Djo wanna know whheere it isss?

I've had this weird pain in my teeth for the past couple of days. I think it's related to a minor sinus infection that I'm currently suffering through, but lately it's so noticeable that I feel like my teeth are too big for my mouth. When I try to make the 's' sound, I slur my words like a drunk. Things were doubly difficult for me last night when I actually did get drunk (accidentally) after a half-pint of beer before our food arrived. I had to concentrate especially hard not to mix up my words and bang my teeth together during speech. Dave asked more than once what the hell was wrong with me, so I don't think I pulled it off as smoothly as I'd hoped.

GSIKM: Volume 2

Just finishing up paper two of three and thinking that I really haven't said anything all that exciting in 13 pages.

I keep hoping that another game of solitaire will be just the thing I need to inspire some creative thinking, but the games only make the total time writing 13 boring pages longer and longer.

Let's just wrap it up and be done, don't you think?

Grad School is Killing Me: Volume 1

Just checking in, Peeps. It's pretty bad when your own father gives you a hard time for not blogging. I know. I know.

The end of this semester is upon me and I'm barely hanging on. So it goes.

In other news . . . see that's just it. I have no other news.

Take what you can get.

Birthday

I turned 33 yesterday. And while I'm not crazy about having two odd numbers in my age, I think it's going to be an especially good year. How did I celebrate? By going to bed early. And it was so, so nice.

Seriously

I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed lately. It doesn't help that The Professorial Nightmare emailed the class at 2:17 a.m. Sunday to let us know we have a project to complete for class on Monday. This does not lighten my load.

Smooth

I always feel a little out of place when I walk through the halls of the high school where I observe a class once a week for this research project. The students don't know me, those who do think of me as the lady with the audio recorder, and I have to wear this stupid, bright yellow visitor's badge.

Falling down the stairs today didn't help matters either. I made a quick recovery, but my butt made contact with at least three steps.

One Lump or Two?

I pass the same frat house every day on my way to campus. And I always wonder what the international students next door think when they hear "Pour Some Sugar on Me" blaring through their windows. Probably, they have a pretty good sense of what's wrong with this country.

Take Two

I'm going to try a new approach to blogging my life.

Ready?

Here it comes...

I'm just going to write.

Sure. Commitments such as these last about a week. Or maybe a day in my case. But, what the hell. I've gotta give something a try, right?

Here's today's fascinating entry: I just ate ten Tootsie Rolls. In a row.

Obviously you are very excited about this new dawn.

The Brief

It's about time.

The Gift

I held a little Pity Party for Jodi on Friday, and with the help of some amazing friends who adore her as much as I do, we raised enough money for her to take another week off of work (should she choose) post colon removal, which takes place tomorrow. Of anyone I've ever met, Jodi is TERRIBLE at accepting gifts, so receiving an envelope full of cash was quite difficult for her. She repeated "Oh dear god!" a few times as she opened and then closed the envelope over and over. There was no shortage of tears, and it gave me great joy to be the messenger of such an overwhelming gift. You are loved, Miss Jodi. Don't forget that.

It's not 26.2, but it's something.

I ran a 10-mile race yesterday in 1.29.43, which is just about as fast as I can run a 10-mile race. So that's good.

I realize. . .

. . . this blog has totally gone to crap. Just so you know.

Guest Blog Entry: Vices

An early morning message from my blogless older sister:

I was coming out of the infamous Friendly's this morning; a place where the "friendly" staff share, after seeing your "Vote Pro-Choice" button, that the solution is not abortion, but slavery ... but that's another story. I was carrying my delicious morning treat - a 32-ounce-49-cent-keep-the-penny-every-morning treat, Diet Pepsi. It's my only vice (wink, wink) and the one I can admittedly say to which I'm addicted. As I was leaving the convenience store, I noticed an administrator from my office in her car just getting ready to leave. This is the woman who is very well put together at work and has her own one-sided competition with me about who can do more marathons. I quickly hid my morning treat behind me wondering if she'd seen me. She did. I noticed her similar coy movements as she too hid her morning treat from my view - but not before I noticed what it was; a pack of cigarettes, Marlboros. We both went about our pretense of not seeing the other. However, as I left I felt better about my Diet Pepsi and held it up proudly for everyone to see.

