I just submitted my last paper of the semester to my professor and I’m VERY happy and tired.  M gave me a good reward, she said that if I was done by tomorrow we could go out drinking.  Well, that worked!  I flounced my butt into the office upstairs and worked on this damn thing and now it’s done.  Apparently all I  need is to hear that a mango margarita is in my future and I can accomplish anything.

Now I have no excuses left for not cleaning the kitchen.  Damn.  That’s a shame because it’s pretty gross.  Between C leaving her cereal to clump into gross bits and the left side of the sink still being filled with water from the last time SHE did dishes (I do not leave water to stagnate and turn unholy) . . . well, I don’t wanna mess with that kitchen.  Oh well.  C’s birthday is on Tuesday and even though I’m already getting her a present (Sirius radio for her car) I guess it can’t hurt to clean the kitchen along with it.

It’s your call . . . my father has started a new blog (yay!) which means you might get even better recipes than I’m currently providing.  I’m telling you, he has a tortilla soup that will make you believe in Heaven.  If Heaven is covered in cream and spices with peppers and stuff.  I’m inclined to believe that parts of it may be.  The other bits are made of chocolate and hot buttered popcorn, a fact I convinced C of way back when during the land of “Hey, maybe we should date or something.”  And that is why, to this day, she thinks I’m brilliant.

I’m getting off topic.  I’ve inspired my father to start a new blog.  Or maybe he inspired me to start my blog (weird childhood and cooking, yall–it’ll get you every time) and that in turn inspired him . . . Oh I don’t know.  Or maybe it’s a genetic condition to spout off about your own life and stuff, and rant about the weird stuff in your own head.  In which case I got that from BOTH parents, most definitely.  Regardless!  Check out my dad.

A manager from another one of C’s stores had the weirdest incident the other day.  Three times in six hours, he had to clean human feces from in front of the toilet.  Off the floor.  And then it happened again the next morning.  Now, I have trouble believing that there are that many crazy customers in a store on any given day or that just one crazy customer hung around for six hours and then came back the next morning.  This is an inside job, and it’s organized.  Because I also find it hard to believe that one person could pull it off without some kind of medical condition.  There’s a revolution afoot and, unfortunately, this is just the beginning battle cry.   My question is, how disgruntled do you have to be to plan this kind of thing?  I mean really . . . it’s got to be pretty bad if you’re willing to stoop (or crouch) that low.  I wish I could have made this one up, I honestly do.

One of my grades has been posted and I’m so upset about it I might throw up. Yes, it really is that bad. And I can talk all I want about how horrible the class was (really, it was) and blah blah blah but the point is that I dropped the ball and now I’m really pissed off at myself. Really.

Other than THAT, I wrote what I consider to be a fairly decent sociolinguistics paper in 14 hours on Sunday and drove to campus yesterday to drop it off. Now I only have one paper left, due Monday. But that one is already written and just needs some revision (new constraints, new rankings, stuff like that). Oddly enough, I’m enjoying writing THIS paper. Because I’m a dork and it turns out I like Optimality Theory. Granted, it doesn’t have the most practical application in the world, but it’s fun to mess around with, kind of like a puzzle.

If I had a food processor (hint hint to people, my birthday is soon) then I would be making this nonstop. In fact, I used to make it nonstop and many people were grateful and they loved me immensely. I bring to you . . .

The Best Hummus

I had an idea while commenting on Pajiba . . . I need suggestions for post-final/decompression movies.  These are the rules thus far:

1) They have to be kind of easy, because our little brains are taxed and oozing from our ears.

2) BUT they have to have some element of cleverness and wit. Otherwise, how can we feel superior about being in school? This goes double for grad students–we like feeling superior but projecting that much douche-baggery on a daily basis is exhausting.

3) Funny is good, funny is great.  Laughing can clear up all kinds of post-final ailments.

4) Any movie which can be adapted to a drinking game gets bonus points.

Suggestions?

Are there not enough graphs in your life?  Do you feel the need to graph everything, ever?  Do you look at popular culture or song lyrics and think, “This could be graphier”?  Yes?  Then go check out GraphJam.com

You know you want to.

So I’m sitting here, studying. My cell phone rings. The number says Texas but it doesn’t look familiar. I figure that it’s C calling from work for some reason.

Me: Hello?
Guy: Hi, do you happen to have a dentist’s chair?
Me: Um, what? A dentist’s chair?
Guy: Yeah, do you happen to have one?
Me: What?!? Why would I have a dentist’s chair? Who is this?
Guy: Sorry, I must have the wrong number.

Now, this is weird enough. But I still have a Louisiana number. So why is someone from the city I’m living in now calling a Slidell, LA number for this kind of thing? At 10:30 at night? WEIRD.

And THEN I reversed the number that called on switchboard.com and GUESS WHAT?  The number came back to the guy that we were trying to rent the house from.  WHAT THE HELL ALTERNATE UNIVERSE AM I LIVING IN?  And why does a guy who recently moved to San Francisco (I thought) need a dentist’s chair?!?!?

I should start writing about some of my crap jobs.  They were kind of spectacular.  To get started, here is what I posted on the pajiba comment diversion that I mentioned in the earlier post:

I’ve had TONS of crap jobs. 2 weeks at an airbrush shop (oh yeah) where I burnt my hand on the heat press and the pothead “artist” wouldn’t let me go to the mall first aid thing because “we might get some customers in here, like, any time now.” I quit.

I was a personal assistant to a doctor for one day. I went to his house, he pointed to a monolithic stack of Playboy and Hustler (and something called Hairy Women) and requested that I order them by date and amount of vag shown in centerfold. They looked sticky, I left the house.

My last job was actually pretty cool. I worked for a private investigation company and watched surveillance footage of people who were supposed to be too hurt to work as they attended Mardi Gras parades and held people on their shoulders. What sucked about the job was a co-worker. She was a massive drunk. One day, I called in to work because I had been injured in a car accident the prior evening. She called me AT HOME and demanded I go in to work. This is how she started this conversation: “Sharon. Do you know how bad of a morning I’m having? I woke up this morning covered in shit. I shit myself while I was asleep and now I can’t go to work. You have to go. Do you hear me? I shit myself. Now go into work.” I told her that 1) she wasn’t my fucking boss and 2) I had 3 cracked ribs, so, you know, GO TO HELL, MISSY!!! She told EVERYONE in the office that she shit herself and we all made fun of her for months. Which is exactly what she deserved. So there.

This might help.  Since I’m a loving, caring person I just want to bring a little light and joy into the lives of my readers.  And to that end I’m supplying you with another brilliant comment diversion by Pajiba.  Go check out

The Worst Jobs Ever

You can’t help but feel better after reading some of these.  And you can, of course, read mine in there somewhere.