. Whilst there, I had some fun with the bartender, whose name escapes me, which is a shame because he's quite attractive. I was sitting at the bar with Abigail, Chuck's four-year-old who happens to be the most adorable little redhead you ever saw.

"Can we get her a kid-sized beer? Put it in a sippy cup - we don't want her to spill it on her shirt."

He was more than amused.

Prior to going out, we called John and Linda, who were out of town, for some April Foolin'. We told them that we were at their house, using their grill, and asked if they had any beer in their fridge because "We don't want to try to pick this lock if you don't have any beer." I'm sure they're freaking out, but it was damn funny.

While we were drinking up a hefty bar tab, my mom was dancing (of course), and my dad was standing at the bar when I happened upon Michelle (our former Black Eyed Pea bartender), and Gretchen, of Hendersonville fame.

Me: "I can't take them out in public anymore."
Gretchen: "Is that your mom?"
Me: "Yes, and my dad is the Lord of the Beer."
Gretchen: "That's awesome."
Me: "I hope they don't think I'm driving. I drove last time - it's their turn."

This incited laughter from the table. My dad was wearing a shirt that said Lord of the Beer. I kid you not.

My dad has successfully caulked my car enough so that it no longer leaks in the rain. I'm more ecstatic than I can show via typing, especially because it's monsooning outside with the high possibility of tornadic activity.

You're So Vein OR Happy April, Fools!

Well, I woke up bright and early (by my standards at least) to get my MRI. I went to the MRI place in town, and the woman said I wasn't scheduled.

"Maybe you should go across the street to the orthopedist."

Yeah, I always keep orthopedic offices in mind when I need an MRI of MY HEAD.

A quick call to the neurologist confirmed that I was at the wrong place, so I had to go down the street a few feet. I was then ready to fill out forms and wait.

I should preface this by saying I watched House last night, and in the episode, a woman gets an MRI, is injected with contrast, and her throat closes up. Neat!

So I'm in this contraption that has my head held in place so I can't possibly escape, and I'm thanking all that is holy that I'm not claustrophobic. The technician told me it would take about 10 minutes, after which I'd be removed from the large, beige tunnel and injected with contrast.

Excuse me?! I did not agree to needles - I would've had someone else drive me if I'd known that was going to happen. I explained my freakishly low blood pressure and my overall needle discomfort, so she was prepared.

Did anyone else know that contrast is really, really cold when it's in your veins? It was strange. It also made me twitch a little, so I suspect there may have been sulfa involved.

This is not an April Fools joke, but I have to say it: I didn't have a period this month. If I hadn't given up sex for Lent and if I didn't take birth control, I'd be all freaked out right now. As it stands, I'm just annoyed that birth control has made my special time unpredictable (I used to have it down to the hour naturally - go reproductive system!), yet I'm thankful I got a month off. I guess it's my reward for being sex-free.

We Interrupt This Head Examination to Thoroughly Examine Your Head

Well, I went to counseling today. I should've known she'd suggest a referral when that test said clinical levels were 15 and I registered a 64 on the fucked-up-o-meter. Tomorrow, I'll be having more head examining via MRI. Sally in my Pilates class asked me what they were expecting to find on it, and I responded with a very clever, "Hopefully nothing!"

I just remembered I keep meaning to title a post "Pilates: Crucify the Fat," but, alas, I keep forgetting. I find it disturbing that it's spelled the same way as the plural of Pilate, but then again, when would one ever make Pilate plural?

Hey, the feast is up early. Woot!

Appetizer
Name 3 things that you think are strange.
1) People who wear belts and suspenders at the same time. Seriously, how big are your pants?
2) Celebrity baby names - they're almost always grounds for emancipation. You know, in Germany, there's a law preventing parents from giving their children stupid names. Baby Apple wouldn't exist in Germany.
3) Girls who wear make-up when they're just going to work out.

Soup
What was the last ceremony you attended?
University Convocation last fall. It was thrilling, I assure you. At least the speaker was good. I got to meet him.

Salad
What is one lesson you have learned in the past year?
The value of discerning what is out of my control and then being able to accept it as is, regardless of how much I want to change it or wish I could.

Main Course
Tell us about one of your childhood memories.
When we got out of the bath when we were little, my mom, sister, and I would always hug each other. Misty and I would be wrapped in towels, and my mom would be helping us dry off, and we'd go, "Everybody hug Misty," and we would, and we'd make a humming sound. Then it would be me, then Mama. It was really cute.