Weekend Recap

Dave and I spent the weekend in Michigan for a friend's wedding. I can't really say much about Michigan, though, because we spent most of our time in the hotel watching home improvement shows on TLC. We did drive a bit out of our way to sample the libations at Bell's Brewery in Kalamazoo. We drank over the lunch hour with the warehouse workers who came up from the basement. We seemed to fit in better than the briefcase carrying, flip-flop wearing, cell phone talking businessman who, when asked what he'd like to drink, replied that he'd take "Whatever is closest to Bud Light." The lady bartender should have given him water, but kindly suggested an Oberon instead. He took it and sipped it gently between bites of celery and hummus next to the warehouse workers scarfing burgers and drinking carafes of Bell's Porter.

Still, the guy seemed less bothered by his ill-fit than I did at table #8 at the wedding dinner. Each of the three couples with whom we sat took 20 minutes to share how their weddings differed from the one we were currently attending. I had to drink one glass of wine for each story. And I had to drink a fourth one when they asked if Dave and I were married? Engaged? Dating for how long? And a fifth during the sad silence that followed our answers -- as if we had just explained that we both had a terminal illness and didn't plan to make it through the year.

Vacation: Part Two

It seems really cool to be the graduate assistant on a really cool research project. And it will be, I'm sure. Right now, though, it means I really have to do all of the work. In a basement office. With cockroaches. Mostly dead.

Vacation: Part One

Having spent every day of last week in the Pacific Northwest with Dave and my usual travel gas, it was a nice surprise to receive a message from him yesterday telling me that he missed me. "I miss you?" it read. So, naturally, I replied, "You miss me is a question? Are you unsure?" His response: "Jesus Christ. This is romance. Not English."

Still Kicking

I'm in such a state of rebellion against anything remotely academic at this point in my summer I can hardly even stand to put a few words together about my day on this blog. In just a few short weeks, though, I'll have so many other things to read and write that stealing away time to write on the blog will be just what I need. Patience please.

Going To

We worked on the future tense in class tonight. Students had to write sentences by choosing the ending that made the most sense and adding it to the correct future form. More than one student created this combination:

I have a headache. I am going to major in psychology.

Why not. The form is correct, and under the right circumstances, it makes a lot of sense.

Question

Is it normal for a post office worker to ask: "What are you sending today?" The woman working at the branch near campus asked customer after customer -- and they all answered! Am I correct in thinking that our mail is private? I wanted to say, "None of your damn business!" when she asked me, but instead said, "Something for my dad." Help me out. Is this being asked from branch to branch or is she just nosy?

Dedication

When I have to be on time, I'm on time. When it isn't going to make or break anything, I'm typically five to ten minutes late. It's how I roll.

My department's library falls into that second category. I'm the 9 am opener, which usually means we open at 9:05 or 9:10. No one has ever been waiting at the door for me.

Due to a new construction project on my route, I reached the door today at 9:15. Again, the hallway was empty.

The sign on the door, however, had a handwritten note just for me. "You're late . . . again," it read.

Yes. I've been on time only twice since I started three weeks ago and I have no excuse for such tardiness except for ass dragging. And maybe I deserved a little wake up call. But for some reason, I'm feeling rather nonplussed by the whole thing. I don't really plan to get up or leave any earlier on Friday. In fact, if anything, the note has me feeling a little punchy. And I realize -- I'm quickly becoming that employee who really can't be bothered to do her job. You know the one.

Peeing in the Men's Room

The Indigo Girls at the zoo has become a favorite landmark of summer. Brandi Carlile as an opening act brought things up a notch this year. And a woman wearing this t-shirt made it an especially perfect night.

"This was more stressful than an eBay auction!"

Although it's a few days overdue, I want to thank Bryan for his dedication to the blog. When I neared the 25,000th visitor mark, he assured me that he would be that 25,000th visitor regardless of the steps he'd have to take. He considered hiring someone to do the site monitoring, but decided that would be playing dirty. In the end, having done all of the hard work on his own, Bryan accomplished his lofty goal. This picture is his proof.

Congrats, Bryan. Congrats.

Abundance

Earlier this spring I lost some sleep over how I'd make money during the summer months. I applied for numerous jobs, and through a bit of luck, ended up with three positions -- teacher, tutor, and librarian. The past couple of weeks have proven that three summer jobs combined with one summer class and an overwhelming desire for summer fun is just too much. So after further agonizing, I quit my tutoring job and regained three hours of sweet freedom during my week.

