A Good Day

Chinese food AND sex?

Eh.

One other favorite Xmas movie--the Cabbage Patch Dolls one. I haven't seen it in years and can't find it anywhere--even Ebay!! Crazy talk. If you find this, I will make sweet sweet love to you.

I started Oprah's boot camp diet. Sort of. Well, a little. I had a salad for lunch. Yeah, that's right, A SALAD!! I'm ready to gnaw my arm off. Oh yeah, and I woke up at 8 this morning (on my day off!!) to run. And I ran last night. And the night before that. And I've decided to give up Mountain Dew. Sort of. I bought me some Diet Sunkist. We'll see how things go with that. Oh, and I've been drinking water like crazy. Which reminds me, I have to pee like all the time. Fabulous.

But Sween, why are you on a diet? You look fabulous. Uh-huh. I woke up and realized I really liked wearing my sweatpants. All the time. Even when I left my house. I liked them because they didn't make my belly hang over them because they are too tight. I like them because I didn't feel like I was immediately put into a straight jacket when I wore them. I liked that my pants weren't forming to my ass...and thighs. I also noticed how all the cute shirts I bought when I first started grad school (you know, when I was vomiting every day) didn't fit anymore. So then I started wearing sweatshirts too. Matching the pants. Then I realized Hey, I'm only 23, damn it. Why am I dressing like an old fat lady? So, I'm determined to do this for me. I want to wear a bikini this summer. And shorts. and those cute little shirts that show just a little belly...which, I imagine by that time, will be a little belly.

More later.
Ach.

Things I secretly love...

Ok, so most of them aren't actually secret, but I feel the need to be honest with myself right now. Take me or leave me.

1. Barry Manilow--he writes the songs that make me cry...or something like that
2. Oprah--really, it's just so relevant. And when TiVoed you can skip all the lame parts (No, the whole thing is NOT lame...I hate you)
3. Malt-O-Meal--but it has to be chocolate
4. sweat pants
5. American Idol, The Simple Life, Newlyweds, tv, tv, tv, tv
6. Raffi
7. Raffi X-mas album
8. Sesame Street X-mas album
9. When I go home (parents' home), I still whip out my Barbie and Pac Man records
10. Girl Talk
11. making out with girls--just seeing if you're paying attention
12. peas from a can
13. Delilah's radio show on 102.9--yes, sometimes the stories make me tear up a bit
14. Follow That Bird
15. The Pippi Longstocking movies, care bears, gummy bears, berenstein bears
16. Hanging out with my mom
17. Natural Ice, and cheap beer in general
18. baked potatoes in semi-fancy restaurants at the Mall of America (Note to Speardane: I resisted the urge to write MOA just for you)
19. interjections
20. Charlotte Diamond

Oh, the things comp students say

Today, while discussing profiles, I prompted students to write some statements about themselves. Most of these started with "I believe..." or "I think...". Then I had them pick their favorite and we went around the room reading them. I get to the guy in the front, decked out in baseball cap and Abercrombie sweatshirt, and he says "I'm not prejudiced, I just don't think coloreds and homosexuals should act like victims." To be sure I heard correctly, I had him repeat himself. Yup, that's exactly what he said. I've been milling over how I could have responded for the last couple hours. At the time, however, there wasn't much for me to say. I managed to mumble how the word was probably inappropriate. He then informed me that it was okay because he was white and "they" are "colored." What shocked me most, perhaps, was the guy who said this. He doesn't look like he grew up on a farm, in Iowa, or away from societies.

A few students later I get to one girl who proclaims: "I think people on welfare should get off their butts and get jobs." Now here's an issue that gets me. Where do these people grow up? Edina? Ach. Holding back the scathing remarks I'd like to make, I simply reply that she should take women's studies--women and economics. I barely got out the words women's studies before she rolled her eyes and went back to her Cosmo quiz existence. I'm guessing Betty Friedan is not one of her role models.

Before this, when discussing how profiles are often found in magazines, I managed to get into a discussion about the Deborah Gibson article in the latest issue of Playboy. Student I've previously mentioned declares that he would be more than willing to bring in some back issues for examples. I declare that I enjoy my job and would like to keep it a little longer. I return to our exciting lecture on profiles, and three boys in the corner continue discussing Playboy.

