Weekend Roundup

So the Action! Packed! Weekend! is now over. Thank gob! I shall break it down for you in parts, easily managable morsels of Art nerdy goodness, beginning with:

Kev's Gig, Friday night

Okay, so south Jerz is scary, y'all. Kev's bands played first and second, and they generally rawked. Then, Then! On stage, for your rocking and viewing pleasure, was a man who obviously counted Steven van Zandt as a personal style icon. He had the big embroidered do-rag, a purple crushed velvet shirt, and what can only be described as rubber pants. They were not pleather, they were not vinyl, even! RUBBER. And then, the next band? Their bassist also looked like a pirate! Oh yes, twas a frighful night in so jerz, mateys.

Barnes Foundation, Saturday morning
Always a pleasure to visit Mr. Barnes' place. It's amazing, since there are no wall tags, you discover something else he has EVERY time! The neph waved hi to every baby he saw (and since the collection is heavy in Impressionism, there were a lot!) and barked at every doggie.

Bridal Shower, Saturday afternoon
Meh, boring. But Kev's cousin asked me to read in her wedding. Woo hoo, fun! No, really, I am excited. I've never been in a wedding party, exactly, but I've read in a lot of weddings. And I get a corsage, what fun! A pink one!

So come home from the shower and make pasta salad for the boy's first birthday party. The party was fun. Oh wait, need a heading. Here

The boy's first birthday party, Sunday afternoon
Flurries of activity, including my sister and me going to steal tables from her work, getting a shitload of balloons from multiple places, getting a Sesame Street cake and ashtrays. That was really our list.

Get home, decorate a bit and then the families came. Does everyone know how incredibly effed up my family is?? Not my immediate family, we're okay. If by okay you mean all live in one house and come about thisclose to killing each other. But my cousins are another story.

They are a little embarrassing. They fight all the time. They are also all solidly in their thirties. And my one cousin C is pregnant, and she's a pain in the ass about it. Her brother R is annoying as all hell, seriously, I think he's bi-polar but almost always on the upswing. Whatever you call that part. He babbles on and on about his inventions. Christ, the inventions! He's working with Rubbermaid right now, and then he's going to go to Wal Mart with another. But I just let him talk, because on the off chance he does really make something of this project, I get a new car. Actually, been thinking, I just want him to pay off all my debt, including my hefty student loans.

Also caught my 14 year old second cousin messing around on myspace. Now, I have an account, and I see nothing wrong with it, if the kids are supervised. This girl obviously isn't. Makes me sad. Compounding this is my aunt, the thirty-year olds' mother, who is just miserable! Never feels well, always starting trouble, etc etc.

And this is to say nothing of the boy's father's family. The one sibling of his father, ew, what a brat. She changes the mood of any room she walks in to. She sucks. As does her older sister, but mainly because she's a junky. yep! Bet the neighbors had lots to say about us that day!

The boy made out really well with presents. My nephew, Kev's sister's son, (2 yrs old) asked her to put a Buzz Lightyear table and chairs set in the car. Thief! Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't lock my doors to keep the boy's dad's family out of my apartment!

And the angels sang and the cherubim and the seraphim and all that good stuff too

Holy crap. I? Have! A! TEACHING! JOOOOBBB!!

It's not the one that I interviewed for last week- no decision on that one yet. But! At my school, in the Spring, I am teaching two, yes two! classes. One is your basic art history 102. Renaissance to Modern.

But! There's also one that I get to... ready for this... create! like myself, y'all!

I AM BEYOND EXCITED, AND I'M SORRY IF I'M SCREAMING, BUT HONESTLY.

Last night I was near tears because I didn't think I would ever get some teaching experience. But! My advisor, but mostly the department secretary, have finally shown some faith in me, and omg!

Like totally teaching!

OMG!

Action! Packed! Weekend!

Oh my gob, there is so much going on this weekend. In the span of three short days, I will

1. Go to the Barnes Foundation with my two aunts, my mom, sister and the neph.
2. Go to a shower for my brother-in-law's fiancee (I'm never sure, is she my future sister-in-law?)
3. Miss a reunion of my college friends
4. Neph's first birthday extravaganza
5. Watch the Sopranos season finale. Admittedly, this last activity is fairly passive, but trust me, it's big just the same.

My aunt M's annual visit from Florida is often filled with tension. My mom is pissed because she comes at the end of the school year- yes, a bad time for you, but she comes to visit us while she's in Delaware for some golf tournament. This year, she moved it up so she could be here for the baby's first birthday. I think she's sleeping on our sofa down here in the apartment- guess I should, like, vaccuum the cat hair off or something. Add that to the list.

The Barnes is a weird place. It's this guy, an MD who was all into art. And it's very weird, a mix of PA German metalworks and mostly Impressionist and Post-Impressionist works. And they have verrrrry strict rules about visiting. They're actually going to move the whole collection to center city someday pretty soon, for reasons too deep to go into here, but my aunts wanted to see the original. Hence the visit on a day that I would normally spend prepping myself to be excited over toasters.

The Bridal Shower. I know everyone hates bridal showers, but I really. fucking. hate. bridal showers. They are so BORING! They are not fun. And I have zero enthusiasm for towels. Who thought up these things, anyway? I think that, like the medical establishment making residents work multiple-day long shifts in row, our foremothers had to suffer through this shit, so why shouldn't we? This philosophy sucks, but I've already had my fake-surprise, sit around in a circle and watch me open up dishes, sheets, and the weirdest set of etched lighthouse glasses I've ever seen.

Oh my God! I just remembered that I have to go out on Friday night, to see Kev's bands, in the plural, play. Christ, I'm taking Monday off, I'm exhausted just thinking of all this!

Cats 014

Cats 014
Originally uploaded by laurenhpatterson.

I woke up two nights ago with Kev's alarm. When he works, it's set for 2am. Just to give an idea of the setting.

So it's pitch black, he's slowly waking up, and I am laughing my ass off. What's with you? he says. Remember, he's used to me waking up in tears, but never laughing.

I had dreamed that Hariette, the cat featured above, was involved somehow in a coleslaw eating contest. I never even knew such a thing existed, or that cats ate cabbage.

This was no ordinary coleslaw, either. It had cranberries and other sophisticated ingredients. And Hariette was walking around on her hind legs. Like Garfield. She may have been animated, possibly, but I don't remember that much detail.

Just cats. And a coleslaw eating contest.

Seriously, what the fuck?

Young and awkward love

Damn it, Liberal Banana, I was going to do this anyway! I decided Monday, the day after Kev's and my second anniversary that I'd post some embarrassing photos of us. And then, she gets all bossy-like and commands us, her faithful readers, to do so!

harumph.

But since I still got nothin in the way of a post, I'll make like a good Catholic girl and do as I'm told.

Cue Kenny Rogers, Through the Years...



Awww. Our first summer together, and here we are at Hershey park. And I had this thing, this wrist problem- sprains, breaks, tendonitis, for about two years. Did wonders for my social life, having a bionic arm thingy on it. What the hell was 5'8" me thinking, taking gymnastics?!


High School Graduation for me. Also, the only photo that comes from my family's collection. We are not, shall we say, sentimental people. Fun fact- my highschool's mascot was Bambi. Like the Bambi. yep sure was!


This one is during college, and it looks like I may have discovered pot by this time. Family function be damned, I'm pretty sure we're both a bit stoned in one. And am I wearing a boy sweater? I think I am!




Rockin the skunk stripes like no other! HAWT!










Graduation again! Now honey, what are you going to do with this BFA? Check out my artschool purple hair. cute













Something shocking must have happened at this cousin's wedding- besides Kev's scarecrow tie. Must have been circa Dark Side of the Rainbow time.









Speaking of weddings!! Here we are in church, at ours. May 21, 2004. Too late to pull out now!








Dude, let's make a break for it. PSA- bubbles in your eye, like, totally sting. owww. And over Kev's left shoulder... is a good friend who blogs! But I won't name names, just in case he likes to keep shady.






So there it is, Kev and Lauren, the pictorial edition. I've found some horrific photos of Kev in this process (and of course, of me too!), but they may be for another day. It was fun to look through the wedding photos again. Some vital stats that are pretty much always spoken of in terms of weddings:

Wedding song: I Got You Babe, by Sonny and Cher
Honeymoon: Road trip to Cape Cod, Boston, Springfield MA (Basketball Hall of Fame, and that's pretty much it), Salem, Concord, and NYC.
My dress was, indeed, pink
These photos are only the ones I could take out of frames or the proof book- I have one that I love, but they're in our album now.
Something old: Antique Wedding Band
Something new: Diamond Studs, a wedding gift from Kev
Something borrowed: My mom-mom's ring, which I promptly returned to my cousin right after the ceremony
Something blue: A blue rosary from my pop-pop, wrapped around the stems of my bouquet.

