Well folks, it’s been a year. Time to get all reminiscent. I moved to Chicago on August 8, 2005. My life is so friggin’ different than it was when I got here that my head is spinning just a bit. Stressful as all get-out. But I wouldn’t trade any of these changes away… all kinds of life-altering experiences. I can hardly believe all the crap I've put myself through:
Moved to Chicago. Found out that it *is* worth it to have movers help you when you have three crappy flights of stairs. And even if mattresses fit up curvy stairs, the box springs may not. And might dent the wall a bit. But besides a few squirrels and yucky carpet, things are good in the apartment.
Found a job on my first try, worked for a week, then lost the position (no one knows why... but I wouldn’t have fit in that stuffy atmosphere for long, anyway). No one wanted me for weeks because I had so little office experience, and couldn’t get past the resume screening. Had some pretty crappy temp jobs (see earlier blogs from last September). Then found a super-duper job (though yes, Yuppie Corporate America Job) that I can stand. At least the people are fine, I don’t hate it, and my boss rocks. Really. She’s great. I’ll hate leaving her. It's definitely a good place to be for now.
Decided to go to grad school for costuming. Got myself a job at a very disorganized costume shop. Then decided I didn’t want theatre as my life-sustaining career. Almost considered staying at yuppie job for the rest of my life. Thought about natural medicine, but wasn't sure what I really wanted to do and I didn’t want to fight the label of “quack” forever. Then had a life-altering doctor appointment with 2 amazing midwives who just happened to see me… and realized that’s what I wanted to do. And now I’m taking lots of classes. With any luck, I’ll get into the great midwifery program with a 1% acceptance rate. Or at least some midwife program. I'm taking a Doula Certification class in October, and I can't wait. At least people seem to think I'm "earth-motherly". I should put that on my grad school applications.
I used to only get sinus infections. Then I got pneumonia, asthma, and some other random disease-like problems. Not sure why all this happened to Little Miss Healthy, but it all wound up leading me to the above mentioned career path. So… fine.
Then there’s the subject of being man-prey. :) I moved here to decide if I could marry the man with whom I had been in a long-distance relationship for 3 years. After much stress, a number of tears, and a minor panic attack, I realized that wasn’t the best idea for me. Eh… it happens. But then I met (well, “re-met”, I suppose) the most wonderful man and have fallen faster than I could have imagined… hmm. Yeah. No words can completely express my surprise and delight. [sigh] I have no idea how it happened, but I don’t plan on second guessing how life works in its mysterious ways. I don’t know how I managed to deserve this… but I’m just going to take it and run with it. Dan -- you're the best. (They just don't understand. :)
So yes… a good year. Very hard, very turbulent, but amazing. Incomparable to past years by a long shot. Saul Bellow *did* have it right: "When the fear yields, a beauty is disclosed in its place." When you allow yourself to just go with the flow, it's amazing what can happen.
I can only wish that all the rest of you find the wonderfulness that I found.
Alright -- enough sappiness from this crazy girl.
Here’s to another terrific year, everyone.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Catching up on everything
Hmmm... I'm tired. Should I complain... well, maybe not. I mean, yes, I have school, and I'm working a crazy Corporate America job, but I can't say I'm helping the situation.
School is good. I enjoy Biology -- maybe not the time it takes out of my day, but I enjoy the learning part. I forgot how much I like learning new things. Education is like speed for my brain. (I mean, I'm *assuming* it is. I've never actually done speed. I don't even know if you snort it or smoke it. Or maybe there's some other way the kids are using their drugs nowadays -- those crazy kids. [shaking the old man fist in the air])
At any rate. I like learning this stuff. Just not the time it takes to be in class. After having to get up at 6am every morning for work (okay, okay... 6:15... 6:30...), having to go straight to class at 5pm, and then not getting home until after 10pm, I am tired. Oh, and remember that "speed for my brain" comment? Yeah. I can't physically slow my brain down enough to go to sleep as soon as I get home. So I don't get to sleep until after 11pm. And for someone who's a pansy-butt about not getting her 8 hours of sleep, this has the possibility of getting ugly.
Now, I can't say I'm helping the situation at all. I could relax myself on the way home with some calm music, take a nice cool shower, and get into bed as soon as I get home. But no. I need my daily phone call with Dan. For, eh, an hour... or so. The best way to wind down to get to sleep? No. Not really. But enjoyable, nonetheless, and so I will continue to exist on caffienated black tea to get myself through my day until class is out for the summer and I have more time to actually get my sleep.
Good luck to me when I start anatomy and statistics this fall...
But it is a holiday weekend. I will go to the beach... and study. (Hey, at least I'm at the beach.) As long as rain doesn't ruin those plans like it did last weekend, anyway. And I'll go take pictures of people enjoying their holiday. (Does this say something about me?) And I'l work on my own sewing projects, as I've eliminated myself from the costume shop lineup. So not a whole lot of relaxation, but a lot of me-stuff. Which will be good for once.
Enjoy the holiday, everyone.
School is good. I enjoy Biology -- maybe not the time it takes out of my day, but I enjoy the learning part. I forgot how much I like learning new things. Education is like speed for my brain. (I mean, I'm *assuming* it is. I've never actually done speed. I don't even know if you snort it or smoke it. Or maybe there's some other way the kids are using their drugs nowadays -- those crazy kids. [shaking the old man fist in the air])
At any rate. I like learning this stuff. Just not the time it takes to be in class. After having to get up at 6am every morning for work (okay, okay... 6:15... 6:30...), having to go straight to class at 5pm, and then not getting home until after 10pm, I am tired. Oh, and remember that "speed for my brain" comment? Yeah. I can't physically slow my brain down enough to go to sleep as soon as I get home. So I don't get to sleep until after 11pm. And for someone who's a pansy-butt about not getting her 8 hours of sleep, this has the possibility of getting ugly.
Now, I can't say I'm helping the situation at all. I could relax myself on the way home with some calm music, take a nice cool shower, and get into bed as soon as I get home. But no. I need my daily phone call with Dan. For, eh, an hour... or so. The best way to wind down to get to sleep? No. Not really. But enjoyable, nonetheless, and so I will continue to exist on caffienated black tea to get myself through my day until class is out for the summer and I have more time to actually get my sleep.
Good luck to me when I start anatomy and statistics this fall...
But it is a holiday weekend. I will go to the beach... and study. (Hey, at least I'm at the beach.) As long as rain doesn't ruin those plans like it did last weekend, anyway. And I'll go take pictures of people enjoying their holiday. (Does this say something about me?) And I'l work on my own sewing projects, as I've eliminated myself from the costume shop lineup. So not a whole lot of relaxation, but a lot of me-stuff. Which will be good for once.
Enjoy the holiday, everyone.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Taught to the tune of a hickory stick...
Well, folks, I’m doing it – I’m taking a class.
That doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as it might have sounded back in the 30’s when people would mail order for correspondence classes on radio or the typewriter or something. But I think it’s pretty darn exciting. Or frightening. Or something. Whatever.
I’m taking BIO 121: Biology for pre-med majors. Not that I’m pre-med. Oh, no. Not that crazy. But I am pre-Certified-Nurse-Midwife. Yeah, I think I’m going to do it. I’m going to be a midwife. Just need a master’s degree, I can handle that. (I can hear it now: “But Miss Scarlett, Miss Scarlett, I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no babies!”) First I just have to take a few prerequisites. Like Biology. And, possibly even more difficult, I have to get through the enrollment process. Let me explain… imagine, if you will…
Friday:
I walk into the admissions office of the local community college. I have my college transcripts, sealed and everything, and I hand them over. They put me in the computer as a student. No problem. Then they send me to Room 204 to register for the class I need.
I get there, and she says I need to take a placement test to get out of English 101 – because I didn’t take an English class in college. I tell her I didn’t need one because I tested out of the English gen ed credit because of my AP scores and ACT scores. She tells me if I haven’t taken a class, I need the placement test, end of story. Not like I graduated from college already or anything. Grrr. Okay, fine, I say – and she sends me to Rm 407 for the test.
I get there, ask how long the test will take (since my parents are in town and are expecting me to play tour guide), and they say that there is no time limit. Since that wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for, I ask again. Again she states that there is no time limit, and I can take as long as I like. I tell her that I have my parents in town, I need to tell them when they might be able to expect me. She resigns, tells me it may take an hour, it may take me two hours, it depends on how much time I need. I say fine, okay, that’s a good enough answer. I tell my parents I’ll meet them in two hours or so, and tell her I’ll take the test. She says I need the general test: reading, writing, and math. Wait – MATH? No, no, no – the woman earlier said I only needed English. Not math. NOT math. But the woman at the placement test counter said I needed math because I’m taking a science class, so I agreed – reluctantly – to take the math test. And I began.