Not ten minutes after sending that message, I received a call from my adviser offering participation in a newly funded and important research project for twenty more summer hours per week -- not to mention full participation for the next year and a half. Please understand. Such opportunities are rare. And my adviser is, well, amazing. Really. A maze ing. I'd be an idiot to pass this up.

So now I'm losing sleep again. I shouldn't complain about having so many opportunities. I'm lucky. I know. But, Dear Universe, is better timing too much to ask for?

There's Life Out There

I had the whole family here a few weeks ago for this year's Annual Spring Clean Up. The yard has never been so lovely. And I've never been more content than to simply sit and watch the grass grow.

The Rev

It's official. I am now an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church. It took about three minutes to complete the online form and $9.60 to ship my certificate. I don't plan to put my powers to use until this July when I marry my sister and her fiance, but I am trying to stay in tune with the universe in case it calls me to duty before then. Like yesterday when I had to bless that guy on the plane after he sneezed.

Job One

On Monday I began one of three summer jobs -- teaching English to adult learners. I am their third teacher in a six-week session, so you can imagine their excitement when they saw me at the front of the room Monday night.

"Are you my teacher now?" one man asked.

"Yes. I am," I replied.

"Oh. Welcome. Welcome. Thank you for coming," he answered as he looked around at his fellow students.

Each of them welcomed me in a similar manner -- absolute kindness with a hint of frustration. Actually, one woman offered more frustration than kindness but even she seemed to turn around by the end of the evening.

They are a smart group, and I can't blame them for feeling tossed aside. We had a good evening together and successfully worked through the difference between always, usually, often, sometimes, rarely, and never.

When we finished, they seemed surprised to hear that I'd be back for the next four weeks. And I can't tell you how nice it feels to have people thank your for teaching them as they walk out the door.

I feel a heavy pressure to not disappoint. They deserve more than just my presence each week. ELL is not my area of expertise, but I plan to match their dedication as best I can.

Sacrificing Quality Left and Right

I just finished editing the worst paper I think I've ever written. Twelve hours ago I was so pleased with my page and a half an hour rate, but now I remember why I write slowly. So that sentences make sense and apostrophes go in the right places. When I began revising four hours ago I had 19 pages of text. I sent the paper off minutes ago with just over 15 pages of text. Turns out the faster I write, the more crap I have to say.

Quid Pro Quo

I really respect and admire the work of a classmate who asked to exchange our 12-paged, double-spaced papers for tomorrow's peer review. I am flattered that she would think my feedback useful in her fascinating project and related dissertation work. I just received her 24-paged, single-spaced document with attached review questions and I'm not feeling so flattered any more.

Retraining the Gluteus Max

Rickie the Running Specialist is working hard to cure me of my running woes. She has me on an eight-exercise-and-stretch routine, and I have been a very good patient so far (meaning I've actually done the exercises every day since the beginning of our relationship). I can tell that the program is going well for two reasons: 1) the exercises that at first promised to kill me are now getting easier and 2) the karma gods placed me next to Rondell White during my session today. He doesn't seem so big on the baseball field, but in person he's quite impressive. We exchanged a pleasant "Hey. How's it going?" and then I stared at him and eavesdropped stealthily for the next twenty minutes. I wanted to dazzle him with some Twins trivia, but I figured that recognizing him was pushing my luck with sports knowledge already.

The Wrong Way Rubber

Today it was my group's turn to give instructions for the class session we are leading next week. Like the professor does every week, we wrote our instructions on the bored and offered further explanation for the upcoming reading. One class member -- who has sort of been rubbing me the wrong way for a while -- followed up my explanation with, "My brain is really full right now with all you've said. Could you send the instructions in an e-mail?"

As I looked around at the rest of the class writing down our instructions LIKE THEY DO EVERY WEEK, I pointed to the bored and said, "No. They are right there."

"Yes. But I'll probably lose them."

WTF? You are getting your PhD and you can't hang on to the instructions that we are asking you to write down right now?

Luckily, Adam, a groupmate jumped in. "Yeah. Well. Don't lose them," he offered.

Very logical to me.