Dessert
If you could extend any of the four seasons to be twice as long as normal, which season would you want to lengthen?
I'd extend a few, so, instead, I'll just give you my ideal 12-month span. I'm not getting rid of holidays or anything. So, for instance, the Fourth of July would actually take place in June, because that's the new seventh month. This is just for weather purposes.
April
April
May
May
May
June
June
July
July
July
August
September

On the Verge of a Breakdown, On the Brink of a Breakthrough

After reading this on NIT, I had to blog.

If someone's going to put a little Church of Christ out there for the vast expanse of Internet, it might as well be yours truly. I think I can provide a little insight that the men in charge can't grasp. How fitting it is that tomorrow (I guess technically today, being as though it's after midnight) I'll be going back to counseling. At least I know how I got there.

When I was 16 I went to Governor's School for the Humanities. When I graduated high school, I had only applied to two schools - Emory and Rhodes - and was accepted to both. How I ended up at MTSU is a completely different blog that boils down to the type of people who went to Emory, but I think I have an idea on what gave me an edge into all these esteemed programs: I nailed the essay.

For each essay, I chose the same topic: The first time I prayed aloud in church. I remember it vividly because it happened when I was 16 years old at my best friend's church (he was there, too).

Until that point, I hadn't been allowed to lead prayer in church, read scripture aloud or serve the Lord's Supper (yes, we still call it that - it's the South, people). If I had wanted to teach a class, I would have only been able to teach a class consisting either of women or of children up to the second grade. Once kids enter third grade, they are taught by either their own sex (as is the case until middle school or high school), or by men only. Women do not teach classes if they consist of males older than 8 years.

Eleven-year-old boys who stumbled over I Corinthians were allowed to read scripture before the entire congregation during church services, provided they had been baptised. This also held true for serving the Lord's Supper (which my church referred to as serving on the table). However, I, an intelligent female with much higher reading skills than my male counterparts, could not do so because I was female.

Our youth group took a mission trip to Mexico (I didn't go, but that's beside the point), and upon returning, here's how they reported the trip to the church: The females each had a sentence or two printed in the church bulletin, and the males each got up in front of the congregation and told his experience. I asked some of the girls who went if they were bothered by this, but they said they weren't because they were allowed to speak to the ladies' class about the trip.

I vividly recall the abortion sermon, and I don't have anything against churches having abortion sermons. It's pretty much a necessity. However, during the one at my church, the preacher was talking to the men, completely failing to recognize or acknowledge the women of the congregation, the ones who would have a much better chance of becoming pregnant, seeing as they have all the apropriate organs.

Church was never a happy place for me, at least, not like it should have been. I was able to see my family once a week (aunts, uncles, cousins), but I usually cried after church. I knew I was different than the other youth members, because I questioned things that didn't seem to add up. I didn't just accept what someone told me without testing it first, and perhaps they viewed that as weakness.

I know they looked down on me. They didn't have to say it, but I could tell. I was the only one left out of their clique, the ones who went to private Christian school and all sat together during church, judging me and a few others who didn't conform to their mindless acceptance.

I, not surprisingly, ended up in therapy shortly after for severe depression and extreme anxiety. It was during a session with my parents that I finally said I didn't like our church, and they agreed they didn't either. I think sometimes they feel responsible for my problems because we went there, but they really didn't know what it does to you. I vowed then never to raise a child, especially a daughter, in that environment. My daughters will not be taught that they are any less worthy than men because of their gender, and certainly not where God is concerned.

I Have Nothing to Wear

It's time to play Dress the Wendy, because I seriously need a dress for my May formal. Here are a few things I'm looking at. Keep in mind some of them are only contenders if I decide to dye my hair brownish, which I'm debating and will probably decide whimsically tomorrow. Try to ignore the annoying backgrounds in some of these. Keep in mind, I'm pale as death and refuse to go to the cancer-inducing coffin-like structures known as tanning beds.











I already own a lot of black and a fair amount of various shades of pink, so I'm thinking of changing it up a bit, but I'm still undecided.

Satan Called and Your Ice Water Is Ready

So much to blog about, so much apathy. Today, I present a few things you kids should keep in the background of your minds at all times. It'll help, really.