I had to begin with the math test. It was a very good thing I reviewed college algebra a few weeks ago, otherwise I would have had serious problems. More serious that I already had, that is. I sped through the easy algebra, finished the fraction section, did some easy geometry, and felt I may have actually gotten the functions right (though I doubt it). Then came exponents. Not the “what is 5 squared” exponents, oh no. I’m talking about negative exponents, and exponents over exponents, and exponents of exponents . I remember seeing these before, but I definitely did a lot of guessing. Then came Trigonometry. Really now – how badly did this test have to end? I actually tried to think about the first two questions about sin-cos-tan-cot and whatever else. I recognized the types of questions, I just didn’t have a clue on how to figure them out. After the first two questions, I just picked answers. There had to have been 15 trig questions, and I guessed on all of them. An hour later, I finally finished.
I moved on to the reading section, which was easier than any standardized test in high school, and I finished it in 15 minutes. I then had to write an essay about the social pressures on me at the moment, and I wrote about getting into college (you know, if I pass the test). I then handed in my test, and was told to come back on Monday. With my high school transcript.
Wait. With my high school transcript? Are you kidding me? You mean, my college transcript isn’t enough? You don’t automatically assume that if I have a college degree that I must have also finished high school? (At this point, I’m beginning to feel a bit elitist about my college level of education.) Apparently, this isn’t the case. I need my high school transcript in order to actually register for classes. You know, to prove I’m worthy to take classes at the local community college. Grrr.
So… I call my high school. Then I get forwarded to the board of education. I ask if I can get my transcript faxed, but they don’t do that because of the confidential nature of transcripts (like I care who sees my high school transcript). She says I can pick it up, though. From Wadsworth, Ohio. Ha! Right. I ask if she can fed ex it, and she agrees, as long as I pay for the next-day-Saturday-delivery. I call fed ex, arrange for a pick up, call the friendly woman back, let her know she can get it ready, and pay $5 to the local currency exchange so I can fax my transcript release authorization to the same friendly woman. Then I finally go trotting off to the museum with my parents.
This whole weekend, I dreaded seeing my test scores. I imagine the huge fight I will undertake when I try to take a science class after not passing the math placement test. I also imagine how in the world I will get decent scores on the GRE if I can’t pass a silly little placement test. Ugh.
Monday:
I go to admissions and ask for my placement test scores. She goes into the file, brings them over, and I see them – the scores. Reading: fine. Writing: fine. Math: not-so-fine. I got 91% on both arithmetic and high school algebra. But I got a 59% on the collge algebra. And a whopping 19% on the trig. Hmm. Good job, me. At least I did an okay job at guessing.
Anyway, the test score lady scribbles her instructions on my score page: go see math advisor to decide which math course to take. What? Oh, no – I’m not taking a math course. But I hold my tongue, and go to the class registration, ready for a fight. I sit down with the math advisor, tell her I want to take Biology 121, and she signs me up, no questions asked.
No math test scores needed. No high school transcript needed. I don’t ask any questions. No way am I going to second guess divine intervention.
She sends me off to the finance office to pay, and I get told to go get my student ID. I survived.
Today, I paid $190 for a large used biology text book and a flimsy little lab workbook. At least classes at the community college are cheaper than anywhere else.
Well, class starts tomorrow. I have a feeling I’ll have some good fodder for writing (and plenty of time to want to procrastinate).
Good luck to me.
That doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as it might have sounded back in the 30’s when people would mail order for correspondence classes on radio or the typewriter or something. But I think it’s pretty darn exciting. Or frightening. Or something. Whatever.
I’m taking BIO 121: Biology for pre-med majors. Not that I’m pre-med. Oh, no. Not that crazy. But I am pre-Certified-Nurse-Midwife. Yeah, I think I’m going to do it. I’m going to be a midwife. Just need a master’s degree, I can handle that. (I can hear it now: “But Miss Scarlett, Miss Scarlett, I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no babies!”) First I just have to take a few prerequisites. Like Biology. And, possibly even more difficult, I have to get through the enrollment process. Let me explain… imagine, if you will…
Friday:
I walk into the admissions office of the local community college. I have my college transcripts, sealed and everything, and I hand them over. They put me in the computer as a student. No problem. Then they send me to Room 204 to register for the class I need.
I get there, and she says I need to take a placement test to get out of English 101 – because I didn’t take an English class in college. I tell her I didn’t need one because I tested out of the English gen ed credit because of my AP scores and ACT scores. She tells me if I haven’t taken a class, I need the placement test, end of story. Not like I graduated from college already or anything. Grrr. Okay, fine, I say – and she sends me to Rm 407 for the test.
I get there, ask how long the test will take (since my parents are in town and are expecting me to play tour guide), and they say that there is no time limit. Since that wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for, I ask again. Again she states that there is no time limit, and I can take as long as I like. I tell her that I have my parents in town, I need to tell them when they might be able to expect me. She resigns, tells me it may take an hour, it may take me two hours, it depends on how much time I need. I say fine, okay, that’s a good enough answer. I tell my parents I’ll meet them in two hours or so, and tell her I’ll take the test. She says I need the general test: reading, writing, and math. Wait – MATH? No, no, no – the woman earlier said I only needed English. Not math. NOT math. But the woman at the placement test counter said I needed math because I’m taking a science class, so I agreed – reluctantly – to take the math test. And I began.
I had to begin with the math test. It was a very good thing I reviewed college algebra a few weeks ago, otherwise I would have had serious problems. More serious that I already had, that is. I sped through the easy algebra, finished the fraction section, did some easy geometry, and felt I may have actually gotten the functions right (though I doubt it). Then came exponents. Not the “what is 5 squared” exponents, oh no. I’m talking about negative exponents, and exponents over exponents, and exponents of exponents . I remember seeing these before, but I definitely did a lot of guessing. Then came Trigonometry. Really now – how badly did this test have to end? I actually tried to think about the first two questions about sin-cos-tan-cot and whatever else. I recognized the types of questions, I just didn’t have a clue on how to figure them out. After the first two questions, I just picked answers. There had to have been 15 trig questions, and I guessed on all of them. An hour later, I finally finished.
I moved on to the reading section, which was easier than any standardized test in high school, and I finished it in 15 minutes. I then had to write an essay about the social pressures on me at the moment, and I wrote about getting into college (you know, if I pass the test). I then handed in my test, and was told to come back on Monday. With my high school transcript.
Wait. With my high school transcript? Are you kidding me? You mean, my college transcript isn’t enough? You don’t automatically assume that if I have a college degree that I must have also finished high school? (At this point, I’m beginning to feel a bit elitist about my college level of education.) Apparently, this isn’t the case. I need my high school transcript in order to actually register for classes. You know, to prove I’m worthy to take classes at the local community college. Grrr.
So… I call my high school. Then I get forwarded to the board of education. I ask if I can get my transcript faxed, but they don’t do that because of the confidential nature of transcripts (like I care who sees my high school transcript). She says I can pick it up, though. From Wadsworth, Ohio. Ha! Right. I ask if she can fed ex it, and she agrees, as long as I pay for the next-day-Saturday-delivery. I call fed ex, arrange for a pick up, call the friendly woman back, let her know she can get it ready, and pay $5 to the local currency exchange so I can fax my transcript release authorization to the same friendly woman. Then I finally go trotting off to the museum with my parents.
This whole weekend, I dreaded seeing my test scores. I imagine the huge fight I will undertake when I try to take a science class after not passing the math placement test. I also imagine how in the world I will get decent scores on the GRE if I can’t pass a silly little placement test. Ugh.
Monday:
I go to admissions and ask for my placement test scores. She goes into the file, brings them over, and I see them – the scores. Reading: fine. Writing: fine. Math: not-so-fine. I got 91% on both arithmetic and high school algebra. But I got a 59% on the collge algebra. And a whopping 19% on the trig. Hmm. Good job, me. At least I did an okay job at guessing.
Anyway, the test score lady scribbles her instructions on my score page: go see math advisor to decide which math course to take. What? Oh, no – I’m not taking a math course. But I hold my tongue, and go to the class registration, ready for a fight. I sit down with the math advisor, tell her I want to take Biology 121, and she signs me up, no questions asked.
No math test scores needed. No high school transcript needed. I don’t ask any questions. No way am I going to second guess divine intervention.
She sends me off to the finance office to pay, and I get told to go get my student ID. I survived.
Today, I paid $190 for a large used biology text book and a flimsy little lab workbook. At least classes at the community college are cheaper than anywhere else.
Well, class starts tomorrow. I have a feeling I’ll have some good fodder for writing (and plenty of time to want to procrastinate).
Good luck to me.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Like one of those annoying wind up toys... just not as annoying because the wind-up springy thingy is broken.
Well, that does it. I’m sick. Ugh.
Amy asked me yesterday, “If you’re selling your van, and you won’t be paying car insurance anymore, do you really need to work at the costume shop anymore?”
D asked, “When was the last time you had two days in a row off?” Two days in a row? Ha! How about two days in a week, at all?
