Adding Insult to Injury
I was rejected by the University of Kentucky.
Can this day be done now?
This will all be on the exam.
This morning I was frustrated that I couldn't think of a single thing to post. For the second day in a row. Other than begging for more compliments.
Hey, my review is up!
On the off chance that I have any male readers out there: You might want to skip this post.
Finished: The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood. Loved it. Zoomed right through it, even though I kept trying to slow myself down so could savor it. I should have a review going up soon.
So I've decided to deal with my bad mood in the least healthy, less constructive way possible*: eating and shopping.
I'm declaring today Calorie Amnesty Day. Calories consumed today just don't count. Because, really, the only way I'm going to get through today is to have an IV of chocolate dripping directly into my veins.
Two more reasons to fear for your First Amendment rights:
I realize that I still haven’t written about my previous misadventure in cooking---and I’m sure you are tingling with anticipation for it---but I thought I’d mention my singular ability to muddle a grilled cheese sandwich. I made one for lunch, and I managed to undercook one side, burn the other, and drip cheese all over the pan because I’m too lame to flip a sandwich. Perhaps I should stick to cereal.
Before I start this, I need to note that I saw the following headline today: “Men May Exaggerate Number of Sexual Partners.” Um, is this actually news to anyone?
I have been a reading fool lately. Mostly because I’ve been on deadlines. But I’m also getting a little tired of watching so many DVDs. Buffy really should have ended with Season 5.
Two of my favorite things!
You got me hooked again.
|You Should Get an Abstract Tattoo|
How? Why? Huh?
Do you want to spend tens of thousands of dollars to look like 12-year-old vampires on crack?*
Kudos, though, to whomever fiddled with the perspective so that they don't look like the dwarves they are.
And speaking of freaks, the Best Week Ever Blog has a fantasy smackdown between two more Celebs I Can't Stand: Tom and Oprah.
*Okay, I'm digging the blue dress, even if Mary Kate does look like an 8-year-old who's been locked in her mother's closet for a month and decided to try some things on. And what is with those extensions? Gah!
I need another 3 to 5 songs to round out the following playlist:
You know how much I love being tagged! (Why, yes, I am needy and insecure.) Bdogg tagged me on this a while ago.
Pardon me while I kvetch for a bit:
Hey, what do you know?! Winter showed up! For one day. In the middle of February. My tax return also showed up, so I’m momentarily flush. I just have to keep reminding myself that the check is already spoken for. Easy come, easy go.
One of my very favorite things: Go Fug Yourself's post-award show wrap ups.
|Your 80s Heartthrob Is|
|You Are Artemis!|
So it seems there are 986,210 words in the English language. As of Tuesday, anyway.
I tend to get overly emotionally invested in stories---movies, television shows, books, musicals. I've cried during almost every movie I've ever seen---including Conan the Barbarian. And I carry those emotions much past the actual experience of the story.
After proofreading a newsletter in which "problem solve" is used as a verb and every other word is capitalized and not being allowed to actually change those things,* I needed some good grammar humor.
This rocks: Google is getting their own little dig in at the Bush Administration while they still can.
|You Are a Carnation|
I Got In! I Got In! I Got In! I Got In! I Got In! I Got In! I Got In! I Got In!
A little more than a month ago, I watched the Rose Bowl. Or at least, all but the last 10 minutes of it. And I apparently missed the best 10 minutes of college football. Ever. Not that I would have had much to compare; the Rose Bowl is the only college football game I've ever watched. But even though I'm not a fan of UT or college football in general, I was kind of bummed that I missed the action.
So I have this whole list of things that I should do this weekend: making up hours at work, reading the books I have to review, writing an op-ed on school finance, cleaning my apartment, washing my laundry, going to the gym.
So it's no secret that I severely dislike my job. It's not the worst job in the world: the office is well ventilated, I can go to the bathroom whenever I please, the only physical danger I face is morbid obesity from the Christmas goodies. And I feel like I should be grateful: I have a job that pays me enough to live in nice but not extravagent circumstances and provides me with health insurance. I have my own office, I never work more than 40 hours in a week, and I can get away with spending most of my days doing things other than work.
That sort of summarizes today.