Top 5 Signs I Think You Should Go to Hell
5) I've actually told you to go to hell.
4) I've called you a myriad of names in trying to get you to stop doing whatever it is you're doing that's pissing me off. Among those are: asshole and douchebag.
3) I then specified that "douchebag" meant "a bag of douche from the cunt of a cheap French hooker."
2) You refuse to apologize for continuously calling me a whore for a period of about an hour or so.
1) I've started to work out the logistics of how to "accidentally" hit you with at least one of the following: car, house, tree, tire iron, my foot to your crotch.

I know, I know - you guys think I'm being passive-agressive, but I'm not. I actually said all of this stuff, and now, because I'm still so lividly angry I could probably spit acid, I've decided to take it out on the Internet, at least until I get an apology that shouldn't be so goddamned hard to get when the other person is so blatantly wrong. Look, I'll make it easy. Just copy this:

I'm sorry that I kept insinuating you would take money for sex, even though you repeatedly asked me to stop, because my fucked-up sense of humor combined with the alcohol I will inevitably blame this on made me think this was a good idea.

And, no, I don't think I'm overreacting, and the next time your friend calls you a whore, feel free to rant and rave on your own blog.

And while I'm on the subject, I hardly think that wearing an outfit that leaves not even a smidgen of skin showing constitutes dressing like a hooker. So thanks for your unnecessary input that nobody asked for, but I will wear whatever I please, and everyone who thinks it's somehow within their right to criticize my attire can find a way to fit themselves into one of the five aforementioned categories.

I feel better already.

"Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee"

I'm torn between a light-hearted "here's how I spent my weekend" blog and an "I can't believe everyone's priorities are so fucked" rant.

So, to keep the balance normal, I'll offer some brief tidbits and call it a night/day.

* I finished Smallville season one, and it was worth the late fee I will incur for not having it back sooner.

* I meant to bring a picture of my sister back to scan in so you could all revel in her beauty, as do so many other people. Alas, I forgot.

* I also meant to bring my freshman yearbook to prove my cheekbones used to hide from the world.

* I have now had the song "Me and Bobby McGee" stuck in my head for more than 24 hours.

* I have a gynecologist appointment on April 6. I hope I don't enjoy it, or I'll be breaking my Lent.

* I need a date to my sorority 10-year formal in May.

* I also need a dress.

* And I wouldn't mind having Easter sex.

"But I did not shoot the deputy"

Yes, the fucking sheriff came again. I opened the door with an exasperated, "HE DOESN'T LIVE HERE!"

"Who don't live here?"

Yes, they have impeccable grammar.

"Yancey, or whoever you're looking for."

"We're looking for Jocelyn."

That's new - now you're harassing me about someone else I don't know. Lovely.

"We are the ONLY people who live here. We have lived here since April 22. We have already given you our landlord's information three times. Who do I have to call to get this to stop?"

"We'll try to get you off the list."

TRY HARDER!

So I called to make a complaint. Here's how that went down. First, I got transferred about three times until I was finally in the warrant section, where everyone is always so cheerful. I explained the situation, and the lady asked for the last name. I gave her mine, and she replied with, "No, the one on the warrant."

"I don't know - I don't even know these people! They just happened to live here before I did. I have the address - can't you use that?"

"No, I have to have the last name. Can you get the last name?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll come back in a day or two." Click.

Fuck you, Truman Jones.

This really needs to stop. I'm running out of sheriff-related blog titles.

And now, on to today's feast.

Appetizer
How would you describe your personal comfort zone?
This is an interesting one. In one word, familiar.

Soup
What is your favorite tree?
I'm a fan of the Bradford Pears or whatever the hell blooms all over my subdivision, and, of course, the Sugar Maple. Oh, wait: Christmas Tree!

Salad
List 3 foods you'd like to include in your dinner plans for tonight.
Medium rare rib-eye, chocolate mousse pie with Oreo crust, corn grilled in bacon and butter. I'm probably having all that tomorrow night, so I guess it can wait.

Main Course
What is the best advice you've ever been given, but didn't heed?
Live each day as though it were your last. I know it's cheesy, but if I did that, I'd never get anything done.

Dessert
On a scale of 1-10 (10 being highest), how much attention do you feel comfortable receiving from others?
It depends on the nature of the attention. I give me a 10 on positive attention and a 1 on negative attention. At least I'll admit it.

Guess what, everyone? I FINALLY finished biology! I just took my last two tests, so that incomplete is about to be a grade. Let's hope it's a good one.