Nowadays I spend my Sundays, my one day off a week, sitting on my ass all day long. Those of you who know me understand what a big deal this is. I am not the person who can just sit around the house all day long. I’m too ADD for that. I always have to at least go walk to the grocery store, or bake cookies, or go to Target. But for the past month or two, I have been a lazy bum. Not that that’s bad. It’s not, necessarily. But it’s not something I have ever been able to do. I can barely sit in one place for a half-hour sitcom.
I am burnt out. And now I’m sick.
I thought it was just that I needed a vacation. So here’s me, simply looking forward to the 3-day Memorial Day weekend, and the 5-day vacation I’m taking the following weekend when my parents come into town. (Hooray!)
But now I’m sick. (Did you catch that part? Okay. Just wanted to make sure.)
So I can’t work at the costume shop anymore. I just can’t do it. Maybe once a month or so, if that works. Not that I don’t enjoy it. I do. I get paid to sew pretty dresses and help people pick out costumes. Now really—can you get much better than that? But it’s just too much. There is no point in burning myself out if I don’t have to. (Or at all, really, for that matter.) I’ve had too much going on lately, and I’ll be starting school soon. I don’t need to be burnt out *before* I get to school. Burning out is reserved for while you’re in classes. That’s what you’re supposed to do in school. Not before you get there.
Apparently I’m not invincible. Crap.
Amy asked me yesterday, “If you’re selling your van, and you won’t be paying car insurance anymore, do you really need to work at the costume shop anymore?”
D asked, “When was the last time you had two days in a row off?” Two days in a row? Ha! How about two days in a week, at all?
Nowadays I spend my Sundays, my one day off a week, sitting on my ass all day long. Those of you who know me understand what a big deal this is. I am not the person who can just sit around the house all day long. I’m too ADD for that. I always have to at least go walk to the grocery store, or bake cookies, or go to Target. But for the past month or two, I have been a lazy bum. Not that that’s bad. It’s not, necessarily. But it’s not something I have ever been able to do. I can barely sit in one place for a half-hour sitcom.
I am burnt out. And now I’m sick.
I thought it was just that I needed a vacation. So here’s me, simply looking forward to the 3-day Memorial Day weekend, and the 5-day vacation I’m taking the following weekend when my parents come into town. (Hooray!)
But now I’m sick. (Did you catch that part? Okay. Just wanted to make sure.)
So I can’t work at the costume shop anymore. I just can’t do it. Maybe once a month or so, if that works. Not that I don’t enjoy it. I do. I get paid to sew pretty dresses and help people pick out costumes. Now really—can you get much better than that? But it’s just too much. There is no point in burning myself out if I don’t have to. (Or at all, really, for that matter.) I’ve had too much going on lately, and I’ll be starting school soon. I don’t need to be burnt out *before* I get to school. Burning out is reserved for while you’re in classes. That’s what you’re supposed to do in school. Not before you get there.
Apparently I’m not invincible. Crap.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Forget your troubles, c'mon get happy!
Yes, folks -- it's a good day.
I'm going home for the weekend. I plan on having a little extra money to squirrel away into my savings account (my what?) now that my car insurance has dropped. I talked to the Lovely Rita last night -- she is pretty darn great! I realize that my health is not as bad as I think. I've gained a little weight over the winter (hello, hibernation), but it will soon be summer and I'll get to snack on raw things like a rabbit. I finally got pictures back from last May (the roll of film was hiding under a table). And it's sunny and warm, meaning I get to break out the sandals, skirts, and self-tanner from a bottle.
So really, I think things are gunna be okay. Great, even! Hooray!
And a side note: I felt the above song lyrics (of which Judy Garland sings marvolously) were quite appropriate. She talks about shouting hallelujiah and going to the promised land and judgement day. Very Easter-ish and Passover-ish. And speaking of which, I found out the other day, those two holidays really have nothing to do with each other except that they fall around the same time. I never understood why my Jewish friends cared about only one of those many holy holidays in that season. But now I know. It's because Passover was when they left Egypt, and those others are Christian holidays about Jesus.
Really, everything is falling into place now. :)
I'm going home for the weekend. I plan on having a little extra money to squirrel away into my savings account (my what?) now that my car insurance has dropped. I talked to the Lovely Rita last night -- she is pretty darn great! I realize that my health is not as bad as I think. I've gained a little weight over the winter (hello, hibernation), but it will soon be summer and I'll get to snack on raw things like a rabbit. I finally got pictures back from last May (the roll of film was hiding under a table). And it's sunny and warm, meaning I get to break out the sandals, skirts, and self-tanner from a bottle.
So really, I think things are gunna be okay. Great, even! Hooray!
And a side note: I felt the above song lyrics (of which Judy Garland sings marvolously) were quite appropriate. She talks about shouting hallelujiah and going to the promised land and judgement day. Very Easter-ish and Passover-ish. And speaking of which, I found out the other day, those two holidays really have nothing to do with each other except that they fall around the same time. I never understood why my Jewish friends cared about only one of those many holy holidays in that season. But now I know. It's because Passover was when they left Egypt, and those others are Christian holidays about Jesus.
Really, everything is falling into place now. :)
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Chicago-HESO (or, "Does anybody have a career they don't want?")
I remembered how to do high school algebra last night.
Not like I woke up at 3 am, sat up, and suddenly recalled what the quadradic formula was. This happened in a 4-hour span of time while sitting in a coffee shop after work, drinking a green tea latte.
Yes, folks, I did this to myself. ON PURPOSE. This is so I can score higher than a 2% on the GRE and go back to school. I think I'll get a Master's degree.
In what, you ask? Hmmm... I'm thinking some sort of medical career.
What???
Yes, you heard me. I'm going into the medical field. I'm not sure how this fell into my lap, nor do I know exactly what kind of medical career I want. I want to help people be healthy, and teach them how to stay healthy so they don't need me. (No, not good business practice, but good ethics.) I don't want to be a "doctor" doctor. (What I mean by that is, I don't want to be in med school until I'm 45.) I don't want to be in the you're-sick-so-here's-a-pill field of medicine. I'm more into preventative, keep-yourself-healthy-and-quit-being-afraid-of-germs medicine. So I'm thinking I can be a naturopathic doctor, a chiropractor, or a midwife.
Yeah. I know. "Those are three very different jobs, you know, and why in the world would you want to be a midwife?" you say. Well, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up yet, so don't get all worried about me yet. I figure I have some time to decide.
First I need to relearn algebra. Which, in algebra's defense, the first half of the 300-page book was fairly easy. I whipped through my 8th grade algebra class in a few hours last night. It's the algebra II, trig, and pre-calc that I'm going to have some problems with. All I remember from trigonometry class was me with my head in my hands, my teacher looking at my work, and her saying, "How in the world did you get that?" I followed the rules, I swear. I just never did a very good job of simplifying. I always wound up making things more complicated, somehow. I don't know how. And I think that was the problem.
Hopefully I'll be able to learn all of this darned math now that I'm older and wiser. (Or something.) Then I get to move on to the year's worth of biology, anatomy, chemistry, physics, and some other math/science prerequisite junk I didn't have to learn for my theatre degree.
Maybe I should just get an acting gig on ER. I could act like a doctor.
***On an unrelated side note, my car is going back to the shop again, because she doesn't think she's fixed. But D is taking care of it for me, because he's really great. :) And it's going to be 67 degrees today, so I'm wearing sandals, and that makes for a terrific day no matter what. Hooray for being happy!
Not like I woke up at 3 am, sat up, and suddenly recalled what the quadradic formula was. This happened in a 4-hour span of time while sitting in a coffee shop after work, drinking a green tea latte.
Yes, folks, I did this to myself. ON PURPOSE. This is so I can score higher than a 2% on the GRE and go back to school. I think I'll get a Master's degree.
In what, you ask? Hmmm... I'm thinking some sort of medical career.
What???
Yes, you heard me. I'm going into the medical field. I'm not sure how this fell into my lap, nor do I know exactly what kind of medical career I want. I want to help people be healthy, and teach them how to stay healthy so they don't need me. (No, not good business practice, but good ethics.) I don't want to be a "doctor" doctor. (What I mean by that is, I don't want to be in med school until I'm 45.) I don't want to be in the you're-sick-so-here's-a-pill field of medicine. I'm more into preventative, keep-yourself-healthy-and-quit-being-afraid-of-germs medicine. So I'm thinking I can be a naturopathic doctor, a chiropractor, or a midwife.
Yeah. I know. "Those are three very different jobs, you know, and why in the world would you want to be a midwife?" you say. Well, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up yet, so don't get all worried about me yet. I figure I have some time to decide.
First I need to relearn algebra. Which, in algebra's defense, the first half of the 300-page book was fairly easy. I whipped through my 8th grade algebra class in a few hours last night. It's the algebra II, trig, and pre-calc that I'm going to have some problems with. All I remember from trigonometry class was me with my head in my hands, my teacher looking at my work, and her saying, "How in the world did you get that?" I followed the rules, I swear. I just never did a very good job of simplifying. I always wound up making things more complicated, somehow. I don't know how. And I think that was the problem.