I love you, Kevin, if you read this. Being married to you is amazing and fun, even if we have had some really bad hair along the way.

Post #100!!

Wow, one hundred posts, for realsies?

I guess I could call myself a blogger now. And right now, I'm even blogging from work.

So yesterday I got my Masters degree. My school's graduations are funny. I shit you not, there was a dude humming Pomp and Circumstance. Seriously, like laaaaa, da dee dee DAAAAA DAAAAAAA. One year they had a steel drum band. That would have been much cooler. They also started, em, EARLY!! I ran up the aisle as the last graduate. Then there were speeches, one doctor was hooded, and then they called... ME! Was suprised, since the names in the booklet went the opposite way, with the advanced degrees in back. I was settling in for the long haul, went I heard my full name being called. I'm all huh huh? And ran up, luckily did not fall, had my booklet in my hands. I threw that down on the ground, since I had no idea what else to do with it. I am soooo graceful. So I took my diploma, kissed various profs, and got the hell out of there.

These graduations at art schools are funny. I didn't wear my cap and gown- I didn't want to! I got pictures taken, but I didn't want to stick out that badly from the other grads. So I wore my black capris and a fun shirt I took from my sister. My advisor was wearing a red striped polo shirt with the typical tweed jacket with suede patch elbows over it, and PURPLE socks. A ceramics professor was wearing some kind of dashiki in the brightest yellow I've ever seen (also was a white guy). Huh? Yeah

And naturally, I got a rejection email this morning for that conference I wanted to do in VA. boo!! I got another rejection on my birthday in February. Come to think of it, it was for the same paper! Hmmm, should I take a hint?

I have an interview next week for a position to teach two sections of ancient architecture. It's about as far from contemporary art as you can get, but hell, I need a job. Will have to lecture on the Coloseum as part of the interview, gah! I'm nervous, so any good thoughts would be much appreciated!

behold the new carness

behold the new carness
Originally uploaded by laurenhpatterson.

ahhh, new car. Riding in style now!

Grumble grumble grumble

I feel a little beaten down this week.

1. I need a frickin job, and MASTERS students keep getting them.

2. I need a new car (equal parts point of light and source of agita right now).

3. And I look forward to a long summer of getting paid the same amount of money to work twice as many hours as I did during the semester. cry cry cry.

4. While I thought my finals were over and done with, permanently, no no no. My dumbass professor, who is new, and acts very much the new professor- overly critical, tries to show off the knowledge, generally a pain in the ass- was not happy with my final. She wants me to rewrite part of it.

a. yes, it's very generous of her to offer. True, she doesn't have to do that- I should just get the grade that I got.
b. fuck! I thought I was done!!!
c. the assignment was completely dumbass- my fantasy exhibition thing.
1. I know not a thing about putting exhibitions together.
2. I do not like doing things half assed, nor do I like doing things that I don't understand how to do!


Holy cow, I just wrote my complaints out in outline form. Get me the fuck out of school!!

no fair!!

How am I supposed to concentrate on my papers when VH1 Classic is showing the TV movie about Def Leppard?! Not FAIRRRRR!! I mean, with the early days, and the accident, and the overproduced masterpiece that is Hysteria? and then the end credits, with Two Steps Behind... sigh...

hot damn, that is one bad picture of me!

Honestly, what was I thinking?! I took the time to zap some zits, but I left those hideous circles under my eyes? In my defense, little sleep + allergies acting up = Rocky Raccoon under my peepers. Sigh. But that little bruise, it makes me a little hardcore, right?

I don't understand what's wrong with me, but I can't get this stupid directed research paper finished. ARGH! It's probably because my advisor has pretty much definitely forgotten about it, so what due date?! And maybe because I don't feel all that supported by my advisor anyway, and I just found out that a MASTERS student is teaching her own class next semester, and I am PISSED, and she's worse infront of an audience than I am, and grrrrr, why are there so many modern/contemporary people in the department anyway.

I am feeling sad, and now, as if I need more pressure, we have to go buy a car. Kev's has died, and we need two cars at this point. Sucks, but I can't use SEPTA to get to Tyler over the summer. And my car, which is now Kev's, is old, too. So we can't have just one old ass car. I've found one that I really really want, and we can afford it, I think. It just sucks, because we just made some changes in our finances and were going to try and save some money. Which is the whole point of living with my parents, to save money. We haven't saved ANYTHING, and living from paycheck to paycheck is FOR THE BIRDS! Anyone need a private art history teacher? I swear I'm cuter than that photo from the other night!

Art nerd, reporting for check-in!

So okay, Monday it's all over. There are three things that need to get done. They are, in order of deadline:

1. Cheesy fake exhibition assignment for Race class- halfway done, due tomorrow 10am. Not a research paper, so i find it easier to write, in some ways.

2. Directed Research Paper from last semester that I've actually begun writing- 12 of 15 pages, due whenever, I guess, since my advisor doesn't really talk to me. I might think about some sleep tonight, and hand it in Monday with

3. Paper on Augustus' house on the Palatine- not in bad shape, just have to re-write the presentation I gave. Add some stuff, take some out, change the tone, etc etc. due Monday 4pm, after which we all trek out to the prof's house to have some artsy dinner and fun fun fun.

you guys, this is my last semester! Well, you know that's not entirely true, but most people don't really get the whole studying for prelims/dissertation stage. I just tell them I'm not done, but now I can teach my own classes. Which I'm freaking out about. But someone has to give me an opportunity, right?

Or maybe the jitters are just from the enormous coffee coolatta I just housed. the thing about me and caffeine is, it helps with energy a great deal, but I still have my attention-span-of-a-fly mentality. I'm sitting here writing a blog when I should be working, for Christ's sake!! And I have 12 hours to finish this stupid ass assignment! And really, I want it to be in by 9:30. Who wants to be the one charging up the steps at t-minus 5 seconds before the piece of crap is done. Not that I haven't done that before.

hey, wanna see a totally cool thing?


Nice, I have a bruise from leaning on my computer! And it only took 6 minutes of futzing with the computer to take the photo in Photobooth, fix my crappy skin in photoshop and upload to blogger. Maybe my time might be better spent doing something else. Maybe I need to cut out caffeine.

Please, send Ambien!

Have you seen this bottle?

Missing, in addition to the pack of birth control pills. Last seen Thursday, April 27.

I swear, if I somehow find a meth lab in the basement, I am out of here!

from the mixed-up files of mrs. (likeI'mreallygivingupmyrealname)...

How, exactly, does one lose a mostly-done pack of birth control pills?

I don't know, but my pack is now gone! Fear not, husband, as well as faithful internet readers. I get three months at a time, so I can just sub one pack for another. But still, how do things just go missing on me?

I think one of the cats might have stolen them. I don't recall putting them away, up in the cabinet above the fridge after I took one on Thursday night. Dumbasses, they can't get pregnant anyway, but I need those, bitches!

I guess I'll find the pack when we move. When I moved from my last house, I found about two packages of hair bands, a gross of pens and bobby pins by the truckload. In odd places, like under the oven, bed and fridge. These things regularly go missing on me.

Do you think they'll be okay to use when I find them? ;)

RIDE on the PEACE TRAIN!!

So, Teacher Lady has inspired, INSPIRED me to write a post on the joys of rowhouse living. I lived in a row from the time I was two until just two years ago. And it was an experience.

You have to have consideration for you neighbors in a rowhouse. We couldn't clean, or make any noise at all, really, after 9 pm. That's because of our neighbors to the left. They were no fun at all. This was compounded by the fact that my mom made me be friends with their daughter. She killed me, socially, in grade school.

They were early go-to-bedders. Very early. Like I said, 9 pm. Now, this was not all that hard, but sometimes projects took a lot longer than expected. Quite a few IKEA fiascos ended with a call from the neighbors to be quiet. DUDE. And the worst part was, I knew their son was not sleeping in the bedroom on the other side of my wall. Because every night at about 11:30 I heard him sneeze. THROUGH THE WALL, people.

On the right was a sweet older lady who lived alone. Not too many weird sounds from her side. Unless you count the Lawrence Welk show at a bazillion decibles on Saturdays. And as she got older, you could hear her chairlift go upstairs at about 8pm. She was so cute, but those chairlift bitches were loud back then!!