Fantasies of a 13-year-old, Solutions of a High Schooler

I forgot to mention this last night, but Delicia thinks I should FUCK OFF. Yes, my readers, she used all caps, which also means this was in letter form and not at all direct. It was more like "The following people can not fuck off: (insert list here), and everyone else can." Guess where I fit in? I think she should be less passive-aggressive. Maybe come out and say this stuff, perhaps even throw in a bitch-slap. We can't hide behind ink-jet printers all the time. Did I mention I'm on the verge of insanity? It's a short trip to a short ledge with sharp pointy rocks at the bottom.

I've decided to start dealing with my problems the way I did in my latter years of high school: therapy. It did me a lot of good. I entered a very bad point in my life, one in which I was struggling emotionally, spiritually, personally, pretty much every way but grammatically.

I'm at that point again: I can no longer single-handedly deal with being me. There are a myriad of reasons for this, but I think a lot of it comes down to the fact that I've had the same fantasy since I was 13 years old: leaving. I used to want to get in a car and drive somewhere and never come back. Now I want to get on a plane and fly somewhere. Still, the concept is the same. I don't think it's healthy that my greatest ambition in life is to get as far away from it as possible.

Sure, I'm underappreciated, but who isn't? I don't feel I live up to my potential, but who does? I can't be everything I want to be to everyone, but who can? I'm drowning in disappointment and losing sleep over a family I can't be there for. I can't really discuss all that on here, but with my aunt, my cousins and my sister, there's plenty of needing Wendy to go around, and I can't even talk to my sister on the phone because we're never available at the same time.

At some point, everything got really fucked. Things that used to matter to me don't anymore. Things that used to be important have taken a back seat to other things, because, when it comes down to it, I'm stuck with me, so I'd at least better like myself.

I'm wrestling with inner demons while the outer ones pound at the door 24/7. I'm obligated to so many things that I don't even get to do what I want. I don't even have time for school unless I don't sleep or eat. Things used to be simpler. Things used to be better. I used to be better.

I need 24 hours for my degree, but it'll take me two years because of how they space things out. I feel so stuck, like I'm in quick sand and even though I've read that part of the Worst Case Scenario Handbook I have no wood to grab onto, and I'm sinking. Everything is going black, and I'm letting it, because I'm tired of making myself care about anything other than myself and my loved ones. I know that's selfish, but I need to be selfish now. I'll lose myself if I'm not.

Purple Rain on My Parade

Well, I've been AWOL from the blog for a bit, but I have good reason: Heidegger and Derrida have been making me their collective bitch. I'm pretty sure if this were actually the case, Derrida would be much gentler.

But enough about dead philosophers fucking me.

Last night, I hung out with some music folk for Kipp's 21st birthday. I was told by one of Claire's friends that I have great bone structure, which is an odd compliment but I enjoyed it all the same.

But enough about my genetics. Let's get on to how my dryer turned my work clothes purple.

I got home last night and washed my work clothes and some aprons - they smile upon cleanliness at the Bux. After they were sufficiently clean, I, of course, planned to dry them. I opened the dryer and noticed the inside was slightly stained, so I wet my hand to see if any of it would come off on my hand. It didn't, so I figured it was safe, because it had already been slightly pink from the red dye before without any pink clothing repercussions.

Boy was I wrong.

I woke up this morning to find my work clothes spotted with deep purple! Thank God I had some black work clothes that remained unscathed, and, oddly enough, so did my aprons.

That's right, kids - Starbucks aprons refuse to be anything but green. My white shirt I can bleach if need be, but what to do about those khaki pants? They were so soft and comfortable...and khaki.

How did this happen, you ask? Oh, I'm happy to fill you in on yet another reason why I'm counting down the days until I can put this life behind me.

Well, after a long couple of days (although I did manage to pick up a difficult Latin jazz combo after only seeing it twice - bonus!), it's getting to crunch time with the drag show. Now, some of our girls are wearing black shirts. However, not all of them bought black shirts. Some, in fact, bought white shirts.

Yes, I am aware of the whole opposite thing, and of the whole black/white concept. However, anyone who argues that black is the absence of color has not seen my dryer or the clothes that emerged from it. There's definitely some purple involved.

Ergo, the white shirts had to be dyed black, and I'm sure you can figure out the rest.

I washed them again in highly concentrated cleaner, which left the spots a nice shade of magenta. That's better than purple, I suppose. It's at least not as dark. I then headed to Wal-Mart to get some dance clothes for tomorrow (being as though I can't really do laundry unless I'm washing purple or black stuff) and some color-safe bleach and some regular bleach. I'm ready to bleach the hell out of these clothes if I have to.