Hopefully I'll be able to learn all of this darned math now that I'm older and wiser. (Or something.) Then I get to move on to the year's worth of biology, anatomy, chemistry, physics, and some other math/science prerequisite junk I didn't have to learn for my theatre degree.
Maybe I should just get an acting gig on ER. I could act like a doctor.
***On an unrelated side note, my car is going back to the shop again, because she doesn't think she's fixed. But D is taking care of it for me, because he's really great. :) And it's going to be 67 degrees today, so I'm wearing sandals, and that makes for a terrific day no matter what. Hooray for being happy!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
What's in a name?
Some of you may not be familiar with the Roman Comedy of "Lysistrata".
First, Romans liked their comedies. They also liked blood, gore, and sex. As they were fans of the coliseum and gladiator fights, they were also fans of funny plays with lots of phalluses (phalluses? phalli?). Lysistrata is one of these plays. Here is an excerpt from one translation, at the very beginning of the play:
LYSISTRATA
But I tell you, the business that calls them here
is far and away more urgent.
CLEONICE
And why do you summon us, dear Lysistrata? What
is it all about?
LYSISTRATA
About a big thing.
CLEONICE (taking this in a different sense; with
great interest) And is it thick too?
LYSISTRATA
Yes, very thick.
CLEONICE
And we are not all on the spot! Imagine!
LYSISTRATA (wearily)
Oh! if it were what you suppose, there would be never
an absentee. No, no, it concerns a thing I have turned
about and about this way and that so many sleepless nights.
CLEONICE (still unable to be serious)
It must be something mighty fine and subtle for
you to have turned it about so!
LYSISTRATA
So fine, it means just this, Greece saved by the women!
And another excerpt...
LYSISTRATA
Yes, that is best.... Ah! here comes Lampito. (LAMPITO,
a husky Spartan damsel, enters with three others, two
from Boeotia and one from Corinth.) Good day, Lampito,
dear friend from Lacedaemon. How well and handsome
you look! what a rosy complexion! and how strong you
seem; why, you could strangle a bull surely!
LAMPITO
Yes, indeed, I really think I could. It's because I do
gymnastics and practise the bottom-kicking dance.
CLEONICE (opening LAMPITO'S robe and baring her bosom)
And what superb breasts!
LAMPITO
La! you are feeling me as if I were a beast for sacrifice.
LYSISTRATA
And this young woman, where is she from?
LAMPITO
She is a noble lady from Boeotia.
LYSISTRATA
Ah! my pretty Boeotian friend, you are as blooming as a garden.
CLEONICE (making another inspection)
Yes, on my word! and her "garden" is so thoroughly weeded too!
So yes. The Romans were quite a bunch.
This play is about a soldier's wife (named Lysistrata) who doesn't want her husband going off to war because she misses the sex. Nor does she want the rest of her friends' husbands going off to war. So they all bind together and decide that (no matter how hard it will be) they will withhold sex from their husbands. If the husbands force them, they will lay there like dead fish, since they know men don't like sex if the women don't also have a good time.
This play is one of those "I am woman, hear me roar" shows, but just with a lot of subtle (and not-so-subtle) sexual innuendo. At any rate, a rockin' good time.
I named my car Lysistrata.
I had my reasons. I wanted something that had theatrical roots. I didn't want Stella, because some Polish, working-class car would beat her up. Not Mrs. Lovett, because I don't want to drive a canniballistic car. Not Juliet, because I don't need her falling in love with a sports car and committing suicide. As she is a minivan, and therefore a female, I decided on Lysistrata. She is a woman (soccer mom van, as some call her) but don't make her mad. If you ignore her needs, she will get very angry. But if you treat her well, she will put out. I decided that would be okay.
This week, I put $1400 to her repairs. That doesn't count the hassle of getting new license plates because her old ones were stolen. And she's still angry, so she's going back to the shop tonight. Who knows how much more she will require me to spend on her.
Maybe Stella would have been better. At least she stayed loyal and fertile after she got beaten up.
First, Romans liked their comedies. They also liked blood, gore, and sex. As they were fans of the coliseum and gladiator fights, they were also fans of funny plays with lots of phalluses (phalluses? phalli?). Lysistrata is one of these plays. Here is an excerpt from one translation, at the very beginning of the play:
LYSISTRATA
But I tell you, the business that calls them here
is far and away more urgent.
CLEONICE
And why do you summon us, dear Lysistrata? What
is it all about?
LYSISTRATA
About a big thing.
CLEONICE (taking this in a different sense; with
great interest) And is it thick too?
LYSISTRATA
Yes, very thick.
CLEONICE
And we are not all on the spot! Imagine!
LYSISTRATA (wearily)
Oh! if it were what you suppose, there would be never
an absentee. No, no, it concerns a thing I have turned
about and about this way and that so many sleepless nights.
CLEONICE (still unable to be serious)
It must be something mighty fine and subtle for
you to have turned it about so!
LYSISTRATA
So fine, it means just this, Greece saved by the women!
And another excerpt...
LYSISTRATA
Yes, that is best.... Ah! here comes Lampito. (LAMPITO,
a husky Spartan damsel, enters with three others, two
from Boeotia and one from Corinth.) Good day, Lampito,
dear friend from Lacedaemon. How well and handsome
you look! what a rosy complexion! and how strong you
seem; why, you could strangle a bull surely!
LAMPITO
Yes, indeed, I really think I could. It's because I do
gymnastics and practise the bottom-kicking dance.
CLEONICE (opening LAMPITO'S robe and baring her bosom)
And what superb breasts!
LAMPITO
La! you are feeling me as if I were a beast for sacrifice.
LYSISTRATA
And this young woman, where is she from?
LAMPITO
She is a noble lady from Boeotia.
LYSISTRATA
Ah! my pretty Boeotian friend, you are as blooming as a garden.
CLEONICE (making another inspection)
Yes, on my word! and her "garden" is so thoroughly weeded too!
So yes. The Romans were quite a bunch.
This play is about a soldier's wife (named Lysistrata) who doesn't want her husband going off to war because she misses the sex. Nor does she want the rest of her friends' husbands going off to war. So they all bind together and decide that (no matter how hard it will be) they will withhold sex from their husbands. If the husbands force them, they will lay there like dead fish, since they know men don't like sex if the women don't also have a good time.
This play is one of those "I am woman, hear me roar" shows, but just with a lot of subtle (and not-so-subtle) sexual innuendo. At any rate, a rockin' good time.
I named my car Lysistrata.
I had my reasons. I wanted something that had theatrical roots. I didn't want Stella, because some Polish, working-class car would beat her up. Not Mrs. Lovett, because I don't want to drive a canniballistic car. Not Juliet, because I don't need her falling in love with a sports car and committing suicide. As she is a minivan, and therefore a female, I decided on Lysistrata. She is a woman (soccer mom van, as some call her) but don't make her mad. If you ignore her needs, she will get very angry. But if you treat her well, she will put out. I decided that would be okay.
This week, I put $1400 to her repairs. That doesn't count the hassle of getting new license plates because her old ones were stolen. And she's still angry, so she's going back to the shop tonight. Who knows how much more she will require me to spend on her.
Maybe Stella would have been better. At least she stayed loyal and fertile after she got beaten up.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Confessions of a far-from-teenage drama queen
Because that's how I feel right now. Like a drama queen. Part of me just wants the drama to stop... come on, no more drama in my life! (That's right, I said it.) However, part of me is enjoying being somewhat dramatic, as always... it does give me something to talk about.
But really, people. I'm feeling like the drama really can cool down anytime now.
I know it's been a while since my last post. I've had a lot of drama. Let me update myself, in abridged format:
1. broke up with boyfriend, had psychological issues.
2. lied to family at Christmas about boyfriend to bypass questioning.
3. made new year's resolution to take care of *myself*, not necessarily everyone else around me (see #1.)
4. went back to gym (see #3.)
5. started taking voice lessons again (see #3.)
6. bought pretty, sparkly ring for myself (see #3.)
7. scored free tickets to the House of Blues on new year's eve (turns out I know people that run into band members at the airport.)
8. tried to soothe ego and psyche of the ex (wow... "ex" is hard to write.)
9. went to hospital and stood in 2 hour long pharmacy line that I didn't actually need to stand in (don't worry, I'm fine)
10. walked around a few miles trying to figure out where to actually get seen and how to get back home (see #9.)
11. plan on being in a play... somewhere... anywhere...
So there we are. My drama. Anyone wants some, you know where to go... I have extra.
But really, people. I'm feeling like the drama really can cool down anytime now.
I know it's been a while since my last post. I've had a lot of drama. Let me update myself, in abridged format:
1. broke up with boyfriend, had psychological issues.
2. lied to family at Christmas about boyfriend to bypass questioning.
3. made new year's resolution to take care of *myself*, not necessarily everyone else around me (see #1.)
4. went back to gym (see #3.)
5. started taking voice lessons again (see #3.)
6. bought pretty, sparkly ring for myself (see #3.)
7. scored free tickets to the House of Blues on new year's eve (turns out I know people that run into band members at the airport.)
