Things that piss me off.

Thanks to Bitch Ph.D. for this one. Ew, indeed.






http://www.knockknock.biz/cgi-bin/slideshow.pl?ID=154#

Well, my plan is shot to hell

The much-revered dean of admissions for M.I.T. resigned yesterday. She was extremely popular, and really focused on the stress that high school students experience while applying to college - she argued that instead of only looking at students' accomplishments, admissions officers should look at students' overall personalities.

This argument looks really bad now. Her resignation was due to falsehoods on her resume, namely, degrees from three schools (Albany Medical College, Union College, and Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute) that she does not hold. Now, technically, she did not need those degrees for the entry-level position she held when she first arrived at M.I.T., but with all her promotions over the past 28 years and receiving M.I.T.'s highest honor for administrators, the Excellence Award for Leading Change, some of those references probably should have checked out. Just a thought.

But it really is sad. She was a respected member of the administration, and almost all of the students knew her. And she did calm a lot of students (and let's face it, probably some parents too) about the scary process of applying to Big Important Colleges. She did good, and it's a damn shame that all this means she can no longer do her job.

I am excited because the other day I noticed that all of the little seeds that LPT and I planted are starting to sprout. This is spiffy because it makes me feel as though I have Created Something and after they come up, I don't have to do much else besides water them a wee bit when summer really sets in and decides to go into full-on bake mode.

Baby fever is in the air. Yelhsa commented the other day that suddenly, everyone is pregnant. And that it happens this way every year: that she looks up one day from slinging lattes and enabling folks in their caffeine addictions (bad Yelhsa!) and there they are, in teensy Tshirts that once showcased muffin tops, now showcasing buddha bellies. She won't admit it outright, but I think deep down that she is offended by this. Not the pregnancy part, bu the sneaking up and surprising her. She's never been one for surprises, that one.

I honestly do not mean to be one of those people who are constantly posting completely disgusting links, but if you would like to see something that will make you think twice about direct contact with anything ever again, go to Google Images and type in NECROTIZING FASCIITIS. (yes, with a double i in there) That little disease there makes me seriously consider becoming a hermit, considering one woman contracted it from dancing barefoot at a wedding! (Ms. Biery, are you listening???) It's caused by the same little bugger that causes strep throat (Streptococcus pyogenes number 38 if you're interested) but it certainly does something completely different when it takes the flesh-eating route. And no, I do not sit around thinking about all this stuff normally.

If you want a good song to dance to (bathroom, shower, kitchen, car, what have you) Amy Winestein "I Don't Want To Go To Rehab."

I forgot to post this last night, so here I am this morning

Oh, what a day! There's nothing like writing cheques for multiple hundreds of thousands of dollars (for someone else, of course - psh! I ain't got that kind of dough.) to make you feel completely insignificant and yet, lucky because your income doesn't require four quarterly cheques of around $110K written to dear ol' Uncle Sam. And to think, I was bitching because we were only getting about $100 back this year. Awkward moment, that was.

So, last weekend I made the mistake of telling LPT about pets my parents had when they were children (Papa had a horse when he was a little boy, Mammy had cows because she lived on a dairy farm, etc.) Well, then I told her about a pet my father received one Easter when he was 7 or so. It was the late 50s, when they still dyed baby chicks different colors and put them in kids' Easter baskets. His was blue, named Charlie, and turned out to be a rooster. Stupid me completely blanked on how the story ended - he came home one day from school and Charlie was gone, and they were having fried chicken for dinner. And he didn't make the connection until years later. Perhaps LPT won't ask what happened to his lil' baby chick.

12:05 am

So, is there a pill you can take to magically accept your body as-is? Because I swear to GOD, mine is driving me berserk. Maybe it's because I'm on a tight deadline, or maybe it's just the dress, but something isn't working. I tried to go on a diet, eating less and outright refusing to eat out of bordem, and it has definitely worked, because there are pants that I can wear now that were a distant dream a couple of months ago. However, a pant size doesn't shrink my boobs and rib cage. Even with an Ace bandage, a la Gwyneth Paltrow, it was going to take TWO people plus my dignity to get me into the dress. No, thank you. So, off to the seamstress it goes. I pray she works a miracle, and I will try my hardest not to dive into a trough of Phish Food.

In the meantime, my daughter has learned two new phrases that just warm my lil' heart: "You hafta leave me alone!" (usually shouted when we need to put shoes or jacket on to leave the house, or perhaps end an activity to take an N-A-P) and the really beautiful one, "I don't love you." That one, that one breaks my heart. I know she doesn't mean it, because for every time she says it, she says "I love you, too, Mama" (without me saying anything, incidentally - I'm not quite sure why the 'too' is in there) about ten times, but it still kills me to hear it. And of course, she sees that it kills me, so what does she do? She continues to say it. Oh well.

I'm hoping we can get rid of all the candy lingering around the house pretty soon - I think LPT has had jelly beans for breakfast at least twice in the past week, and the chocolate bunnies staring me down are not helping matters (see paragraph 1).

Oh yes - it's ladies' night and the feelin' is right

My poor head always seems to suffer the most when I go out and have fun. Even though I did not imbibe (that much), it would appear that my body has gone on strike after a lovely dinner and a beverage with two of my dearest lady friends. Apparently, E is right - we're getting old. We both found gray hairs recently (her story was way better than mine, though) and eye cream has suddenly popped up on the radar as a viable and necessary purchase. When did all this happen? I feel like I just woke up one morning in a completely foreign land where I was a little bit chunkier, my feet hurt, and I could no longer bounce back from a night of heavy-ish drinking. Ok, I'll be honest: I'm a lightweight, I always have been, but the mornings hurt so much more now. Alright, already. Enough with the whining.

What's the going consensus on yard art? I'm not referring to those pieces that are country-kitsch (occasionally with clothing), but something a little more...subtle? I dunno.

My, my, my, parenting is FUN!

I came home from work on Monday and this is what I found:

Yes, that would be a new bag of flour all over the kitchen floor, with LPT playing in it.

I intensely dislike school right now.

I know, I know. BLASPHEMY! School is wonderful! I'm learning! I'm putting off the "real world" (a big HA to that one, my friend) I have access to a wealth of information that only requires my student ID!

Well, I'm tired. And I'm going to bitch a bit here, so get ready. And much of it is petty and silly, and if you could see me in person, it would probably be more appropriately spoken in a bar with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. If you don't want to hear it, you can go away.

I am tired of writing papers. I'm tired of enjoying ONE class. I'm tired of being told by one professor that I'm a fantastic writer, but then getting flack from admissions that my english 101 and 102 credits STILL haven't cleared after three years and I may just have to suck it up and take them to get credit because they have no way of knowing whether I can write a frigging personal narrative or not or whether I can cite sources. I hate getting parking tickets. I hate seeing all the silly freshmen (hell, and every other retarded female) in their flip flops when it's 40 degrees outside, and I really hate it when it gets warmer and suddenly they decide to wear tank tops and display their chests. I know they sell cute SHIRTS in stores! I have some! I hate switching medication the last month of school and having a constant headache with nausea for good measure. I hate that my husband doesn't really know that I have to do homework and secretly resents me when I have to do it. I hate that he goes out more than I do. I hate that I can't get flippin' cell phone to work for me for more than 2 weeks. I hate that my daughter is ignored by my sister and my brother. I hate that most mornings, I don't want to get out of bed. (but not in a "ooh, let's stay in bed and read the paper and drink some coffee" kind of way - more like a "why bother?" kind of way) I hate that my French professor is from Paris. I hate everything and I want to go back to bed. Now.