Then she died. I was sad. It took a year to sell her house, but then finally, VIOLA moved in. Oh. My. God. The stories! Viola is about forty, I'd say. Her boyfriend is my age. Literally. And I have nothing against large age differences, cause age doesn't have a ton to do with who you are. But she was the immature one.

Recycling day was always fun. CASES of coors light and milwaukee's best. Box upon box o'wine. hot! Once I saw old E forties and Lighting forties in the recycling. AND! She'd put out said recycling at 11, after her shift at work was over. It sounded like she threw each bottle into the street from her stoop.

One night, my dad was sick with a horrible cold. She had her boytoy over, and they were rocking out. At 11 at night. TO CAT STEVENS! Like, I knew the voice was familiar. Then we were riding on the peace train. And I was all, huh? Who rocks out to Cat Stevens? Needless to say, my dad had to go over and ask them to turn it down a bit. But seriously, who rocks out to CAT frickin STEVENS??

sam in... something

sam in... something
Originally uploaded by laurenhpatterson.

Sammy wanted some face time on my blog too. He's very handsome, if a little overexposed, no?

Done!!

Today was my very last presentation in grad school. Like ever! Wooo ha! It feels good to be finished (I had a Spanish and Latin teacher in high school- she used to scold us "Turkies are done, people are finished."

I think it went well. No one fell asleep, and to my knowledge no one blacked out from sheer bored or overwhelming crappiness. They seemed to like my jokes, too. I try to crack a few jokes in a presentation in my continuing effort to make art history NOT BORING! It's no easy feat, as anyone who's taken AH101 can probably attest. I feel it is my duty, then, to take a presentation on Augustus' house on the Palatine hill and make jokes about MTV cribs and how basketball players have horrible taste in interior decor. When speaking about the paintings on the walls and problems with dating, I must liken the situation to present-day houses still done up in seafoam green and peach, or foil wallpaper with palm trees. And if there are no answers, which, frequently in the Ancient period there aren't, I'm going to throw up my hands and say "the hell?!"

I'm trying to craft my professional persona here, people. I'm the cute one, dammit, adore me!!

mem-ries, like the corners of my mind...

Good friend Andrew over at sheepshank wrote another hunger inducing post about food, in which, yay, I get a shout-out. For the record, former bosses, who, incidentally, I doubt know anything about the internet- come on, I never let anyone STEAL from your store! And I certainly never FACILITATED said stealing. Again incidentally, my sister, who is now a loss prevention manager, got fired for stealing, well, actually, hooking people up with free stuff.

Just wanted to note that. It's all a lie. Except it's not. Or is it?

Anyway, yeah, I used to work in a deli. For ten years. Yes, ten years. I did lots of jobs there. I was a hoagie architect, grill bitch (that's really what they called me) a salad girl, and a cashier. I waitressed exactly twice. I was never allowed to touch a slicer though. I also was the fount of useless knowledge and the settler of many a debate. They thought I was smart or something.

I broke my arm there. Twice. I cut myself countless times (and remember, no slicer ever!) The first summer I worked, I passed out three times and threw up once. I don't deal well with being hot, and would often sneak off to the walk-in refrigerator and cool off.

I kind of miss that place. It was nice to have a job that I didn't take home with me. Unless, of course, you count the stench that anyone who's ever worked with food knows all too well. I think it's best described as grease, meat, onions-peppers-pickles, and ASS. It was a job that I wore shittier clothes than I'd ever wear in public to do. I had three pair of shorts, two pair of pants and countless free t-shirts. My favorite one, and one that I wish I hadn't worn it to work so much, had a Dietz and Watson hotdog skiing down a hill. The caption, naturally- hot doggin'!

When I left, they cried (I was busy shitting myself about being a TA- of course not realizing that I'd be the slide-flipper and occasional shouter-of-dates). I talk a lot about it at my new job as a GA, I guess because it's the only other working experience I have. But come on, does anyone have great stories about their office job that involve food-eating dares, or hangman tournaments, or flying pickles? I think not!

x-treme closeup

x-treme closeup
Originally uploaded by laurenhpatterson.

Jeebus, what a weird looking creature I have!

Three weeks left in the semester, you know what this means...

Little updating to be done these next few weeks. I'll check in when I can, you know, when I feel like procrastinating. Like I've been doing all. fucking. semester. Can you get senioritis in grad school? Cause I think I have it. Oh, and a brain tumor. Cause the migraines, they are a crushing my skull at this point.

Tis crunch time, baby, and I am operating on little sleep anymore. Tomorrow I will hand in my crappy paper on Kara Walker. Monday I have to do a presentation on the house of Augustus on the Palatine hill (anyone who knows anything about this, lemme know, kay?). Then later in the week I will hand in that paper from last semester (which still. haven't written more than 2 pages). Then a take home final (yayayay!!) and write up my other (boring) paper on the city of Augusta Emerita- home of thousands of Augustus' retired soldiers, isn't that FASCINATING in temrs of the implications for propaganda? no I don't think so either.

Then! I am done with classes. FOREVER! Well,not teaching them, that'll only begin this fall (God willing!). But for my life as a student. yesss. Until I'm 50, and go back for my MFA. Which'll be free, hopefully, since I'll have a wonderful tenured position by then. And I'll be so so happy and won't procrastinate and will be stress free at this point in the semester.

someday. only 23 years to go!

Acne 'Splosion!!

My face has blown the fuck up, people. I understand it's part of the healing process. I probably should have realized that this would happen. My skin is purging impurities and other grossness. Yeah, makes sense.

I should have thought of this before I started all my rituals. You know, maybe waited until my conference pres was over?!

I am not that bright, everyone.

But I think it went well. It was a very small audience, but hell, I don't care. There were maybe 10 people. And my 2 friends who came already knew what I was speaking about, so I didn't get to shock them. Ah well. Good feedback, and some good suggestions from the audience on ways to fill out my paper. I really think that I can do this for my dissertation. YAY PORN!!

Now that "Conferences, Symposia and Exhibitions" spot in my CV isn't blank, so yay. And there's no place to put attendance numbers on your CV. Oh hell yes. Now I just need a publication, and I'm good.

And my face to stop blowing the fuck up!

Feeling putzy

In order to further my procrastination, I have added some links over there --->

Some more blogs I dig, yay! Read them, it's fun, swear.

Hey, wanna see a flyer on which my name is featured??



edited to add...

The best part of my first ever conference program? That they spelled my new, common, EASY TO SPELL last name wrong. Honestly!!

okay so now I blog at work...

And it's all to express my distaste for a word.

Smoothie. It makes me gag just a little. I know that they may taste good, and are reasonably healthy if made with good ingredients.

The word, though, it's just gross. Smoooooooothie. Ew! It makes your mouth do ugly things. And it's vaguely sexual, which doesn't mix with food that well, for me. Think moist, yech! Or succulent, that's another one. Slice bugs me, too, but I don't know why.

This is definitely falling under the ramblings aspect of this site, no?

What-ne?

Aren't I a little old to have acne? I didn't have it badly in highschool, god!!

I went to the dermatologist today, and she diagnosed me with moderate but icky acne. boo!! I mean, I'm twenty seven, and not pregnant, why does my face hate me now? Along with all the other ailments I have going on with me!

The things grad school has done to me! When I started, the only medication I took was the Pill. Now, I take all this, for these reasons:
Zyrtec, for seasonal allergies. yeah, seasonal as in, ALL SEASONS! Indoor, outdoor, I'm allergic to my jerk-off cats, and dust. I am not a good housekeeper, people. So I'm allergic to my home. Nice

A beta-blocker- for prevention of migraines. Fat lot of good it does, too. I eat

Imitrex- for the relief of migraines in progress. like it's candy!

And still the pill, of course

And now, an antibiotic for my face, plus Differin and a funky face wash.

I am a walking pharmacy, people. I think they're getting suspicious of me at CVS. Seriously, if any of these drugs was in any way fun, I'd be in trouble, I think.

I know this entry is long and a bit incoherent. But I popped an antibiotic before realizing that I have to sit up for a half hour before going to bed, because this stuff that supposedly will clear up my skin? It will also burn holes in my esophagus.

I should just wear a Darth Vader helmet instead. That'd be much easier than this shit!!

Hot holy hell!

Everyone, please pay careful attention to the words that I'm about to type. Are you ready? Because this! is! bignews!!

I, Lauren the art nerd, am going to graduate. In May. Of this year. With a Master's degree.