8. tried to soothe ego and psyche of the ex (wow... "ex" is hard to write.)
9. went to hospital and stood in 2 hour long pharmacy line that I didn't actually need to stand in (don't worry, I'm fine)
10. walked around a few miles trying to figure out where to actually get seen and how to get back home (see #9.)
11. plan on being in a play... somewhere... anywhere...
So there we are. My drama. Anyone wants some, you know where to go... I have extra.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Cookies, Asthma, and Turkey Soup
Really, that's what's going on in my life right now. Those three things. There's more than that, don't get me wrong -- like my job (going well), dating (occasionally), and getting birthday flowers from the people from the office (well, my boss, anyway -- she's the one who has it all together). All in all, things are going rather well.
I have six large bags of Holiday Cookies in my freezer. Yes, I did listen to Perry Como -- the second, inferior tape, anyway -- while baking them. But really, I still have more cookies yet to bake. I hope everyone I know wants some cookies, otherwise I'll have them until we see 70 degree weather again.
--As a side note, my mother got me a lot of baking supplies for my birthday... how 1950's repressed housewife is that? But I don't care. I like baking. I embrace my domesticity. And I got some cool silicon baking mats that they didn't have in the 1950's, so it's okay.
I have Asthma. Yes, me, Miss Healthy. I have asthma. Now, it's not the wheeze-until-you-can't-breathe asthma, it's the have-a-twitchy-trachea-and-have-coughing-fits asthma. Why do I all of a sudden now have asthma, you may ask? I don't know. I blame Global Warming.
--Which, if you're wondering, global warming is actually a pretty good reason. It turns out that ragweed pollen levels have been through the roof the past few years because they thrive with higher levels of CO2. So, yes, global warming is a pretty good reason. Not that it does me any good to know. I still have asthma.
I have Turkey Soup. A lot of it. You know, there's only one of me (and frankly, that's a good thing for many reasons), but I always seem to cook enough soup for 10 of me. Not that I won't eat it. It's good. It's my mom's recipe, made from the turkey carcass (a happy, organic turkey I bought for Thanksgiving). Turkey Carcass Soup is always good. But I do get weary of the Turkey Carcass Soup after, oh, say, the 15th lunch I've made of it. But I still eat it. It takes a little longer to shove it down on that 15th day, but I do it.
--And in my defense (I had to make some side note, or my old high school English teachers would come back to haunt me), it's hard to make anything for just one person. What, shall I cut a quarter of each vegetable I want to put in? That's just annoying. And I do like leftovers. It's just that I always want this and this and this in the soup. Oh, and then, I should put this in. Oh, and I forgot about this. And then I have to put that in. ...And this is how I wind up with a vat of soup.
Looks like I should have formed a better bond with those high school math teachers during the lessons on fractions. Or taken another cooking course.
Or just learn to eat more soup.
I have six large bags of Holiday Cookies in my freezer. Yes, I did listen to Perry Como -- the second, inferior tape, anyway -- while baking them. But really, I still have more cookies yet to bake. I hope everyone I know wants some cookies, otherwise I'll have them until we see 70 degree weather again.
--As a side note, my mother got me a lot of baking supplies for my birthday... how 1950's repressed housewife is that? But I don't care. I like baking. I embrace my domesticity. And I got some cool silicon baking mats that they didn't have in the 1950's, so it's okay.
I have Asthma. Yes, me, Miss Healthy. I have asthma. Now, it's not the wheeze-until-you-can't-breathe asthma, it's the have-a-twitchy-trachea-and-have-coughing-fits asthma. Why do I all of a sudden now have asthma, you may ask? I don't know. I blame Global Warming.
--Which, if you're wondering, global warming is actually a pretty good reason. It turns out that ragweed pollen levels have been through the roof the past few years because they thrive with higher levels of CO2. So, yes, global warming is a pretty good reason. Not that it does me any good to know. I still have asthma.
I have Turkey Soup. A lot of it. You know, there's only one of me (and frankly, that's a good thing for many reasons), but I always seem to cook enough soup for 10 of me. Not that I won't eat it. It's good. It's my mom's recipe, made from the turkey carcass (a happy, organic turkey I bought for Thanksgiving). Turkey Carcass Soup is always good. But I do get weary of the Turkey Carcass Soup after, oh, say, the 15th lunch I've made of it. But I still eat it. It takes a little longer to shove it down on that 15th day, but I do it.
--And in my defense (I had to make some side note, or my old high school English teachers would come back to haunt me), it's hard to make anything for just one person. What, shall I cut a quarter of each vegetable I want to put in? That's just annoying. And I do like leftovers. It's just that I always want this and this and this in the soup. Oh, and then, I should put this in. Oh, and I forgot about this. And then I have to put that in. ...And this is how I wind up with a vat of soup.
Looks like I should have formed a better bond with those high school math teachers during the lessons on fractions. Or taken another cooking course.
Or just learn to eat more soup.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Holiday Music = Perry Como
So it snowed yesterday... HOORAY!!! I like snow, especially this time of year. I'm a big fan of the holiday season. So yesterday in Chicago, when it was cold and snowy, I was happy. And I had to go home, bake cookies, and break out the Holiday music. And not some new CD of something. Oh, no... I'm talking the old RCA tape I stole from my parents that was probably made when they still had 8-tracks. Perry Como is doing his thing, and it's wonderful. However... I CAN'T FIND THE TAPE!!! I was very sad last night. I found the other tape that went along with the first, but it's not nearly as good. I'm afraid that this tape was never even recorded on CD, and I'm afraid I will never find another copy. Oh Perry Como, where are you...
Which, if you'd like to know... he lived in a small town in Pennsylvania, and in that small town (in front of the City Hall/Library/Police Station Building...yes, all in one) they have a bronze statue of him. It plays music. It's like Perry Como is still there, singing all year long (and 24 hours on Christmas). ...Ah, Meredith, the things I learned from you. And speaking of music, I'd like a copy of the "Save the People, Kill the Animals" song. But I digress.
I wish I had a statue of Perry Como in my house so I could listen to him when I bake my holiday cookies.
Well, maybe not the statue. That might just get creepy. I'm not sure how the City Hall Workers/Librarians/Police handle it.
Which, if you'd like to know... he lived in a small town in Pennsylvania, and in that small town (in front of the City Hall/Library/Police Station Building...yes, all in one) they have a bronze statue of him. It plays music. It's like Perry Como is still there, singing all year long (and 24 hours on Christmas). ...Ah, Meredith, the things I learned from you. And speaking of music, I'd like a copy of the "Save the People, Kill the Animals" song. But I digress.
I wish I had a statue of Perry Como in my house so I could listen to him when I bake my holiday cookies.
Well, maybe not the statue. That might just get creepy. I'm not sure how the City Hall Workers/Librarians/Police handle it.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
I need you to...
So apparently there is a game you can play with Google. If you type in “[your name here] need”, and search, you will come up with all kinds of things! Make sure you put quotes around it.
Well, here’s what I need, in Google’s opinion. Note: some sites gave me more than one suggestion. How nice of them.
I need a shave.
Well, this is partially true. I’m letting the hair on my legs grow so I can get them waxed. So they’re close on this one.
(This website was actually rather interesting... someone named "Bubbles the Artist" is selling drawings for a couple hundred dollars each. This one was of an obese woman who was sad about how her dress fit, but no one cared because her legs were hairy. I'm not sure what to think of Bubbles. However, I have a feeling I'm going to find out she's some famous artist I haven't heard of, because she has many pictures of famous people holding her art. This is also the one site I came up with when I clicked on the "I'm feeling lucky" button.)
I to be exposed for everything evil I have done, and I need to be brought to my knees.
I’m sure everything I have done in this lifetime has not been all peaches and cream, but is this really necessary?
I need to trust Angel.
Apparently, I am on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I need a priest; I need to be hooked up; I need to leave everyone alone; I need to grow up; I need to know why demons are taking over.
Wow. That’s a lot. I say it depends on the priest. I have a “hook-up”, thank you. I’m sure I can be meddling at times, and could stand to leave others alone sometimes. I am trying to grow up… I have a job, at least! I don’t know about the demons, though… unless we’re talking about the demons of global warming or evil politicians, then we can talk…
I need to talk about the colour of the paint. I need one more victory. I need to meet the mayor of Israeli Arab town Umm al-Fahm.
Let me tell you, the wall color at work is seriously complicating our plans of getting our logo put on the same wall. I could use some life-victories, but I’m hoping I have more than one left. And although I am pretty good with my geography, I have no idea where Umm al-Fahm is. And I use British English.
I Need A Hand... more correctly, I need a tooth... a few teeth.
I’m not sure what happened to me. I should stop getting into fist fights.
I need to know where I am in my struggle and in my relationship with God. ... I need to hear about my victories over temptation and about my sexual ...
Hmmm…and about my sexual … what? And who said temptation is to be fought over?
I Need to be added to default find-in-files list.
I suppose I am a computer file. No worries, the company I work for deals with IT security.