I can't go to work dressed as the Angel of Death two days in a row - they'll think I'm brooding or something.

The Day Smyrna Took Off

I didn't do this Friday, because, apparently, the entire town of Smyrna had the day off work and invaded my store. Afterward I drank something green. It was Everclear, vodka and green something. It was delicious. At long last, I present Friday's Feast.

Appetizer
What job would you definitely not want to have?
There are two: anesthesiologist (I would pass out several times a day seeing all that needle-in-vein action) and George W. Bush's speech writer. I imagine that person has to go through several edits to get words that are hard to fuck up.

Soup
Oprah calls and wants you to appear on her show. What would that day's show be about?
I'm going to optimistic and say my recent and unsuspected marriage to Johnny Depp.

Salad
Name 3 vegetables that you eat on a regular basis.
I don't really eat vegetables on a regular basis, but let's pretend like I do. Here's what they would be: green books cooked with a pack of bacon, corn grilled and wrapped in bacon, baked potato with butter, cheese and bacon. Do you notice a recurring theme?

Main Course
If you were commissioned to rename your hometown, what would you call it?
I think it'd be safe to rename Hendersonville one of the following: Suburbia; Classy Gallatin; Poor Man's Brentwood; Soccer Mom Town

Dessert
If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would you have them to do?
Correct grammar in everything I read before it gets to me, like so: "If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would you have him or her do?" That's much better. One personal assistant does not constitute "them." I'd also have this person - let's use the name Lackey to avoid unnecessary pronouns - screen my phone calls, run my errands (in Lackey's own car, of course, so my gas tank remains full), schedule my appointments, get me out of my appointments, occasionally rub my shoulders, and any other tasks I think of that I don't feel like doing.

Molestings, All Around! OR Why I Should Frequent Class More Often

I went to class today in one of my rare but exciting cameo appearances (hold your judgements - remember that blood-coughing incident a few weeks back?) because I thought I was having a test. I fought TSSAA traffic, cursed slow drivers in the parking lot, frantically walked across campus, bought a ScanTron, and moseyed into class one minute late, only to find...

No professor, and a fairly empty classroom.

One of the guys in class (let's not kid ourselves here - I don't know names of these people) was all, "Don't you know what happened?"

The rest of the class, like yours truly, stared blankly.

"That guy got taken to jail last night."

"That guy" refers to this guy, who I vaguely remember from class as being the one who mutilated the curve for everyone else on account of his being a former attorney and this class being Insurance in Estate Planning.

Fine by me. Guess we won't be seeing him again. I'm not sure where the professor was (the arrested guy - Rasmussen - was a member of Gamma Iota Sigma (he was even wearing the shirt when arrested, according to the in-the-know guy in class, and our professor was the adviser, but I doubt that's related), but we had a sub - Porter, who has taught all of my previous insurance classes. He's a blast.

The greatest part about all this: click on the link above, and then take a stab at what the photo file name is.

kiddiepornguy0316.jpeg

Now I don't feel so bad that we had a photo folder at Sidelines named Guns and Weed.

Hey, it was for a story.

Dead Caesar Count: Zero

Well, the Ides of March came and went, and, wary though I was, no one kicked it. At least, no one I know. I guess it's safe to consider this a normal day from here on.

In honor of the Ides of March, I present a lesson in Latin. You can use these phrases on your friends!

Et amici sunt agricolae.
My friends are farmers also.

Verbum tuae matri
Word to your mother

Puella viam videt.
The girl sees the road.

Hic ego multas puellas futui.
Here I fucked many girls.

Pi sans e OR FouCAULK

Yes, I'm actually making both a lame math joke and a reference to my crappy car and a philosopher. Sadly, the only person I am certain who would understand that part is Vince, who does not read this blog. Sigh. I'll Discipline and Punish you later! Oh, I love making smart jokes. I might print this out and bring it to work - I'm sure he'd laugh at my own lameness.

So Pi Day has come and gone, and I'm sure after seeing that NIT link, you all knew it wouldn't be long before I blogged about it. Why does pi get a day and not, say, e?

Euler's number is much more useful in higher-lever mathematics. I've actually heard calculus professors, on more than one occasion, say to solve an integral by taking the natural log and "then you have to e it back," as if it is some kind of verb. E-ing something back may sound foreign, but it makes perfect sense to me. I've actually done it, and it does make for simpler integration. But no one I know who reads this blog will understand any of that paragraph, so moving on.

