November 2008


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Among our texting banter, The Realtor wrote:

“I am completely serious. 100%. Let’s get married.”

Probably not the healthiest sign that my first thought was the last person who pseudo-proposed and how it felt wrong coming from someone else.

I am a little bit in love with my classmates, specifically three of them and more specifically the three who were randomly selected as my group final-project team. The group is two girls and a dude (who makes up for 33.3-percent of the male population in the program and 50-percent of the straight-male population. He also happens to live less than a block from me), and they are the only reason why I am enjoying grad school as much as I am right now. The good news is that they’re a little bit in love with me too, which we emphatically state via emailed love declarations:

The only thing that has gotten me through today is the thought of seeing you guys at class tonight.


I hate the people at work; it would be like grad school if I didn’t have you three.


This does, however, confirm that if I had a laptop and wireless Internet in undergrad, I would have been even less productive (is that possible?) than what I was. The professor’s voice has reached white-noise status as I am too preoccupied on my group’s conversations, especially when one is chewing their snack deliberately loud enough to reach me three rows up and another is making sarcastic commentary on the lecture while the third is excluding me from their hipster clique (apparently adding “Sent from my iPhone” to the bottom of my emails without having sent said emails from an iPhone makes a difference? And is not as cool?). Who would listen to the professor, who costs many hard-earned dollars, when such delightful distractions are available?

Unfortunately, I enjoyed them a little too much at class yesterday and as a result needed to excuse myself for a few minutes to gain composure – could not keep my laughing-shit together. And I sit in the front row. In a class of twenty. The professor did his best to play oblivious and keep the death glares at a minimum, but my GPA definitely dropped a few points as a result. Which means I should probably start that 30-page paper that’s due in two weeks that we’ve supposedly been working on the entire semester … that accounts for 50-percent of our final grade … Because without any favoritism points, it looks like I am going to need all the help I can get. The last two exams I took last-minute PTO to finish my work; looks like for finals, I might need to take a week or so, as my time-management skills are crap. But at least my group still loves me.

“So … do you think I’m attractive? I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“What exactly are you trying to figure out?”

“If I’m insane.”

One of my jobs in college was a personal assistant/journalist for the Director of Swine Research. The scientific content and research results were interesting, but the job entailed afternoons in the basement of the Animal Science Building –a building which, at a big research-based campus, dedicated the basement solely to the computer lab and animal carcasses. The smell of fresh slaughter would spread throughout the entire basement, regardless of the quantity/density of walls. It was always there. This smell eventually caused my short tenure with the director. The job and future potential were pretty great but I couldn’t handle that smell.

My question for this Thursday: what has been your worst job or the worst specific element of a job?

Another one bit the dust this weekend as yet another friend got engaged. He asked after the football game when she was four rum-and-cokes deep. After her acceptance, he nervously admitted that he hadn’t brought the ring with him, it was back at the apartment, but he was excited to show it to her, and did she want to go see it?

Instead of insisting to see the piece of jewelry that would remain on her left finger until death, she said, “Can we go eat first?”

Fuck the diamond. Give me pizza. Perfect.

Also, here is my favorite news story of the day (via The Kid): Man Tries to Pay Bill with Spider Drawing

My house-warming party is this weekend. For this grand event, The Sister wants Rockband on the top floor, I want Beruit and flip-cup in the garage, and on the middle floor, we both want a lot of booze and snacks to ensure the variety of worlds colliding will at least be drunk and well-fed when attempting awkward conversation. Invitations (via evite and Facebook) have been distributed and guests ranging between 40 and 80 are expected to attend for varying lengths of time (it’s technically an “open house”). Forty to 80 tells me nothing, especially since numbers don’t necessarily translate smoothly into quantities as my college friends will drink more than my family members.

If I were to go to The Beer Store tomorrow, I would buy two kegs but is that enough? My friends can drink a lot, and I would rather have too much than too little. Two kegs plus back-up liquor? My Wine Bar people are planning on coming after the restaurant closes, which translates to 1am or so, and I promised that if they make the drive out to the ‘burbs, I will have booze for them. Also, what about food? Again, would rather have too much than too little. And final neurotic question: as many as twenty people will be camping on my floor; do I need to stock blankets/pillow from my parents’ house or will my six(ish) comforters suffice?

I want this party to have drinking, happiness and many randoms enjoying the company of other randoms. For worlds to collide in a good way. And maybe some drunken dancing, too. Now. How do I accomplish this goal?

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