Advisor v.2.0 gave me back my thesis this afternoon, and proclaimed that she was signing off on it.


blink blink, whaaa? um, okay!! YAYY so what do I do now? The grad office sits there witha ruler and checks that your margins are correct. And they check that your footnotes are in the proper format. And other copious nitpicky bullshit details. Then, I take the finished approved certifiable copy to OfficeMax, make five copies of it, and I! AM! Lauren, MA!!! Woo ha!


And?! This is the part where I beseech all my three readers for some advice. I need your help in making this decision, because my god, the potential ramifications. Advisor v.2.0, remember, is friends with the subject of my thesis.

She
wants
to
send
it
to
the
artist
for
her
to
read.

So should I? I dunno. I'ma scurred. On the one hand, yes! On the other, what if she thinks I'm an idiot and I suck and I ruin my reputation before it's even formed?

So help me, faithful readers. You're my only hope!

Busted!

Thanks a lot, John. Telling my mom that I posted her mole story on the internet. Sit at my breakfast table, eating my food, and then tell on me!! You suck!

Just kidding. Thankfully, my mom doesn't know how to do many things on the internet, and I doubt she'd ever find this site. If it's not in the favorites folder, she won't find me! Silly momma.

Flag on the play

Inappropriate colloquialism. Five yards, first down.

Seriously, did I type y'all the other day?! What the hell, I am not southern! I'll blame it on amalah. I guess a lot of the people whose blogs I read end up being Southern.

I find myself thinking about blog entries I'll write, and they often contain the word y'all in them. I would never say it, it sounds very unnatural when I do, but typing it comes very natural to my blog-writing.

I guess yous guys just don't sound the same...

Now I REALLY have to graduate in May

I went to the dentist this week, and got information on something that I've wanted for a really! long! time!

I am getting my teeth bleached. Yipee!!

It's something that I've wanted to have done for a very long time. I think that I got served because I used to tease this AWFUL girl who lived next door to us about her very yellow teeth. Other problems with this girl, who my mom MADE me be friends with, to my own popularity's detriment in grade school, were that she would fight with me right before Christmas and my birthday (but still gave me my present, though she often threw it at me) (oh well, free stuff, I don't care how it's delivered!!) and that she was mean and a brat and just generally kind of sucked. Y'all, she was a horse girl. Enough said!!

Now I feel like my teeth are those of a smoker, or someone much older than I am, or someone who drinks a lot more tea than I do. My boss thinks I'm a little nuts. She looked at my teeth yesterday. But those babies had just been polished! And it was I call a good tooth day. It depends on the color I wear and what I've eaten in the day, but sometimes I get really self conscious about my choppers.

The date that they will take my impressions is April 10th. I had a funny moment with the nurse who schedules the appointments. She offered me the week previous, but I had a dermatologist's appointment the same exact time. Weird. And I felt like a flaky extreme makeover candidate. But really, I have what I have diagnosed as excema on my face, and I'm tired of it!

So it's a good thing I don't have a photo up on my profile. You won't recognize me in a month. Many thanks to my parents, who are paying for this. Kev, looking for ideas? I want an ipod nano- 4GB. And Sister? You can get me some clothes for teaching, at a discount from your new store. Or not. Thanks

Tagged?

I guess it counts that I've been tagged, since I did read so on teacher lady's blog. So without further ado...


Four jobs you have had in your life?
1. Deli bitch, that was my official title. Made hoagies and cheesesteaks and was, for a time, a cashier at a local Italian deli.
2. Bills window at a pharmacy- fostered my fear of old people!
3. Slide library chick
4. TA for the world's worst class

Four movies you would watch over and over?
1. Jaws
2. Ferris Beuller's Day Off
3. Anything on Lifetime
sorry, that's it, I don't have the patience to sit for 2 hours and watch a movie!

Four places you have lived?
Only one- Philadelphia PA
unless you count the suburb of Glenside, PA as another place. I don't think it counts though!

Four TV shows you love to watch?
1. Sopranos
2. Sex and the City
3. Six Feet Under
4. Rome
HBO junkie right here!

Six places you have been on vacation?
1. Madrid and surrounding cities.
2. London
3. Rome
4. East coast roadtrip for my honeymoon

Four Websites I visit Daily?
1. myspace. Shut up
2. School's portal
3. The nest
4. blogs blogs blogs!

Four of my Favorite Foods?
1. Pasta- and I have the ass to prove it!
2. Vegetable fried rice
3. Steaky steak
4. Mexican

Four Places I would rather be right now?
1. Home
2. With my neice and nephews
3. Rome
4. NYC

Four things I always Carry with me?
1. chapstick, at least 2, more like 4
2. rewetting drops for my contacts
3. cell phone
4. gum or mints, no one likes hot breath!

can't answer the bonus car one, sorry, I'm still on my first. We also had a Santa Fe for a time, but god bless the lemon law!!

That's it for now. Maybe now you know a little more about me, or a clearer understanding of how CRAZY I am! :P

big fat lazy

Writing my presentation about Lisa Yuskavage for my Realism class. I'm kind of unnervous about this one, since I'm taking big chunks of my thesis and reading it. No big thang, right? But then, on the other hand, my prof knows the artist. Yikes! And I don't say anything bad about her, but I don't know if she'll be weird or what. And this prof is very nice, very take-you-under-her-wing, but also one hell of an editor.

I'm giving my thesis to her tomorrow. I'm nervous about that. I didn't take every single one of her suggestions. I so hope we can get this done by the end of the semester. I will be so. freakin. happy. once I have my Masters in hand. :) Like that, only with my face.

And on a side note, I am feeling like an old lady of late. I have three doctors' appointments scheduled. The eye doctor, the dreaded dentist who I actually don't hate, and the dermatologist. It's funny that I've finally decided to go now, when what is likely a stress-related skin crappiness is showing itself again, yet I am finished with class work at the end of the semester. Christ, it'll probably clear up on its own soon! But really, no, because then comes the semesterly oh my god, I need a job thoughts. And the whole nebulous nature of my prelims and what the hell I'm supposed to do about those.

Argh, matey, I be afloat in the sea of grad school, far from the shore. I feel like chief Brody on the Orca in Jaws. In over my head with my wife calling out that she packed me some dramamine. Oh, except that'd be my mom. who I still live with, even though I'm married.

Here's to swimmin with bow-legged women!

procratinating with just a quick thought

I'm watching VH1 classic's series, Hangin' with... Rick Ocasek is on. Can I just say, I fucking love the Cars? I know, it's not exactly like being a huge Stones fan, or a Phishhead or Deadhead or whatever. Most people probably think they're kinda lame. Brings to mind a story Kev told me about a conversation with his friend Jim, who he has been friends with since fourth grade. goes like this...

K: (listening to the radio, Just What I Needed is on) I like this song.
J: Yeah, I like some of the Cars' songs
K: Lauren fucking loves the cars. She has their greatest hits, I didn't realize they played so many songs.
J: Yeah, My Best Friend's Girl is good.
K: So's Drive.
J: Okay, fine, I'll admit, I fucking love the Cars too.

Anyway, so yeah, I just watched Rick Ocasek sing Drive acoustic. Makes writing about the Iberians and the Romans much nicer.

Right now, Run DMC and Aerosmith's rendition of Walk This Way (the FAR superior version, in my mind) is on. Hell yes!

saga of a harried grad student in her final semester of coursework

Haven't updated in a while! Sorry about that, I am up to my a-hole in the process of Romanizing Spain. Well, I mean, I'm not doing it, I'm studying it. For my super cool (to me anyway) class on propaganda in the Age of Augustus. I'm wondering if I should post something that specific, I wonder if anyone from school will find me? Oh well! Hi everyone!

My mom just tried to lecture me on taking down my blog and my myspace accounts, so that when future employers google me, they won't find me. Never mind that my name, now at least, is about as generic as can be. Even with the addition of my maiden name (now my middle name) I found something announcing the title of my thesis from 2005, and a mention on this guy I dated in high school's website. Nothing terrible. And, Mom, I'm the world's biggest dork! I have nothing to hide! Except maybe from my boss, who probably already knows how little work I do there anyway.

By the way, let's hear a funny story about my mom, shall we? Kev and I were sitting at the dinner table, discussing what we should buy my nephew for his first birthday. We decided on a Little Tykes kind of thing for the backyard at Chez crazy. I made mention of how, with so many of our neighbor's cats being outside cats, we couldn't get him the sand box. She asked what my other nephew and neice did with theirs. Mom, I say, it's a brand new McMansion development. There aren't any cats around. She simply refused to believe that. I said, no, really, no cats, just moles. She says to me, and this is where it gets weird...