Unfortunately another, kinder groupmate offered to send the same instructions (that everyone else had already finished writing down) through e-mail.

Sometimes I think the problem with the wrong-way-rubber lies with me. That I'm just not kind enough or that I'm too self-centered to realize that she just sees things differently.

But seriously. "I'll probably lose them." Call me cruel and narcissistic, but that's bullshit if ever I heard it.

Herons, Beavers, and Turtles . . .

With only a couple of weeks left in the semester and four large projects to complete, naturally I took Dave up on his offer to spend the weekend at the cabin. There's a state park and visitor center not too far from the lake, so we spent part of our Saturday afternoon with Rod the Park Ranger. He quizzed me on the skull display, offered up bear hunting regulation pamphlets, and directed us to the Circle Trail Hike where we'd be able to see a heron rookery. We impressed Rod with our 2 and a 1/2 hour Circle Trail return rate and assured him that we had spent at least ten minutes observing the herons. Dave wanted to tell Rod that there were a couple of spots on the trail that needed a bit of trimming or restoration, but Rod had turned his attention to a handful of young boys who needed to know how to identify a poisonous snake. I dropped a dollar in the donation box, but the afternoon was certainly worth a lot more.

. . .

Been thinking hard about what to write in the blog so that I can avoid the paper I'm working on for a little while. But, I'm drawing a large blank. Just been reading and writing and reading and writing and then sleeping sometimes. Not very exciting at all.

Irony

Last night Dave and I were both pretty tired. We fell into bed practically asleep already, but my doze was interrupted by sniffling from the other side.

Me: "What's wrong?"

D: "I'm really stuffed up. I think I might snore a lot tonight."

Me: "That's okay. My stomach is grumbling and I think I might fart a lot tonight."

D: Bolting upright and staring at me (it was dark, but I could tell) -- "Those things are not compatible."

Me: Hearty laughter.

D: "At all."

Me: Continued laughter.

D: "Seriously. Not. The. Same."

Me: Faded laughter.

D: "Completely different."

Me: Halted laughter.

I didn't have the heart to tell him this morning that only one of us snored last night. And only one of us had gas. And they happened to be the same person. I won't say who, but I think we can all guess.

Parental Discretion Advised

I've been swearing a lot lately. Yesterday at the six green lights that I sat through waiting for the traffic to pass near one of the lakes. Today about (but not at) the group member who decided after an hour of work on our project that he was "really beat" and "could we send him the document when we finished?" That one merited a "is he fucking shitting me?" as I recapped the incident for others. Just take a second, though, and think about that one. Seriously. Is he fucking shitting me? There is simply no other possible response.

Running for Dummies

I don't mean to poo-poo this gorgeous weather we're having, but it does remind me that I can't run at the same level I was running at a year ago. Recovery from a marathon just shouldn't take so long, so there has got to be more going on with my form, strength, alignment, and other life-long running-related issues. I decided last week to finally see Rickie, Running Specialist Extraordinaire, but it turns out she's not in my network of providers and even with a referral, I can't afford her. So instead, Dave has decided to print copies of his exercise program and to train me back to running health. We both figure that doing something is better than doing nothing even if it turns out to not exactly be the right something. I have to prepare myself for the daily inquiries from him about whether or not I've completed my exercises, and I have to prepare to actually do the exercises instead of lying to my coach, which, if the weather weren't so nice and I didn't want to run so badly, I might be inclined to do.

I've been awake for about an hour and it's really pushing my limits

This has turned out to be the dreaded week that I thought it would. All of my professors decided to assign papers this week, and with the conference talk preparation in the weeks before, it was questionable whether or not I'd be able to write all 21 pages in time. Things were moving along fairly nicely through Monday with 13 pages down and an extension on one paper.

Then, last night, while drafting paper two, I felt a little wave of nausea wash over me. It was sudden and unmistakable, but I thought it would be over quickly. Twelve hours later and 3 to 4 bouts of vomiting per hour (among other things that I'm sure you can imagine, but don't want to), Cassie drove me to the ER. It turns out that I had contracted a strain of the noroviris, which pretty much sucks all life and liquid out of you while leaving you to writhe in severe unrelenting abdominal pain.

I'm a polite person, but when the ER nurse told me it'd be just a minute before they were able to get me to a room (next to the bathroom), I responded, "You have to hurry. And you have to make the pain go away." They got right on it, and 45 minutes later, an IV of fluid, nausea medication, and morphine pumped into my veins, I felt like a new person.