At one point while they were coming up with their brilliant descriptions I went to get a drink. On my way back I passed a class with clearly uninterested students. I stood outside the door for a moment and realized how lucky my students are to have me.

HAHAHAHAHA

"Stay loose, Stompie." Page 196 of The Memory of Stones (a damn long book btw). Somehow I just see this coming out of Smith's mouth. Hahahaha. Arg. Back to reading.

Boys From Vegas

So the boy made it safely home from Vegas the other night (oddly, I already wrote this blog but my computer decided to shut down at the exact moment I was ready to publish it.) And alas, he was not with strippers, but was "doing so well at the blackjack tables I didn't want to leave." Nevermind that it was 11pm and he hadn't called me all day. Oh well.

Boy actually makes it home at about the wee hours of the morning on a day when I have to get up in the wee hours of the morning to "teach." (I'm a little worried that I feel the need to put that in quotation marks. Hmm.) Boy proceeds to make lots of noise moving vehicles outside. i thoughtfully kept my car in the garage because I finally realized how nice the boy had it all this time. Boy lets dog out. Boy turns on all the lights in the whole damn house. Lights that shine directly into my bedroom. Boy throws keys/cash/business cards for escort services on his bureau. Boy already drives me crazy and makes me wish for another few nights of solitude. Boy growls at me. Boy goes into the bathroom for a remarkably long period of time. Note that this is before he A. Says a proper hello to me B. Kisses me C. Confesses how he is incapable of tying his shoes without me, the best person in the world, around to help him
Boy is still in bathroom. I don't know. I guess I just never have the urge to finish a novel on the crapper. I'm in and out in less than 2 minutes. Anyway, I tell boy he's pooped enough for one night, and boy proceeds to tell me about the two chili dogs he had earlier that day and that no, he hasn't quite gone enough. Ten minutes later boy finally comes to bed. He starts telling me about his trip. I growl and roll over. We both decided it's time to go to bed.

Boys and Vegas

Apparently Vegas makes boys stupid. I know this isn't a profound idea, but let me elaborate anyway. I called the boy earlier this afternoon, making sure it was late enough that I could be pretty sure he'd be awake. Of course, in Vegas, one never knows if any time is a good time. The boy didn't answer. Ach, maybe he was busy (e.g. strippers). Like the thoughtful boy that he is, he didn't call me back. When I got out of class, I tried again. Once again, he was too busy (strippers?!) to answer the phone. I called repeatedly. Not because I'm psycho, but because sometimes he doesn't notice right away. Nothing. Then I leave a message. Nothing. Like the caring fiance that I am, I begin to worry. I call the wife of one of the guys he's with, thinking it would be nice to know they are just busy (STRIPPERS??!!) and not the latest CSI plot. Strangely enough, the number I have is their cell phone number. Guess who answers--the boy. He says "Hello [Casey]?" Then he hangs up. I think perhaps their cell phone charges outrageous fees in Vegas and figure he will just call back on his phone. I wait. Nothing. I call his cell phone. Nothing. I call the wife's cell phone again. Nothing. I call his phone several more times like a crazy psycho girlfriend. Nothing. I leave an angry message with several explitives expressing my dissatisfaction with his hanging up on me and non-answering of his own cell phone. I threaten him with bodily harm. I wait. Nothing. I wish to go to bed but know the second I am pleasantly dreaming about a man with a nice ass who returns my phone calls, he will wake me up. He's just thoughtful like that.

I've lost my sparkle. I think it ran off with my zest for life. Anybody seen it? Ach. I don't want to blog. That means thinking about my life and reflecting on it. Right now I don't feel like it. Is it the weather? Probably. Is it this whole thesis thing? Probably. Is it the fact that the boy went to Vegas and won't be back till Wed.? Probably. Is it because I'm having a super sexy girls night slumber party? Heck no! That will be fun. Hopefully just what I need to get out of this funk. Seriously. What's with me?

Props to Xtina. She's done what I will only dream of. Of course, I might have a chance if I actually wrote something. (I'd link you to Smith's lovely site with fireworks and all, but I still don't know how. I'll figure it out soon, I promise.) But seriously, if you kick me in the ass again like you did last night, I will drop you.

blah...