Hans has disappeared, and I need to find him in order to do the deal.
Are we talking poker or drugs? I’m not sure I want Hans to reappear.
I need to get outta here. Diehard zealots abound.
This is true. They do abound. Watch out for those zealots, no matter what they’re zealotting.
All in all, a good exercise in curing boredom. I highly recommend it.
Well, here’s what I need, in Google’s opinion. Note: some sites gave me more than one suggestion. How nice of them.
I need a shave.
Well, this is partially true. I’m letting the hair on my legs grow so I can get them waxed. So they’re close on this one.
(This website was actually rather interesting... someone named "Bubbles the Artist" is selling drawings for a couple hundred dollars each. This one was of an obese woman who was sad about how her dress fit, but no one cared because her legs were hairy. I'm not sure what to think of Bubbles. However, I have a feeling I'm going to find out she's some famous artist I haven't heard of, because she has many pictures of famous people holding her art. This is also the one site I came up with when I clicked on the "I'm feeling lucky" button.)
I to be exposed for everything evil I have done, and I need to be brought to my knees.
I’m sure everything I have done in this lifetime has not been all peaches and cream, but is this really necessary?
I need to trust Angel.
Apparently, I am on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I need a priest; I need to be hooked up; I need to leave everyone alone; I need to grow up; I need to know why demons are taking over.
Wow. That’s a lot. I say it depends on the priest. I have a “hook-up”, thank you. I’m sure I can be meddling at times, and could stand to leave others alone sometimes. I am trying to grow up… I have a job, at least! I don’t know about the demons, though… unless we’re talking about the demons of global warming or evil politicians, then we can talk…
I need to talk about the colour of the paint. I need one more victory. I need to meet the mayor of Israeli Arab town Umm al-Fahm.
Let me tell you, the wall color at work is seriously complicating our plans of getting our logo put on the same wall. I could use some life-victories, but I’m hoping I have more than one left. And although I am pretty good with my geography, I have no idea where Umm al-Fahm is. And I use British English.
I Need A Hand... more correctly, I need a tooth... a few teeth.
I’m not sure what happened to me. I should stop getting into fist fights.
I need to know where I am in my struggle and in my relationship with God. ... I need to hear about my victories over temptation and about my sexual ...
Hmmm…and about my sexual … what? And who said temptation is to be fought over?
I Need to be added to default find-in-files list.
I suppose I am a computer file. No worries, the company I work for deals with IT security.
Hans has disappeared, and I need to find him in order to do the deal.
Are we talking poker or drugs? I’m not sure I want Hans to reappear.
I need to get outta here. Diehard zealots abound.
This is true. They do abound. Watch out for those zealots, no matter what they’re zealotting.
All in all, a good exercise in curing boredom. I highly recommend it.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Halloween should be a National Holiday.
...because, let me tell you... I think it deserves to be a national holiday. And I could really use a vacation right now.
I work at a costume shop. It's a good one, and I enjoy it there. However, the Saturday of the Big Halloween Weekend always blows if you work at a costume shop. I enjoy sewing, and costumes and all... but really. If I can give one piece of advice to anyone, it would be to
NEVER GO TO A COSTUME/HALLOWEEN STORE THE SATURDAY OF HALLOWEEN.
Really. Never. It is not worth your time. It's like trying to rent a Santa suit at 10 am Christmas Eve day. ...Okay, so maybe that's a bad comparison. Let's try this one: as bad as trying to get a rush order of Oil-Rubbed Bronze Schlage doorknobs during Parade of Homes season. ...No? Well... it's just really bad. Don't do it.
So yes, I worked. And I was sewing late at night. I was making my halloween costume -- 19th century undergarments. That includes a corset. Ever know anyone (besides me) who has made a corset -- the real kind with metal stays and everything? No? There's a reason. They suck to make.
NEVER TRY TO MAKE A CORSET.
That's also some good advice. At least I only broke two of my sewing machine needles.
So I was lacking my sleep already. I'm an eight-hours-a-night kinda girl, so this lack of sleep was detrimental to my brain power. Then I had to go to some parties. Yes -- had to, thank you very much. One was a costume party -- and if you think I'm not going to a costume party on Halloween, you don't know me very well. The other party was my own... but not a costume party. My roommate hates costumes. I'm not sure how long our roommate situation will work out under these circumstances, but I think we'll be able to work through our differences over time.
NEVER HAVE A HALLOWEEN PARTY THAT DOESN"T INVOLVE COSTUMES.
Okay... so that's not really advice. It's just my crazed, highly biased opinion. But costumes *are* fun. And that's a fact.
I work at a costume shop. It's a good one, and I enjoy it there. However, the Saturday of the Big Halloween Weekend always blows if you work at a costume shop. I enjoy sewing, and costumes and all... but really. If I can give one piece of advice to anyone, it would be to
NEVER GO TO A COSTUME/HALLOWEEN STORE THE SATURDAY OF HALLOWEEN.
Really. Never. It is not worth your time. It's like trying to rent a Santa suit at 10 am Christmas Eve day. ...Okay, so maybe that's a bad comparison. Let's try this one: as bad as trying to get a rush order of Oil-Rubbed Bronze Schlage doorknobs during Parade of Homes season. ...No? Well... it's just really bad. Don't do it.
So yes, I worked. And I was sewing late at night. I was making my halloween costume -- 19th century undergarments. That includes a corset. Ever know anyone (besides me) who has made a corset -- the real kind with metal stays and everything? No? There's a reason. They suck to make.
NEVER TRY TO MAKE A CORSET.
That's also some good advice. At least I only broke two of my sewing machine needles.
So I was lacking my sleep already. I'm an eight-hours-a-night kinda girl, so this lack of sleep was detrimental to my brain power. Then I had to go to some parties. Yes -- had to, thank you very much. One was a costume party -- and if you think I'm not going to a costume party on Halloween, you don't know me very well. The other party was my own... but not a costume party. My roommate hates costumes. I'm not sure how long our roommate situation will work out under these circumstances, but I think we'll be able to work through our differences over time.
NEVER HAVE A HALLOWEEN PARTY THAT DOESN"T INVOLVE COSTUMES.
Okay... so that's not really advice. It's just my crazed, highly biased opinion. But costumes *are* fun. And that's a fact.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Fooled you!
Okay. So, I could say something like, "Of course I knew that site was a joke, I just wanted to see what you all thought of it."
But I'd be lying. I had no idea until Mary told me that the site she sent me was a joke. I should have known. But I didn't.
My dignity has been lowered signifigantly. I suppose, with time, I will bounce back.
But I still think the FDA and the USDA are run by big business.
And the beef and dairy boards give a lot of money to them so we won't say anything bad.
So there.
But just think... the government could be worse than it already is...
But I'd be lying. I had no idea until Mary told me that the site she sent me was a joke. I should have known. But I didn't.
My dignity has been lowered signifigantly. I suppose, with time, I will bounce back.
But I still think the FDA and the USDA are run by big business.
And the beef and dairy boards give a lot of money to them so we won't say anything bad.
So there.
But just think... the government could be worse than it already is...
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Eat Well!
Okay, so I'm NOT a fan of the web site that I've just been to. And yes, I can be crazy with my healthy habits, and I have my conspiracy theories that the FDA and USDA are funded by big business, but really ... there is no reason anyone should be allowed to read and believe some of this information.
Here is some the great wisdom found on My Pyramid (when you go there, submit your stats for your plan on the right side of the page):
"Make half your grains highly refined (or "processed"). Highly refined grains ease the digestion process by bypassing the pesky nutrient and fiber absorption step."
What? Don't eat fiber? Oh, that's a good idea. Not to mention that refined food is SO nutritious.
"Individually packaged vegetable items from exotic places around the globe are cleaner, more convenient, and keep our friends in the petroleum and petrochemical industries chugging along."
Individually packaged -- good for creating more trash. And let's all use more petroleum, shall we?
"While fruits may be eaten whole, buying canned, frozen or otherwise packaged fruit helps ensure the sterility of the fruit. Some fruits can be rather tart or tangy, so a smart way to make these more appealing to children is to select products with added sweetners."
Yeah, I can't tell you how many times I've had problems with my whole, raw apples not being sterile. And we all know children should have more sugar in their diets.
"Drink milk for healthy bones and teeth! Some "scientific studies" have claimed milk has no connection to healthy bone development. These studies, however, ignore the most obvious correlation - bones, teeth and milk are all white."
Anyone who knows me understands that I don't like pushing my semi-vegan and anti-dairy ideals on others. But *this* is good reasoning: because milk is a certain color, it's good for other parts of the body that are the same color. Is poo good for your hair if you're a brunette?
"Liver and other organ meats are high in cholesterol. Just so you know. But who eats those creepy parts anyways, right?"
Okay, I'm not a huge fan of those particular cuts of meat, either. But as far as I know, they are fairly healthy. And what about the people who eat them all the time? Let's call them creepy, too, while we're at it.
