If you're not going out based solely on the premise that you have no costume, find some tacky last-season outfit in your closet, paint some bruises on your face and call yourself a fashion victim.
Oh we've all told white lies that make our cocktail hour slurs that much more interesting. If you didn't go skydiving naked yesterday, you saved septuplets from a burning skyscraper the day before.
Don't worry, the Zimmerman Telegram hasn't been sent yet. Oh, but it has been written. What luck that I will have October 31st on which to throw my last hurrah. Because the very instant the sun rises to it's Zenith on November 1st, I will be in war-mode. I'm taking time today to clear my mental space, procrastinating now so that I can't do it later. I'm listing my goals in a place that I glance frequently. I'm hiding my Flogging Molly, and putting in the whiny Dashboard. I'm not washing anything except underwear so that I'll have nothing clean to wear.
And why all the preparations?
Exams in all my classes? All week long? You mean from 11/3 to 11/7 you're going teeth to teeth with school?
Bring. It. On.
As a sidenote, I went to Widespread Panic this Sunday. We arrived an hour late and right on time for their set. As we sat in the seats waiting for the lights to dim, I commented on the scent of smoke to my friend, to which, she replied, "Patchouli." Given the crowd of Spreadheads ("country-ishJambandtooyoungforGratefulDeadandpartialtoPhishfolk"), I'm inclined to think it was the both.
And Noam Chomsky is under the spotlight at 8:00 pm tonight. I might miss it because I have a review for Anatomy.
OJL have a distinguished system for friendship that works through episodes of cooperation and noodle kugel. If Pearl takes bagels, lox, schmear and public transportation to Ruth's door one weekend, then the next, Ruth takes blintzes, knishes and a taxi to Pearl. They visit equally, both willingly going out of their way to keep the bonds of friendship alive. Every so often, they agree to meet halfway and enjoy the fruits of someone else's deli labor. Should the OJL fall behind on their duties, they simply catch up and offer restitution in the form of a Shabbat dinner. This is an ideal situation. But seeing as Pearl and Ruth live at the whim of fate and superstitions, the ideal doesn't always play out.
For example, last year Pearl took a lot trips to Ruth's house. It wasn't that she minded, she enjoys spending time with her dear old friend (and, if you look at the lineage closely enough, cousin). Pearl also took time to help Ruth with her memoirs for the writing classes that Ruth was taking. If it had been anyone else, Pearl might have asked for a few dollars, but Ruth and Pearl are mishpuchah, it wouldn't be right to ask Ruth for money. When Ruth started seeing the alcoholic Irish Catholic neighbor, Pearl disapproved, but she wanted her friend to be happy. So even though Pearl couldn't stand the schmuck with a ten foot pole, she bit her tongue (very hard for OJL to accomplish) and sat through visits, watching while Ruth's lover would berate her, tear her down, treat her like a pile of dog doo, make lascivious comments about Ruth's bust and sexual drive, and then prod at Ruth's tonsils with his tongue. Sometimes, he would bring along other putzes, in expectation that Pearl would be as open to subjugation as Ruth was. Of course, being an OJL, she wasn't. When things got to be too much for Pearl, she would continue to bit her tongue (sometimes 'til it bled!) and then take her leave a tad earlier than she expected.
Towards the end of last year, Pearl began to run a little short on funds. So she took a job in a deli. The deli had long hours but the people were friendly and fun loving and laid back, so Pearl didn't mind one bit. Before long, all the deli employees became fast friends.
Of course, it did cut into her visiting time with Ruth. But Pearl's tongue had begun to swell in reaction to all the biting, so rather than allow herself the discomfort, Pearl took to visiting Ruth on instances when she knew the love interest would be absent. Pearl did invite Ruth out, to lunch, to dinner, to dance, but because she missed her lover, Ruth declined most invitations.
Pearl began to feel that if Ruth was never going to take her up on the offer, it didn't make sense to continue doing so. Also, Ruth was behind on her visits, because as far as Pearl could count, for every 10 times she had visited Ruth, Ruth had visited Pearl 0.25 times.
Pearl makes an effort to keep in touch with her friends, she calls and tries to make plans. But Pearl doesn't enjoy being hurt. Pearl loves her friends, but some of her friends' friends she does not. So Pearl is human. Sometimes she doesn't call (especially since it's getting so difficult these days) (Pearl's phone broke and her address book was stolen, so even if she's managed to procure the number she wants to dial, it takes three or four times to get through.) (Also, even though she has explained to her friends that the only way she knows she has missed a call is if someone leaves a message, her friends have neglected to leave one). And sometimes, Pearl would rather spend time with her co-workers than her friends' friends, but she always invites her loved ones along.