Did the moles eat the cats?

What? Mom, seriously, what the fuck? Moles are approximately the size of bunnies,at most, aren't they? And full grown cats, the size of babies? Would dirty Jerz allow flesh eating rodents to exist in a community with so many kids? What the hell?

All I could think of was the rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, with the pointy teeth. Eating cats. Who shit in sandboxes. In the hinterlands of New Jersey.

So, to recap, my mom is still crazy, I am busy busy busy with a paper, and you probably won't hear from me till Monday night, after the pres is over. And Spain either bought the Roman culture with all its symbols (theaters and amphitheaters, fora and temples) wholesale, or the Romans were big bad baddies who forced it upon them. Gotta love the ancient world, there are seemingly never any answers. Lovely.

The baffling manners of artsy people

On Thursday a girl came in to the Slide Library, which is where I put in my 20 hours per week as graduate assistant. Emphasis on the ass. Anyway, the girl was dressed in a very strange manner, even for an art school. She had on GIANT earrings, totally club-style. A non-descript (cause I don't remember it!) shirt, with a rather business-like skirt. So on her torso she was all art education, her major. Then on her feet and legs, going back to the shoe thing, she had on funky textured tights and the most ridiculously fuzzy boots on. Nanook of Cheltenham, I tell ya. And to top it all off, one of those silly sequin-y bags that look like you carry your wallet and datebook inside a big brown disco ball. She was a walking trend.

She came in at around four o'clock, and was a total newbie. That sucks, since we close at 4:30, but really the last second of solitude after four that I can stand. I cut out early a lot. Oh well. She kept telling me what a great resource this is, like every art school under the sun doesn't have a slide library. Um, okay. She took a long time in there, and I didn't leave till quarter to five.

The first part that made me think she was weird and a little clueless was her talk about her lesson plan that she's going to implement at a racially diverse grammar school in the area. She plans to show the work of Kara Walker, who uses cut paper silhouettes to explore themes of 19th century emancipation and the politics of plantation life. Oh, and SEX. Lotsa sex and poop. Show this to seventh graders, honey, even I can tell you what's going to happen. They probably aren't mature enough to see the value in the images and will just giggle a bunch. There's an image I'm thinking of especially, in which a woman is being penetrated by a swan. I definitely would have lost it in seventh grade!

The second thing that she did that made me think she was weird was that she came into my office and saw our girlscout cookies. Would you come into someone's office, whom you do not know, and ask them for a cookie? I wouldn't, but if I did, I certainly wouldn't eat FIVE of them. How strange is that?! At first, when she asked, I thought my boss knew her, and my boss thouught I knew her. What with the forwardness and all.

Good luck with your lesson, ya big cookie stealing, weird dressing, clueless freak show!
edited to add..

here's a link to a photo of Kara Walker's work. Couldn't find any of the images I'm talking about, of course, but here's one of her more graphic emancipation approximation images. for some reason, I can't link on the mac, sorry!

Art nerds, unite!!

So I survived my first official College Art Association Conference. I didn't meet any famous people, but I did get to hear quite a few of em speak. YAY! I heard Mary Garrard and Norma Broude give talks at one session, Anna Chave at another. I heard about the Afterlife of Jackson Pollock (summary- he rocked and the last word has DEFINITELY not been written about him yet, the paintings that were found of his are probably authentic, and his choice of media is staggeringly normal). I heard about Minimalism (only part that really sticks out is the pilgrimmage-like nature of its exhibitions and it's ephasis on ethereal language). I heard about Cezanne and about bringing the feminism to non-women-centered topics.

I saw a very old art nerd guy almost lose it when his slides jammed.I saw a lot of TERRIBLE quality slides. now, I may be an image quality snob because of my job, but seriously. Very Prominent Scholars should not ever show crooked ass slides! And there should definitely be a course called Powerpoint for Artnerds. Because Jesus Christ, people, show me the image, not a stupid ass template that is all sorts of cheesy and have the actual image be thiiiiis big on the screen. Also, don't lie to me and tell me the color is off because there are so many projectors being used on miles of extension cords. Bull shit, Louise!

And by the way, do you know what I do? I am the Digital Media Intern. Sounds fancy pants, doesn't it? I help to create the digital slide collection at my fair school, but I mostly just fart around in filemaker pro and surf lotsa internet. I can also shoot if the spirit moves me, and tomorrow I won't be doing jack but studying for my LAST! MIDTERM! EVAH!!

I'm almost to the end of the internet, by the way. send me pages, I get bored easily!

And I've come to a conclusion about how to differentiate between the artists and the nerds in a crowd like that at CAA. Shoes. Apparently, art nerds only wear ugly shoes. This is not to say that artists don't, but it's all about the intention. I think the artists are purposely being different, but the nerds, well, they just kind of don't get it.

But don't expect me to give in to that, no sireee!! Cute shoes, they must be mine! But I like to toe the line between artist and art nerd. Artist in the summer, nerd in the winter. Ad cute shoes wearer, the whole year long, baby!

And then, evidently, not for another week or so...

yeah, I have no excuse for my absense. I am sorry though. I could lie and say that I was hesitant to sign off on my 70th entry, erasing the sophomorically funny 69 on my hit count. That might not be the truth though...

I must say in my defense that I've mentally written a few entries. One details the strange phenomenon by which a person thinks that I am weird and in response, I start to act. really. weird. This person is in school with me, and I'm not so sure why she thinks I'm wierd. She's never even read my thesis, or this blog!! And dude, she's from Kansas, she don't know from weird!!

Another was an update on my cousin. I forget which pseudonym I used for him, damn! Anyway, he's still, erm, free. Nothing came of my aunt lying to his shrink and saying that she heard him threatening someone. I so agree with Teacher lady, who suggested that the wrong person would be institutionalized in that situation. *check out her blog, especially the hilarious account of grandparents at midterms! LOVE!!!*

Anyhow, I am sorry that I have not updated. Not to you, really, my four or five faithful. But sorry to myself, maybe, for being lazy and crappy. Will do better!

But starting Wednesday, I am going to Boston for the college art association annual conference. A great big enclave of art nerds! I'll be in heaven! Also, I may die if I actually meet anyone famous. Which was another tale that is all composed...up here. When I met the painter on whom I am writing my thesis and TOTALLY FUCKING CHOKED. Now she has a reason to think that I am weird.

Because everyone updates on Mondays!

I know, I'm still not great at the whole updating regularly thing. Sorry. But things are Busy! and Crazy! With an emphasis on the crazy.

Okay, here's the part where Lauren admits to being from a totally fucked up extended family and further confirms the white-trash roots that the whole art nerdery are just a ruse, a RUUUUSE intended to hide the roots, the ROOOOOTS.

Anyway. My cousin, for the purposes of this story let's call him Charles, he is crazy. Like agitated, diagnosed by amatuer psychiatrist/art nerd me as bipolar. He dreams very big. for example, he has two inventions in the works right now. But he's just annoying nuts, not the rip the heads off small animals, eating children kind of nuts. Anyway, my aunt, who is nuts as well, has decided to have him committed.

The problem? That he's not THAT KIND OF CRAZY. He is annoying, for sure. He gets very agitated and talks and talks and talks. He stutters and yells and screams, he runs his mouth like no one else. But really, he isn't the sort of crazy that he needs to be committed. Now, I've looked into it, and he doesn't meet any of the criteria. He hasn't threatened himself or anyone else, as I said, not that kind of crazy. Also, my aunt? I am 100% convinced that she killed my mom-mom. (That is a story for another day, but it involves one sick mom-mom in hospice care for lung cancer and more than one shot of morphine and sleeping pills.) It should also be noted that the story is at least a third-hand account of my aunt's side of the story.

My mom tells me this, and in turn, I tell Kev. Both of our reactions contained a lot of false-start sentences, But? wha? how? huh? And my mom is upset because, without getting into it too much, Charles used to be a cop and was fired and has some sort of civil suit against them or something, and my mom thinks that the cops have it in for him. I think all that was a long time ago, and the cops who would theoretically take him to a hospital if he magically fit any sort of criteria for an involutary committment, which of course, he doesn't, but if he did, well then the cops would be extra rough with him and hurt him or something.

But this is all beside the point, because you can't commit someone for being annoying!! And can I just say that this aunt has tried this before, when my other cousin, her daughter dated a black guy?! Yes, she thought that the fact that her daughter was dating someone not of her race was grounds for her committment! THE HELL?