Okay. Am I really out-of-bounds here? I mean, really. I just don't get it. I'm speechless. (Well, almost.)
Here is some the great wisdom found on My Pyramid (when you go there, submit your stats for your plan on the right side of the page):
"Make half your grains highly refined (or "processed"). Highly refined grains ease the digestion process by bypassing the pesky nutrient and fiber absorption step."
What? Don't eat fiber? Oh, that's a good idea. Not to mention that refined food is SO nutritious.
"Individually packaged vegetable items from exotic places around the globe are cleaner, more convenient, and keep our friends in the petroleum and petrochemical industries chugging along."
Individually packaged -- good for creating more trash. And let's all use more petroleum, shall we?
"While fruits may be eaten whole, buying canned, frozen or otherwise packaged fruit helps ensure the sterility of the fruit. Some fruits can be rather tart or tangy, so a smart way to make these more appealing to children is to select products with added sweetners."
Yeah, I can't tell you how many times I've had problems with my whole, raw apples not being sterile. And we all know children should have more sugar in their diets.
"Drink milk for healthy bones and teeth! Some "scientific studies" have claimed milk has no connection to healthy bone development. These studies, however, ignore the most obvious correlation - bones, teeth and milk are all white."
Anyone who knows me understands that I don't like pushing my semi-vegan and anti-dairy ideals on others. But *this* is good reasoning: because milk is a certain color, it's good for other parts of the body that are the same color. Is poo good for your hair if you're a brunette?
"Liver and other organ meats are high in cholesterol. Just so you know. But who eats those creepy parts anyways, right?"
Okay, I'm not a huge fan of those particular cuts of meat, either. But as far as I know, they are fairly healthy. And what about the people who eat them all the time? Let's call them creepy, too, while we're at it.
Okay. Am I really out-of-bounds here? I mean, really. I just don't get it. I'm speechless. (Well, almost.)
Monday, October 10, 2005
They like me... they really like me... [sigh, tear]
So guess who has a job!
Um, that would be me. I have a job. *And* they even wanted me back this week. I think I found a winner.
And so have they. tee-hee. [she smiles a smile, the kind that twinkles on the second tooth]
So I'm working for an IT security consulting company. Yeah, I know... not exactly the field I planned on joining. But the people are great. I'm making money. I can wear jeans or a fancy-scmancy skirt to the office. Really, life is pretty good.
Oh, and the CEO said he liked me so much, he didn't even care to see my resume or find out if I had ever been to college.
I wonder if I can call my school and get my money back?
Um, that would be me. I have a job. *And* they even wanted me back this week. I think I found a winner.
And so have they. tee-hee. [she smiles a smile, the kind that twinkles on the second tooth]
So I'm working for an IT security consulting company. Yeah, I know... not exactly the field I planned on joining. But the people are great. I'm making money. I can wear jeans or a fancy-scmancy skirt to the office. Really, life is pretty good.
Oh, and the CEO said he liked me so much, he didn't even care to see my resume or find out if I had ever been to college.
I wonder if I can call my school and get my money back?
Thursday, September 22, 2005
four years of college and plenty of knowledge have earned me this useless degree...
So let me tell you about the job assignment I just finished...
I'm reminded of Meredith's comments about "staffing out" a job that no one else in the company wants to do. Remember, when the city of Bemidji didn't want to teach their second graders about good-touch-bad-touch themselves, so they had us silly Climb actors come in to do it for them?
Well, my job was like that. Except it was no where *near* as exciting as helping children figure out what do to if some stranger knocked on the door when their parents were having sex upstairs.
My job, ladies and gentlemen:
1. Look at the image of a scanned-in piece of paper on the computer screen.
2. If the image has the words going the wrong way, rotate it.
3. Move on to the next image.
4. Do this 60,000 times.
Yes, my friends, that's exactly what I did for the past two days... while standing at a tall counter... in a very cold room. I felt like I was in a sweat shop. Except for that cold part -- I didn't really sweat much. Really, trained monkeys could do this job. Of course, as my mother said, trained monkeys wouldn't *want* the job.
Anyway, I was too efficent, and got the job done in a day and a half instead of three. So they told me I was done, told me I could go, and stopped paying me. (I know -- what a deal for being amazing!)
But I have a job tomorrow checking the grammar in a stack of surveys, and if I'm lucky I'll get to transcribe some WindowsMedia sound files of... well, something. But it's a job. I also have some interviews next week with two companies who really like me, but I'm not getting excited yet.
Maybe I should just be a stripper. Who needs a college degree?
I'm reminded of Meredith's comments about "staffing out" a job that no one else in the company wants to do. Remember, when the city of Bemidji didn't want to teach their second graders about good-touch-bad-touch themselves, so they had us silly Climb actors come in to do it for them?
Well, my job was like that. Except it was no where *near* as exciting as helping children figure out what do to if some stranger knocked on the door when their parents were having sex upstairs.
My job, ladies and gentlemen:
1. Look at the image of a scanned-in piece of paper on the computer screen.
2. If the image has the words going the wrong way, rotate it.
3. Move on to the next image.
4. Do this 60,000 times.
Yes, my friends, that's exactly what I did for the past two days... while standing at a tall counter... in a very cold room. I felt like I was in a sweat shop. Except for that cold part -- I didn't really sweat much. Really, trained monkeys could do this job. Of course, as my mother said, trained monkeys wouldn't *want* the job.
Anyway, I was too efficent, and got the job done in a day and a half instead of three. So they told me I was done, told me I could go, and stopped paying me. (I know -- what a deal for being amazing!)
But I have a job tomorrow checking the grammar in a stack of surveys, and if I'm lucky I'll get to transcribe some WindowsMedia sound files of... well, something. But it's a job. I also have some interviews next week with two companies who really like me, but I'm not getting excited yet.
Maybe I should just be a stripper. Who needs a college degree?
Thursday, September 15, 2005
ooh, ooh, me! ME!!! pick me!! ooh, me, pick me, pick me!
That's what I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs (yes, much like a kindergartener, thank you) every time I get on the internet to find a job. Really, people should want me more than they have been lately.
And today it's cloudy. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the 70-some degree weather. But really. At least give me some sun, here.
But on a happy note, one of the two squirrels in our wall was trapped in a humane (kind of) cage and taken to the nearby park. Hopefully it was indeed one of the two residing in the wall, otherwise it does us no good. Squirrel babies are cute, but not when they're in my wall.
That's really all. I await the sun so I can go to the beach and draw the funny people I see there.
And today it's cloudy. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the 70-some degree weather. But really. At least give me some sun, here.
But on a happy note, one of the two squirrels in our wall was trapped in a humane (kind of) cage and taken to the nearby park. Hopefully it was indeed one of the two residing in the wall, otherwise it does us no good. Squirrel babies are cute, but not when they're in my wall.
That's really all. I await the sun so I can go to the beach and draw the funny people I see there.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
prisoner
And when I say "prisoner", I don't mean as in the-black-and-white-stipes-with-the-bag-of-belongings-kept-for-you-until-you-leave (much like my dear roommate,sivilicious) type of prisoner. I mean by a desk.
So, as I have no permanent job right now, I take whatever the temp agency can find for me. Being a receptionist isn't too bad -- unless you're NEVER ALLOWED TO LEAVE. Okay, so that's a bit extreme. I am allowed to leave my desk from 10-10:15, from 12-1:00, and from 3-3:15. If I smoked, I would. Instead, I go outside (like the smokers do anyway) and sit outside, enjoying my freedom -- knowing full well that I have to go back inside all too soon. I'm like a 6 year old child with ADHD. And since it's a holiday weekend, hardly anyone called, so I had very little to do. I read two plays and two books in two days. Sometimes I just stand up at the desk. Sometimes I tuck one leg under. Sometimes I sit criss-cross-applesauce (thank you, elementary schoolteachers of Minnesota).
Anyway, although I am bored out of my mind, I *am* getting paid. I suppose it could be worse. I could be passing out reduced-fare bus cards to the college students of Chicago.
Oh, wait -- I'm doing that tomorrow.
At least I'll get to commune with life forms and maybe have (somewhat) meaningful conversations.
I wish I had gotten reduced-fare bus passes when I was in college. Lucky kids.
Oh, and an update on the apartment... yes, the shower is fixed. But we do have a squirrel. Think of it -- we got a free pet with the deal!
So, as I have no permanent job right now, I take whatever the temp agency can find for me. Being a receptionist isn't too bad -- unless you're NEVER ALLOWED TO LEAVE. Okay, so that's a bit extreme. I am allowed to leave my desk from 10-10:15, from 12-1:00, and from 3-3:15. If I smoked, I would. Instead, I go outside (like the smokers do anyway) and sit outside, enjoying my freedom -- knowing full well that I have to go back inside all too soon. I'm like a 6 year old child with ADHD. And since it's a holiday weekend, hardly anyone called, so I had very little to do. I read two plays and two books in two days. Sometimes I just stand up at the desk. Sometimes I tuck one leg under. Sometimes I sit criss-cross-applesauce (thank you, elementary schoolteachers of Minnesota).