This weekend though, Pearl, who was taking it easy after a long week of work and study (not to mention an enjoyable evening out where she helped another friend in need), and just trying to relax, was chastised by a friend. He told her that no one ever hears from her. This hurt Pearl. At first. Then she remembered that the subway travels both directions. It's not like Pearl lives on Staten Island. In fact, Pearl lives closer to Manhattan than her friends!! Pearl has been spending the last few days wondering why it is so hard for her friends to leave a message (Pearl hates the phone and refuses to bring it to cla- I mean, Shul, and refuses to answer it at work since answering her private line is not part of the job description). Pearl has been spending the last few days wondering why it is so hard for her buds to find a way to Manhattan, so close to city-life. Pearl would love to host a get together, but so far no one has taken her up on the offer. Pearl knows she could have been a better friend in some cases, she is not so proud that she refuses to admit her mistakes. For the most part, though, Pearl feels she has a relatively clean record (especially after Yom Kippur).
What do you, dear reader, think? Is Pearl too fond of herself and her human qualities? Has she been a friend? Or does she deserve some respect from Ruth and company, because after all, working from 10 pm to 5 am can be pretty draining and with Shul repsonsibilites, it's meshugannah to think that if Pearl should happen to have an hour or so in her day where she's not studying, working or eating, she would rather spend it at the Gym than catching up on rest.
This morning, after a 1 am close, a weekend devoted more to being a friend than asleep, and just under 3 hours of rest, I took my anatomy exam. It went fine, but I had tired bones afterwards, so I crawled back into bed. A short but glorious nap took place there. Then I slid out of bed, and made myself be productive again. I studied for a good time, then decided that the room had reached its dust quota.
I pulled out my trusty broom and slighty less trust-worthy dustpan (who gets a little lenient when herding the dust bunnies). And I pulled out a rag and an old toothbrush and the windex and old newspaper and a sponge and lysol, and I went to work.
First, I am happy to report that the last of the lovebug carcasses have been cleared away. The only reason they were still hanging around is because Maintenance sort of came and their sort of solution to the problem of infestation I was having with the amorous insects was by sort of ripping some strips of duct tape and setting up a Maginot Line for the bugs to go around. True, this was all a month ago, but I've had exams and work and laziness.
In anycase, I cleared off the screens and then I got to work on the grimy glass. It's grimy because of the screens, which prevent residents from leaning out the window and cleaning the outside. I think it was the first time that the Silicone Dioxide had been shown any love. (On a later inspection, I saw that only my windows actually shine in the sun.) Of course, thanks to the screens, I have no skin left on the back of my handm but the windows shine! That's special!
I cleaned the dust off my fans, so now I'm breathing purer(ish) air. I shook out the rugs, scrubbed the sink, swept the floors...I was a regular Cinderella, and I didn't even want to go to the Ball. Because I was having my own right there in my room.
I turned the bass waaaaaay up, heat up another slice of pizza and enjoyed my first real day off.
I thought that if everything else in my life failed, the one friend who would never stop being completely faithful to me, come what may, was Swiggy. Swiggy, my printer. I plastered him with band stickers that I knew he would like. I took care of him for the most part, he was supposed to take care of me.
I don't know exactly what happened because he worked fantastically before my first exam in Anatomy. But then he broke. I know what's broken, but I don't know how to fix it without breaking more things. Not that I broke it in the first place, because I respect Swiggy, and, save the occasional cleaning session with Q-tips and rubbing alcohol or the changing of the cartridge, I never stick my grubby little fingers in his "private area."
In any case, the problem is that the catridge is getting caught on one of the page rolly dealies (the ones that holds the sheet up while printing). But because it rests behind the dealie, it never leaves home and my things don't get printed. I've spent the morning fixing Swig, but he remains unhealed. Poor thing. He's trying. He keeps rolling out sheets of clean paper. it's just that I don't know the exact position the plastic piece is supposed to be in, and because I know just enough about software to make minor repairs, but nothing about the actual construction, I am not going to tool around anymore. Swig will always have a place in my life, but if he's not going to be there when I need him on the last hour of the last day of a huge paper being due for a major perentage of grade in a class, then I can't string him along.