Yes, people, welcome to my life. I have precious little culture in my life, and it was all learned in school. I feel like I should point out that my own family, my nuclear family, my mom, dad and sister, are quite normal. Kev and his side, even moreso. And this says nothing of the cousin who is 40 and has to hide the fact that he lives with his girlfriend, the one who doesn't work, boyfriend doesn't work, and somehow still owns a house, or the one who is shockingly normal just with kinda bratty kids.

Oh that's right, people. The floodgates have opened, you will now hear about the trashiness that is my extended family. Sit back on the sofa on your porch and grab a beer from the outdoor refrigerator. This'll be better than NASCAR!!

Kanye H Christ!

So I love love love Kanye West. His songs are pretty good. But what I really like about him is his ability to piss people off.

This is my new favorite website, found through the blog of Teacher Lady (see sidebar). She's awesome, but Jesus of the Week is just... brilliant!! sidenote- Jesus of the moment, click to resurrect?! Oh hell yeah!

Anyway, back to Kanye. I don't get why people are so offended by him. Is it that he seems to honestly think he has more in common with the big JC than most people? Cause I find the messianic posturing of the jerk off from Creed to be much more distasteful. (have to give credit where credit is due, except that I forget who said this first). Anyway, Creed guy = supreme douchebag. Kanye, of course, has an ego the size of a continent, but, dude, hello? so does Bono.

I have a feeling people think that the cover of Rolling Stone is derogatory in some way. Maybe it is. But why is that forbidden? I know, I know, I'm not naive, but why can't people try to not immediately get their backs up when a religious image is used.

Andres Serrano's Piss Christ is a pretty image till you know it's all submerged in piss and whatnot. (But that got all messy because the general God-fearing public didn't want their tax dollars being spent on sacriledge) And Chris Ofili's Holy Virgin Mary, famously called the Dung Painting involved public funds, too (the awfully Fascist sounding attempt by Rudy Giuliani to withdraw said funds from the Brooklyn museum, to be specific). But the dung is the least offensive part of the painting. I wonder why no one mentioned all the floating naughty bits or the fact that the Virgin is wearing a Lil Kim inspired outfit. The hell? Oh, those little round things that the painting is resting on? Thar's the poo! And a little bit on the painting. Oh, and the whole show it was part of (Sensation, a show of the collection of British rich dude and patron of the arts Charles Saatchi) was quite provocative.

I know, short digression into my own geeky world, but it's relevant, in some way, I promise. All I'm saying is, why are religious images special? Why can't Kanye identify himself with Christ, he ain't hurting anyone! Why all the annoyance? I think God has a sense of humor. I also think that Kanye has a humongous ego, but hell, I wish I had that kind of confidence in myself. He's an interesting guy, and because he pointed out, uh, the TRUTH on the Hurricane Katrina TV thingy, he's criticized as being a jerk. I say let him play Jesus on the cover of Rolling Stone. Whatever! Why all the judging?

Been a long time

Jesus, a whole week without a post! How will my reader in the singular go on?

I have no excuse. School is busy, but that's nothing new. Although my one class keeps switching between Thursday and Tuesday. I am so confused. I'm doing the readings tonight, and I think the class is tomorrow. I think.

The class is in Contemporary Realism. Woo hoo, that just might be my "boutique area" for my prelims. See, in the exams, which are one part written and one part oral, yes, ORAL, for fuck's sake, there is your broad area, and then you pick a more specialized area and that's your boutique area. My broad area is from 1945 to the present, and my boutique area is going to be either contemporary realism or women artists. I dunno. And those few sentences are about all I know about these exams. Which are the SCARIEST. FUCKING. THING. EVAH!

Yes, I tend to freak out a little like that, when I think about 'em. So anyway, Contemporary Realism, in which I am able to make a presentation and write another paper about Lisa Yuskavage. Oh hell yes. And this is a class with Advisor part 2, and I have her attention next week, when her deadline has passed. Comforting to know that profs write up till the last minute, too.

What else is on my plate for this semester? Well, I have Images in the Age of Augustus, which will focus on the possibilities of visual propaganda in Augustan images. Totally perfect for me in my ever-expanding dorkitude for all things HBO-series related. And I am also taking a class called Depicting Race. It's taught by a new prof who is only here for a year. Too bad, because she has pretty much done more for me in terms of professional networking stuff and also dissertation advice in one email that Advisormus prime has done in, oh, four years. I'll be writing about Kara Walker, who is totally interesting and got to play the good witch in Annie Liebowitz's Wizard of Oz spread for Vogue. (Check out the rest of the images, too!) PS, my birthday is coming up, and the December 2005 edition of american Vogue is not too expensive!

So that's what I'll be doing this semester. Also, I'll be finishing up my thesis, and writing a paper about Ana Mendieta in the eighties. That? is from last semester. Ouch, thank goodness for spring break.

jerk-off cats, part deux

A visual tour of our cat-infested house.

This is Blanche. She hates us all. She will not be petted, but she will crap on a chair when we're about to have company. But, if you talk to her, she purrs and shows her belly. Her ample, substantial belly.









Hariette. The original gansta. Our number one cat. She thinks she's a dog. She goes outside for a few minutes at the time, and is likely the reason we have fleas all the damn time. She licks my feet when I get out of the shower. Don't know why, but she starts knocking on the bathroom door as soon as the water turns off.



Rufus. He's our gentle cutie boy. He treats Hariette like she's his mother, kneading on her belly like he's nursing. It's sweet and a little sick. He isn't fat at all, but is very heavy on his feet. The floor shakes when he walks past.










Sammy. He is originally Kev's cat, but has taken an on-again, off-again interest in me now. Mostly he only likes me when he's mad at Kev. He's a big guy, strong and muscular. Has a very weak meow/cry, and sounds a lot like Beaker from the Muppets. He's grown into his ears, thankfully.







And Sophia Stinkerbell. This image in black and white, but it's the best example of the half-face I referenced yesterday. She is a pain in the ass! But she's also sweet and lovey sometimes too. Has a strange habit of running into a room and announcing herself with a very demanding MEOW!! Especially not cute at 3 am.




The first three cats are my parents' cats. But since we live with them, hello, we have five cats. Jesus, that's a lot. I am destined to be an old lady with lots of cats. But given how cute they all are, I think I'm okay with that.

Stray cat blues

Not to copy off of Andrew's post about his squicked-out cats, but mine are driving me crazy too. Not the least of my complaints is the way they seem to be perpetually contracting fleas, even in the dead of winter. How this keeps happening is beyond me. We put Frontline on them, we wait the prescribed 24 hours, and then we vaccuum. But inevitably, about a month later, we see them scratching. Then I pick one, whichever is closest and least likely to swing at me, and roll over his/her back with a lint roller. Black flecks = fleas. Black commas = flea "dirt". ICK!

So I drive to the vet or to petsmart, depending if I caught the little jerks before 7pm (when the vet closes). And I buy about a jillion dollars worth of Frontline Plus. And I vow every time that I'm just going to order it ahead of time from drsfostersmith.com and have it for them. It's less expensive from them too, gah! get with it, Lauren. But I'm sure that they won't get fleas in the wintertime. oh, silly, trusting girl.

As I was typing that last paragraph out, I felt a push on my laptop. Sophia was headbutting the screen, with her crazy half-face. Will come back with pictures, swear.

Know how lazy I am?

Sometimes, when I am commenting on someone's blog that has word verification...

I keep hitting enter until I get a letter combination that isn't too hard.

That's bad, I know.

Oh, and there is word verification on my blog, I know that too.

In honor of HBO...

The movie channel seems to be running Alexander and Troy on a constant loop. Now, there's nothing like a really cheesy studio movie about mythology/history. But do they have to make them so preposterously easy to make fun of?

I think it's hilarious that in Troy everyone has a vaguely Irish accent to match Colin Farrell. I mean, I guess it's as arbitrary as the generally-accepted British accent used in most movies about the ancient world. But there are few things more laughable than Angelina Jolie's, um, accent? in Troy. Almost as bad as Aaliyah's Transylvanian mockery in Queen of the Damned.

Oh, wait, there is Brad Pitt's awful attempt at a British accent. Victory is yoooooooowah's. Takyyyke it! Sigh.

The boy

Went shopping with my mom and Liam today. Yes, we had him again. I am not really sure why, but we'll go with it.

Anyway, we were sitting on a bench while my mom checked out. It was a long wait, because two gentlemen in front of us found the self-check extremely challenging. What I don't get is why people with no discernable computer skills attempt this. There are professionals who can help you, old people!