Anyway, although I am bored out of my mind, I *am* getting paid. I suppose it could be worse. I could be passing out reduced-fare bus cards to the college students of Chicago.
Oh, wait -- I'm doing that tomorrow.
At least I'll get to commune with life forms and maybe have (somewhat) meaningful conversations.
I wish I had gotten reduced-fare bus passes when I was in college. Lucky kids.
Oh, and an update on the apartment... yes, the shower is fixed. But we do have a squirrel. Think of it -- we got a free pet with the deal!
Friday, September 02, 2005
everything must go!
First, an update:
Okay, so there's not much. I'm still in Chicago. I'm still in the same apartment (the one that can't seem to get a plumber to come), and I'm still trying to find a permanent job. Everyone else since the swanky receptionist job loves me, so my ego is back in place. The two women I worked with the other day said the swanky place didn't hire me because the girl who trained me was intimidated -- I knew more about the copier than she did. We chuckled over that. Anyway, it doesn't so much matter. The job is not mine. (Not that I'm bitter. I'm not. ...stop giving me that look!)
Well, folks, it's time for me to pull out my soapbox. [sound of old, wooden box being dragged against concrete]
So, we're killing the world because we aren't living within the rules of earth's society.
Yeah, you heard me. (Oh, no... she's talking about saving the earth...)
Okay, but this'll be different.
So I read this book called Ishmael by Daniel Quinn for the second time the other day. I recommend it, and his other books are probably just as thought-provoking. There is a website: Ishmael I'm not sure I love the website, but there's at least some info there for you. And now that it has soaked in a little more, I can finally talk (or type) about it and know what I'm saying.
Imagine yourself back in the early 1900's and you are getting ready to try out your new flying machine (I know you didn't realize this, but you've been working on it a long time). Although others say you're crazy, you go to the top of a high cliff and shove off. You're flying! Wow, it's beautiful. You're flying with the birds, high above the trees. Now *this* is the life. You look down and see all the remains of older flying machines and chuckle to yourself. They just weren't as successful as you. This flying thing is amazing! Then you look down again and see the ground getting closer. No big deal -- just pedal faster (you've got one of those cool helicopter-like machines that's powered by bike pedals). And then you realize that no matter how hard you pedal, the ground is still getting closer.
You were never *really* flying. You coundn't have been, because your machine didn't follow the laws of aerodynamics. You only thought you were because you were far enough away from the ground.
And our society doesn't follow those laws, either. Well, not those flying ones. The aerodynamics part we have pretty much down pat. It's the laws of how to live that we haven't got figured out yet. We think we have our society, and yeah, things aren't quite right, but if we pedal faster we'll get past the hunger and disease and everything and it'll be smooth sailing. But I don't think our way of life will ever be smooth sailing. We just think we're flying because we're still far enough above ground and we haven't hit bottom yet.
Our species (most native tribes and indigineous people excluded) is the only one on this planet that eliminates its competitors so it can get ahead. The gazelles don't kill the zebras so they can have more grass and expand their territory. And yes, we are homo sapiens, and we have great brain power, and we have opposable thumbs, but that doesn't mean that we're so great we have to kill everything that doesn't feed us or feed our food sources. Even the gazelle isn't afaid of grazing near the lion if it knows the lion just ate. Why would the lion need to kill again?
We seem to have decided that living amongst others and keeping the natural way of life isn't good enough for us. That's for savages. And why leave our lives in the hands of the gods if we can decide for ourselves if we live or die? Just because we think of ourselves as the end-all-be-all doesn't mean we actually are.
Not that I'm saying we have to go back to living in caves or trees or whatever you're thinking. I'm pretty sure there's a way to enjoy our technology and a respectful way of living (to a point, anyway).
Diversity is good. That allows our earth to keep on going in case of a large catastophe. Some creatures would survive. But we like to kill all things that are in our way (coyotes around herds, bugs around farms, tribes near settlements, etc).
Not that I know how to change things.
That's all. Just ruminate on that for awhile, will ya? Make of it what you can, and tell others what you're thinking. That's the only way to fix things.
Thanks for dealing with the rambling, the sound of the soapbox being dragged, and the run-on sentences.
Okay, so there's not much. I'm still in Chicago. I'm still in the same apartment (the one that can't seem to get a plumber to come), and I'm still trying to find a permanent job. Everyone else since the swanky receptionist job loves me, so my ego is back in place. The two women I worked with the other day said the swanky place didn't hire me because the girl who trained me was intimidated -- I knew more about the copier than she did. We chuckled over that. Anyway, it doesn't so much matter. The job is not mine. (Not that I'm bitter. I'm not. ...stop giving me that look!)
Well, folks, it's time for me to pull out my soapbox. [sound of old, wooden box being dragged against concrete]
So, we're killing the world because we aren't living within the rules of earth's society.
Yeah, you heard me. (Oh, no... she's talking about saving the earth...)
Okay, but this'll be different.
So I read this book called Ishmael by Daniel Quinn for the second time the other day. I recommend it, and his other books are probably just as thought-provoking. There is a website: Ishmael I'm not sure I love the website, but there's at least some info there for you. And now that it has soaked in a little more, I can finally talk (or type) about it and know what I'm saying.
Imagine yourself back in the early 1900's and you are getting ready to try out your new flying machine (I know you didn't realize this, but you've been working on it a long time). Although others say you're crazy, you go to the top of a high cliff and shove off. You're flying! Wow, it's beautiful. You're flying with the birds, high above the trees. Now *this* is the life. You look down and see all the remains of older flying machines and chuckle to yourself. They just weren't as successful as you. This flying thing is amazing! Then you look down again and see the ground getting closer. No big deal -- just pedal faster (you've got one of those cool helicopter-like machines that's powered by bike pedals). And then you realize that no matter how hard you pedal, the ground is still getting closer.
You were never *really* flying. You coundn't have been, because your machine didn't follow the laws of aerodynamics. You only thought you were because you were far enough away from the ground.
And our society doesn't follow those laws, either. Well, not those flying ones. The aerodynamics part we have pretty much down pat. It's the laws of how to live that we haven't got figured out yet. We think we have our society, and yeah, things aren't quite right, but if we pedal faster we'll get past the hunger and disease and everything and it'll be smooth sailing. But I don't think our way of life will ever be smooth sailing. We just think we're flying because we're still far enough above ground and we haven't hit bottom yet.
Our species (most native tribes and indigineous people excluded) is the only one on this planet that eliminates its competitors so it can get ahead. The gazelles don't kill the zebras so they can have more grass and expand their territory. And yes, we are homo sapiens, and we have great brain power, and we have opposable thumbs, but that doesn't mean that we're so great we have to kill everything that doesn't feed us or feed our food sources. Even the gazelle isn't afaid of grazing near the lion if it knows the lion just ate. Why would the lion need to kill again?
We seem to have decided that living amongst others and keeping the natural way of life isn't good enough for us. That's for savages. And why leave our lives in the hands of the gods if we can decide for ourselves if we live or die? Just because we think of ourselves as the end-all-be-all doesn't mean we actually are.
Not that I'm saying we have to go back to living in caves or trees or whatever you're thinking. I'm pretty sure there's a way to enjoy our technology and a respectful way of living (to a point, anyway).
Diversity is good. That allows our earth to keep on going in case of a large catastophe. Some creatures would survive. But we like to kill all things that are in our way (coyotes around herds, bugs around farms, tribes near settlements, etc).
Not that I know how to change things.
That's all. Just ruminate on that for awhile, will ya? Make of it what you can, and tell others what you're thinking. That's the only way to fix things.
Thanks for dealing with the rambling, the sound of the soapbox being dragged, and the run-on sentences.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
the pool is closed
Well... so much for the "going swimmingly" part of moving to Chicago. Well, not all of it. I think the kiddie wading pool is still open, so that's at least something.
The swanky receptionist job is no more. Well, correction: the swanky receptionist job is still there, just that I am no more in it. I have NO CLUE why. Neither does my temp recruiter. I mean, really... who can't find me loveable and wonderful?!? And they missed out -- I was going to bring them cookies. Really, it's their loss.
Yesterday, I helped out at the temp agency, proving to them that I am wonderful. Tomorrow I'll be doing the same thing. Today I'm at a swanky financial and investment company downtown... manning the desk ("don't worry about the phones, they're really confusing," she said) and shredding paper.
I've hit the high life at last.
The swanky receptionist job is no more. Well, correction: the swanky receptionist job is still there, just that I am no more in it. I have NO CLUE why. Neither does my temp recruiter. I mean, really... who can't find me loveable and wonderful?!? And they missed out -- I was going to bring them cookies. Really, it's their loss.
Yesterday, I helped out at the temp agency, proving to them that I am wonderful. Tomorrow I'll be doing the same thing. Today I'm at a swanky financial and investment company downtown... manning the desk ("don't worry about the phones, they're really confusing," she said) and shredding paper.
I've hit the high life at last.
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