Instead, I'm turning to my stereo for companionship. Is it bad when inanimate objects are more attractive than people? Wait. I take that back. My stereo isn't inanimate, he's great, he lights up when I turn him on. Sometimes he even blinks.
I think there's something in the air, because much like Jodi, I am getting a little over people. When I first started working at the Pit, I have to admit, I was a little intimidated by the grill. It was big. And burning hot. And when the rush came in, it filled up really quickly with a confusing mass of chicken, steak, turkey, ham and bacon. I did not want to control that craziness. But something has changed. I love the grill. The idea of grilling meat doesn't even bother me as long as I don't have to turn around and face functioning on a normal level.
There is no "a" in definitely.
You don't pronounce it "def-in-eight-lee" do you? It's Definite. As in finite. As in there is definitely no "a" in definitely. Here's proof that it's not spelled definately.
Please, don't do it again.
Also. Et Cetera. It is a Latin phrase. There are two words there. It is said: "Ett (slight pause) Set-er-ah." Not "ex-eter-ah." Okay?
There is this amazing book out, it's not really new, but, the author uses some really good words.
It's called the DICTIONARY. As a bonus, it includes the DEFINITION. And since someone thought it special enough to make available online, some of you shouldn't have to ask me what a certain word means.
I think that takes care of the grammar. (There's no "e" in grammar, while I'm at it.)
Just a few things more I need to get off my chest...
The purpose of headphones is to be able to listen to music with out disturbing those around you. Whether you're on a bus, or an airplane, or a train or sitting in a car, you want to be able to listen to the voices in your head at an appropriate volume. So if I am sitting across the aisle and three rows in front of you, I shouldn't be able to sing along with your music, especially not when I'm trying to sleep through a fast. If you can't hear your music unless it is at a decibel level that allows others to hear what you hear, then your headphones are not working properly. I suggest you get your inconsiderate ass to Best Buy and pick up a $40 pair of those big honkin' headphones, complete with cushions so that as long as you're destroying your eardrums, the rest of your head can be comfortable. Whatever it takes so that I don't have to listen to you listening to the same goddamn poppy tune over and over on a six hour, already uncomfortable bus ride (made even more so by the Super Christian girl sitting next to me who thought it a good idea to call everyone in her phonebook and inform them that she was doing nothing but sitting on the bus and still several hours away from home).
It is bad manners to force others to listen to your craptastic music. And on that note:
Please. The word is one syllable. It is so easy to say. If you want something, you say please. Nothing has changed, it is still the magic word. Once you get into the habit of saying it, you'll find that others (including the people who serve you food) are that much more pleasant. And then you'll start hearing strange things like, "You're Welcome."
Say it with me now: "Please." "Thank you very much!" "Oh, You're Welcome!" Now, doesn't that feel good?
Once, Tante Leah and my mother were on a Civility Crusade. They got side-tracked by work and other menial labors, but I think we should pick it up again. Come on everyone, if we work together, we can make Manners cool again. In the mean time, if you have any questions relative to etiquette, I would refer you to Judith Martin (a.k.a., Miss Manners)(Judith Light--annoying Mom from Who's the Boss?, whoops.). And incase you don't feel up to going out and buying her books, she also is published online.
(You mean the internet isn't just a place where nothing happens!?!? Who'd a thunk it?)
Yesterday was spectacular. I woke up with no issues, got some decent studying in, went to class, got paid, deposited my check, worked a 5-10, had a gas with the gals, enjoyed the weather.
Today can just go fly a kite. I usually don't mind the gray skies, but this is a particularly muddy gray that keeps drizzling this freezing rain that makes the prospect of going to class somewhat equivalent to, I don't know, say, putting on jeans three sizes too small and working all day to avoid a nasty chafing and or managing to bend over more than 18 degrees.
I did go to my Stat Lab, which was a marvelous waste of time.
And I'm in a good mood.
Because right now, I've filled the requirements for all my notes for all my classes today, I've read all I can for my English midterm tomorrow (an in-class paper on 16th cent. Elizabethan Renaissance Lit), I'm in my dreamily comfortable Head of the South Crew shirt, and I'm 2.5 seconds away from crawling into bed to sleep away this dreary weather before going in to work tonight.
P.S. After an amusing chat with M, I've decided that meeting cool guys up here is hopeless. I'm taking notes on all your lines, you players, you. The game is on. Joue.