Anyway, it's funny how free people feel to come up to you and talk to you when you have a baby with you. I don't usually correct people when they assume he's mine, because really, what's the difference? But what really amazes me is how people say how big he is. Yes, he's fat, but he's a baby, and he's 3 inches off the charts in height. So he looks older than 7 months. Also, it's usually older people, who, I'm sorry, don't have the frame of reference anymore. Whatever grandma. Yes, he's well fed. He sleeps through the night, since the first day he came home from the hospital, too. And he's really bright. I don't care if he does wear size 18 months clothes!

Which he does, cause damn that kid is fahhhht! See, I'm allowed to say that. You, old lady in the supermarket, are not.

Bed's too big without you...

In honor of Miss Doxie's incoherent though hysterical entry about sleep and the lack thereof, I thought I might recount for my legions of readers the very strange things I do in my sleep. And I shall pepper this entry with embarrassing things about my loved ones. Because it'll make me feel better that you all know I am not alone in the craziness.

I talk in my sleep. A lot. Mostly, I either agree or disagree with myself right before I fall completely asleep. My sister brought this to my attention, and Kev confirms it. I seem to just mumble when I talk in my sleep. This is not so with Kev. He has full-fledged conversations when he's asleep. I heard him once, from the living room, telling Rob to turn his amp down, and all of them to get their shit together. Yeah, he was dreaming about practice.

It gets interesting, having another talker in bed with you. We never know who started the conversation, but a lot of times we wake up already talking to each other.

I also cry in my sleep. This happens a lot, too. Especially when I am all stressed out. It's usually in response to the people in my dreams being mean to me. Either that, or a loved one dies in my dream. Waking up sobbing is a strange thing, to be honest. Because I usually have no idea why I'm crying. It's just happening and there I am. Weird.

My sister, on the other hand, walks in her sleep. I've never done this. She also eats in her sleep. Once, when she came home from college, she sleep-walked to the kitchen and took damn near everything out of the fridge. She put broccoli in the microwave and left milk and many other things out on the counter. My mom insisted she was either drunk or high. Our mom only ever accused us of being high when we weren't.

Sooooo, anyone want to share a hotel room with me?? Anyone?

Baby Zoo

I have a nephew. His name is Liam, and he is 7 months old. He's super cute, even when he's teething. He has three teeth already. How do I know this, you may ask? Well, yesterday, when I was watching him, he bit me. Well, okay, it was my fault. I was feeding him bananas on my finger. What, I'm not that much of an idiot that I'd feed him a whole banana! So I got some mush on my finger and gave that to him. Monkey-man, he ate it up! But he also bit me, and pinched me. I screamed a little. Okay, I screamed a lot. And he cried. That I don't get, he knows he bit me. And here I am comforting him!!

I can't wait till he's a little older, so we can go to the zoo. I don't particularly like the zoo, I mean, I get a little sad for the animals. Though maybe there are some animals who are better off in West Philadelphia than in the wild. Still though.

The zoo is a weird place. No straws? Uh, that's just strange. Kev and I bring our own straws. Don't worry, we don't then give them to the monkeys or the naked mole rats. I have a naked mole rat, a stuffed animal one, on the sofa. I could have been Kim Possible this year for Halloween, if I had planned ahead. I digress.

Back to the zoo. Once, while Kev and I and some friends visited the zoo, we toured the small mammals house. I was paused at the doorway, reading a sign, when SMACK! a little bird flew right into the glass. Boom, dead. Well, we told a maintenance man. Kev later reflected that he half-thought they'd come out with a little tiny stretcher and take the poor birdy to the hospital. Nothing of the sort happened. The maintenance guy unceremoniously swept the bird up with his dustpan and broom! No birdy ER, I guess that's only for the exotic birds. Gah!

That same day, we saw two varieties of primates mating, which, ew! And some boy ducks gang-banging a girl duck. Nasty! No means no!

Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't take Liam to the zoo. I think I'm still too traumatized from the last time!

Thirty seven minutes, five seconds

That's how long the phone call from Advisor lasted. Jesus! And I had a print out of my paper, and he had his with his (I'm sure) extensive notes. And we read together, page by page. And my paper? is fifty pages long, of text. More like ninety to a hundred with illustrations, bibliography, etc. Anyway.

Yeah, most of the criticism is word switching. I understand the need, but really, are all the changes necessary? It makes you feel like you can't write when someone is poring over every stinking word.

Only two big philosophical changes to make, and I can hand it into Deuce. Yessss! And I graduate in May and I will have a large party, and you all will be invited. Because my God, it has taken long enough to warrant some vicarious debauchery and maybe even some presents.

You can't see me right now, but I'm wiggling my eyebrows mischievously.

Breaking News

This just in to laurentheartnerd: Advisor has finally read my thesis. Will call me today to discuss some minor changes to be made before handing it over to Second Advisor.

I presume that this means he's done with it. YAY! And then I'll punch it up a little more, send it to Second Advisor, and hound her for it. I'm taking a class with her this semester, it's not like she'll forget me or anything. Though I fear she doesn't like me too much. Gah, that sucks. She's pretty well connected. I should send her something. Something alcoholic. Maybe a whole basket of cheer. She's a wild woman. She looks like a Sisters of St. Francis nun. But she drinks like a priest.

Seriously, no one thought ACOUSTIKITTY was funny but me? It's a cat. With a microphone in it. And they thought it would work! Cats as spies, honestly!

Acoustikitty

For the love of God, please click on this link.

If you want to, listen to the show first. Skip ahead to minute 28. TRUST ME, it's friggin hilarious.

Evidently our government, in its supreme wisdom and foresight, saw fit to try and train cats to be spies. Am I alone in thinking this is fucking hilarious?! I mean, really, did no one on the committee have a cat? You can't train felines to do much more than crap in a box. How could they be CIA operatives?

I sat there as I listened to the report, and tried to imagine Sam or Sophia with a microphone embedded in their backs. Cat spies, come on! My cats have the attention span of a crouton, and they are about as sharp. They lick their asses, people! With their TONGUES.

I don't think that bitch on Alias does that. Or maybe she does. All I know about her is that she seemingly has the gestational period of an elephant.

In order to approach not-sucking-ness...

I give you another entry. I know, I know, I just wrote yesterday. That's right, people, new leaf, is turned over!

Today Kev and I went out for a day on the town. This consisted of returning things, again, to Sam Ash. I hate that store, even more so now because they took advantage of me not knowing much about guitar gear and selling me some "necessary accessories" for the tuner that I bought for Kev. THAT HE BIG. FAT. DID. NOT. NEED!! Usually I just hate it for the suckitude that is standing there trying not to look scared while Kev deliberates over strings, listening to five 13 year old boys with no intention of buying anything fumble over the progression of "Come As You Are". So... iritating. One reason I quit my bass lessons, other than the searing-hot pain in my wrist, is the annoyance I got with the sounds of my own practicing. But one of the first songs I learned? was "Come As You Are".

We also mailed Kev's brother his birthday present. It will get to him, someday, and hopefully he'll like his Johnny Cash in-action figure and his Daily Bugle Press tshirt.

Then we dined at a fantastic little bistro, aka Subway. Now, I know my friend Andrew would probably disapprove of the whole chain-fast-food shitshack aspect of it, but I was hurting for a Veggie hoagie on Italian bread with lettuce, tomato, pickles, cucumbers, xtra carrots and sweet peppers with oil and vinegar. And American cheese, though next time I may try provolone. Gah, the sammy, it was so so good. And Kev got some 12 inch monstrosity with toasted cheesy italian herb rolly and italian meats, which I had to sample. Good stuff as well.

I also guzzled a big Coke, which lead to some problems when Kev and I split up to do boy and girl shopping, respectively. I went to Ross, Kev hit the comic store. A funny aside, we called Kev's friend Jerry to see where this store was, but as Jer was explaining where, we looked out Subway's window to see the sign, prominently displayed RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET!

Anyway, so I'm shopping in Ross, have a cool new big-girl school bag (to replace the one-shoulder backpack that I've been using for a little while now) and a book on Spanish architect Gaudi. tried to make the accent mark, but it didn't work, sorry senor! The the whole big ass cup hits my kidneys full force. Had to ask to use the rest room, what am I, 6? But the timing was good, and as I exited the single most tidy and clean public restroom, like, ever, I saw Kev milling around.

It wouldn't have been a shopping trip without an impulse buy by one of us, so Kev has a new nap blankey, a really soft material almost like terry cloth, but not so much that it makes my blood run cold to touch it. And it's got Spiderman on it. I know, you're jealous. My new nap blankey is just a cute red plaid print, but it's like a mini down-esque comforter, yay!