My dad caulked my sunroof this weekend because it doesn't work anyway, so we thought we'd see if it helped the leaking any. Well, there came yet another monsoon (isn't is supposed to be April showers - did I sleep through March or something?), and my car's interior was still damp, albeit not nearly as drenched as I would have expected, so that's promising.

Yes, I'm aware my lame joke doesn't work with Foucault's correct pronunciation, but I was more hoping to bridge the gaps between contintental philosophy and MacGyvering one's car.

Oh yeah. This one's for Euler, the first 25 digits of e: 2.718281828459045235360287.

And, just because I remember it so fondly from an episode of Third Rock from the Sun, "Sine, cosine, cosine, sine! 3.14159!"

Some More Notes to Pass the Time

Note to self: Try to live out as much of the song "Last Mango in Paris" as possible. Especially that part about the third-world girl in Buzios. You need one of those.

Note to self: Sleep with the windows open more often.

Note to self: Always have a cat.

Note to self: Wear braided pigtails more often.

Note to self: Take a vacation this year. You've earned it.

Note to self: At least once in your life, have a forbidden love affair. Avoid married men.

Note to self: Take a road trip.

Note to self: When you graduate, move to another time zone.

Time Zone Travel

I'm blogging with Destiny in my lap. Yes, The Tina came back, and wouldn't you know it, the cat came back, too! She's playing one of her favorite games, Get in My Way While I Type. She's quite good at it and is the reason I'm overusing the backspace key now.

I went to bed at 5:30 a.m. and woke up at 11:30 a.m. How annoying. It foiled my plans to sleep all day.

This weekend I talked to my parents about my post-graduation plans. I think they always knew that I'd go somewhere, most likely New York City. When I mentioned my European aspirations, my dad was all for it. He did quite a bit of traveling in his college-aged days (he was in drum corps and played Carnegie Hall once), and he agrees that I should explore the world before I do any of those pesky adult things that everyone else my age is so keen to get into: marriage, mortgages, kids - pretty much 18 years of your life devoted to trying not to fuck up someone else's while always owing someone money.

Apparently, I have lots of insurance ties, but until my parents told me, I didn't know I had insurance ties in England, too. This is exciting. A lot of my parents' friends are in the insurance industry, and Chuck, who is a blast, goes over there quite a bit. They said I should go with him sometime to see how I like it. We know a few other people who do insurance in England as well. At least I'll have some job prospects, assuming I ever get out of college.

Other places I'm considering living upon graduation: Australia, Switzerland, Scotland, Wales (I should just say the UK and make it easy), New York and Canada (the land where Bush is NOT the president of anything). The problem? Most of these places are cold, and I like heat, although New York summers are mighty sweltering.

I'm going to take some foreign language. I'm debating between Latin and German. Anyone have any thoughts on that?

"Destiny is calling me"

Actually, she's not. She's not waiting on the back of the couch for me when I get home, ready to meow her disapproval of my going to work all day. She's not around to stand on my chest and dig her claws into me while I'm trying to read at night. She's not been turning around in a circle a few times before lying down to sleep on that blanket on my bed. Hell, she's not even wreaking havoc on my blinds to sit in the window.

That's right. The Tina took the cat home for the break, and I'm really weirded out by this. It's made me realize that whenever I'm out on my own, I have to have a cat or some kind of similar pet.

I've been hanging with the chinchillas and the snake, but I'm not about to sleep with Salazar, and the chinchillas are excited to get their nightly treats and run on the wheel I put back in their cage for some exercising fun, but it's not the same as having the cat there to rub against me, lie all over my clean laundry so that's it's covered in "Destiny was here" hair.

I've even told people that my room is actually her room and she just lets me sleep there. I'm quite certain she believes it.

At least I've been able to shower and bathe without being watched - that's the only perk. Destiny always manages to push her way into my bathroom (the door doesn't completely shut), whether I'm brushing my teeth, peeing, showering or taking a bath, she's there to watch and, whenever possible, rub against my legs. Sometimes she'll stand on the edge of the tub and try to drink my bath water, but I stop her because it's full of Victoria's Secret bubble bath, and I'm not sure she's supposed to drink Romantic Wish.

The Tina will be back today, and she better bring Destiny. I can't wait to tell her how we don't have an outside trashcan anymore because Thursday's monsoon swept it to God knows where - I was at work during all this and came home to find us trashcan free. This is hilarious to me, at least until trash day.