I've pretty much slept the day away, and the thought of food still makes me jilt. The profs have been great about missed classes and paper extensions, but my spring break next week doesn't look so exciting anymore. Cassie follows me around with antibacterial spray and has made quite a project out of disinfecting the house. I can see the streaks of rubbing alcohol across my laptop screen as I write this. We're pretty sure she gave me the virus, so I don't mind watching her clean. I figure it's penance.

The Other Side of the Table

KC and I had a productive morning at the coffee shop. She finished the article that she's submitting for publication and I (almost) finished the outline for paper #1 of 3 due this week. KC headed home for a run and I stuck around to get this mother done. Things were looking pretty good.

Until.

A couple of young men, not more than 25 each, sat down behind me to talk over, well, all of life on earth. They've covered global politics, the housing market, why they can't live with their siblings, whether or not life can be considered a game as described in some song by Boston, why they love music groups named after cities (like Kansas), how the BeeGees seem like they could be gay even though they are not (like Queen), and now they're on the difference between economic risk and life risk. All of which they do with their baby faces and all the confidence and knowledge in the world.

It's somewhat admirable.

They gave me a funny look when I moved to this side of the table -- so I could write this without their knowing, of course. I haven't gotten anything done on my paper since they sat down. The fact that I've started counting how many times they use the words frickin' and dude, signals, if nothing else, that it's time for me to go home.

Snow Day

Class cancelled. That should give me just the three hours I'll need to shovel myself out of the driveway. Really wishing I owned a sled right now. . . wonder how sturdy my baking sheets are.

Zit Happens

All of the momentous occasions in my life seem to be marked by at least one large zit on my face. Is it possible that in thinking about the zit and waiting for it to go away I am less stressed about the pending event that has caused the zit in the first place? Maybe.

I leave for Nashville tomorrow to present at my first research conference. And my left cheek is carrying extra baggage for the flight.

1984

Maybe I'm a little slow on the uptake here, but I just realized that whenever I receive a message from someone on my Gmail account, the ads on the side of the message correspond with the content of the message. We're being watched and it's eerie. If the program thinks a message might be spam, it'll even offer links to Spam recipes on the side.

So.

We're being watched by idiots, but it's still a little disturbing.

Slogging Along

I realize that this has been one sad blog lately, but here's the thing: I can't get myself to do anything. I have books to read, papers to write, talks to prepare, lessons to evaluate, research to conduct, and hats to knit, but as the to-do list gets longer and longer, I get lazier and lazier. Although there are aspects of this that don't suprise me at all, there's also some other element that's really not like me. I'm hoping it's just a phase.

Even after nine months of dating, I have so much to teach him.

D: "Thanks for coming to watch the race."

Me: "Oh. No problem. It was fun."

D: "Did you eventually wipe that booger from your nose?"

Me: "What booger?"

D: "The one you had hanging from your nose when I stopped. "

Me: "Oh god. I had a booger hanging from my nose?"

D: "Yeah. Huge. I could see it through my foggy glasses."

Me: "Huge? That's great. Why didn't you tell me it was there?"

D: "Well, I just thought it was so nice that you came out to see the race, and it was cold."

Me: "Right. All the more reason to tell me. I'm so embarrassed. Now that you mention it, the runners all seemed to be looking at me."

D: "Yeah. It was gross. I'm sure you'll survive this, though."

Level 43, 430 Lines

Today is the last day of my winter break, and I am proud to report that I have managed to do very little in the past three and a half weeks (which includes blogging, as many of you have pointed out). This break has been sort of a turning point for me. You see, usually I feel overwhelmingly guilty for all that I've neglected to do during my downtime. This time, however, I feel overwhelmingly grateful for the fact that for once in my life I simply
r e l a x e d, guilt-free. That's not so say that some things weren't accomplished. I did relearn how to knit, read an entire book for pleasure, earned the top score on Cassie's hand-held Tetris game, and watched The Office, Seasons 1, 2, and 3 (the internet has everything if you search hard enough, although perhaps I shouldn't be admitting that here).

So, I'm quite ready to get back on that horse tomorrow. May even be looking forward to it in some small way. In a small, small, small way, that is.