I resisted the urge to buy a very cute (and very coordinating with my new rapper-coat and green hat, gloves and scarf) green purse, because while it was deeply discounted, it was still 50 dollars. I'd like to move out of my parents' basement someday, so something's gotta give, right?

All in all, we had a lovely day. And all with Kev at the helm of his giant boat of a car, the 1979 *the same year I was born!!* Impala. It's so cool and way badass. I should write an entry about it. Or at least post a picture. But enough for now, I think my typing is keeping Kev awake...

This blog.... sucks

Extra points to anyone who can guess my reference. A hint: my parents' orange cat is named after the female lead in this movie.

But it does suck, this blog, and I vow to update more frequently and, most importantly, more interestingly in the content area.

2006 is going to be a big year. Kev and I have been getting serious about budgeting (says she who is typing on a brand new computer whilst copying photos from the computer that she JUST PAID OFF) and our debt will be substantially paid down by September, me thinks.

That is good, because by the end of the year, we want to be on the road to house hunting. My God. Because while it's nice to live with my parents in a completely private apartment, with little rent, it doesn't help with the street cred.

Also, we'll be buying a new car. Someday I might recount the Santa Fe fiasco for you, but not today, for this entry is about reversing the suckage.

Kev's brother is getting married this year. As is his friend Jim. Jim and his lady are, I believe, moving to a house around the corner from the house I grew up in. Which is two blocks away from the house we are in now. That is exciting, because all our friends have moved far away from the Northeast. Not incredibly far away, but enough that we often feel excluded from the so. phil club, and they NEVER WANT TO HANG OUT UP HERE. So it's nice that some are staying, because we probably are too.

This is the year that I'll graduate with my MA, finally. Also, my coursework will be finished in May. So it's time for me to get my CV together and get me some courses to teach. And study for the prelims.

My GOD the prelims. They're not until next Spring, but I will be fretting them starting in June. It's like the bar for art nerds. And there's an oral component, Jesus Christ! Nothing scarier or more stutter-inducing to me than this prospect!

This blog did suck, but it will be better, I promise. I will write more about things other than school and art. I will regale my 2 readers with tales of yore, my stoner days, when I took the SATS high and got a nearly perfect verbal score, when I met my husband, when we were in Italy and my sister threw up in the Boboli gardens.

All these things come to those who read this here blog. But right now, I have more pictures to move. My Dell is limping along on the task. Poor old girl.

Dear Cats

Dear Sam:

I love you so much. But just because I accidentally left the roll of paper towels out after cleaning last night, doesn't mean I have a need for absorbent shreds of paper all over my nice chair. Thanks for taking care of this.

And Sophia:

Dude, there's no reason to meow, loudly, from underneath the bed when my alarm goes off. I heard it, thanks. And the percussive noises you make with the boxspring? Not so cute at 7 am. Just so you know.

Love, that lady who feeds you nasty canned food and brushes your hair from the chairs every day.

Speaking of parties

So I'm wondering what to bring for Andrew's party. BTW, I would totally link to his blog, it's sheepshank.blogspot.com, but on the new computer, this function is not present. Anyway, so what to bring?

I made mozzarella balls last time and they all went. Maybe I'll do those again. Can't remember if this is a dinner thang or more snacky picky type foods. I'll have to ask.

I love these parties. It's like we're grown ups or something. Living as I do in my parents' basement apartment, that's sometimes hard to come by. But this is our year, 2006, when Kev and Lauren get a house. I'll be able to work more starting in the summer, and I hope to have some classes lined up soon. That would rock, I just can't wait to get my own classes. It's so scary/exciting/happy/daunting!

It's beginning to look a bit like Christmas

Only a bit though, at least in our basement dwelling. I'm finished my work for the semester, and I've returned a shite load of books to the library. See, honey, we do have a floor! And I've gone through my bookshelves and edited my collection a bit more. I'm sure I'll get some sort of books for presents this year, and I need room for em. Also, it's not very feng shui to have no space for more information. So declutter your bookcases!

Tonight I believe I will put up the tree. Also, I will vaccuum so I can wrap presents, because no one wants cat hair on the tape of their packages. I love to give presents. So much fun! It's better for me than getting them. I mean, I won't turn down a gift, no way, but I like giving them even better. I still have a bit of a list to shop for, including Kev's parents, his sister, my mom and my aunt. I have plans for all but Kev's mom and sister, but they're pretty easy to please. Not worried about it too much.

I do, however, hate to wrap presents. People say, but you are an artist (which, uh, I haven't produced anything in months, am I really?) or you went to art school, but people? they do not teach you how to wrap presents there, oh no. Too busy with the perspective and the craft and all that. And let's not forget the extensice education in pretentious art speak, either.

This week will be a whirlwind of activity, capped off with Andrew's annual Christmas Eve Eve party. I hope to have their wedding present done for them by then. Because they only got married in October. I hope they don't mind, but I doubt they will.

Thanks a lot, readers...

Sheesh, I had to write that paper myself! Dude! But now it's handed in, and my prof will have to just deal with the incoherence. I have not a clue what I said, but in a nutshell, I just wrote some things about Michelangelo that I get that no one else does. hehehehehe, or something. Now it's just one more paper left to punch up, and I am freeeee!

So, anyone know about Caravaggio's working practice? anyone? Beuller? (that looks funny, is that how it's spelled?)

Any takers?

If anyone would like to write me a paper about Michelangelo and Neoplatonic thought, and how his worldview changed from his youth to his old age, I'd be willing to pay. Like a lot of money.

Isn't funny how when the end is in sight, you get kiiiiiinda lazy?

Anyway, please contact me if you want to make some extra holiday cash...

Presentation tomorrow!

Ahhhh, and it's only 11:30 and my script is done. Holy crap! It feels nice. I can read it tomorrow at work and find the places where I forgot important sentence components, like verbs. Happens, I guess.

An aside-- Charlie Brown's Christmas special was on tonight. I went to my sister's to watch it with her and Liam, and my mom and me. SOOOO fun, he seemed to actually watch and enjoy it. The little man has taste, right!

Okay that's it, I can't type any more, my hands = icy. Good night, and think of me between the hours of 3-5. I hope my outfit looks cute! Since that's what it's all about anyway...

Holy freak-out, Batman!

Well, I am still in school. That application for an extension was for a whole year, not a semester. Thank God! And now it's on to writing my papers that are actually due in the next week and a half. I feel so much better, and I've totally been slacking on my Caravaggio pres, which I shouldn't, because it's on Wednesday. But it's only a 10 pager, that's not too harsh.

What's that? You want to know what my pres will be about? Well, it's about the painting technique that Caravaggio used. I'll be dealing with the ground he painted on as well as the way he composed. As a matter of fact, this pres will show how, in a way, he's related to Leonardo (da Vinci, which is not, Dan Brown, his middle name- and any self-respecting art historian would know that, duh- he was a bastard child without a last name, from the town of Vinci. That's it, my new new last name is da philadelphia. I mean, what a jack ass. And this Robert Langdon character speaks neither French nor ITalian? PLEASE! I can read both, and I'm modern/contemporary! But I digress)

Then I have a paper about Michelangelo and Neoplatonism, I think? And then I'll fix up my pres for a paper, and then get cracking on my Directed Research paper. Everything except the DR is due by the 14th, when I will finally get to put up my Christmas tree, yay!

That's the thing about being in school, you see. Finals really cut in to my Christmas revelry. So, I am glad that this is my last Christmas as a student. Woo ha!

Sigh

After what seems like a month of ups and downs, highs and lows, being certain this frickin thesis will be in and then positive I'll never finish, it seems I need some more time. I've done my second draft, well, will be completely finished, read over the whole effin paper to make sure it's still coherent again, today. And I'll give it to advisormus prime today. But he's going away for the weekend, and advisor part deux wants his approval before she'll read it again. Great! So I'll be a few days long of the deadline.

Now, nothing, I repeat, nothing will stand in the way of me having that paper in to the Graduate Office by the New Year. But I live now in mortal fear of Graduate Chair, who normally loves me and likes my writing style a great deal more than my advisors, prime and deux. And of having to go in front of Grad Committee and explaining why it took so freaking long and hey, can I please not take my comps again? I think the problem is that I applied for Graduation last year, before I even had written a word. Why, I dunno. Overly optimistic, I guess.

So, maybe I'll be going back to school next semester. I am really angry with myself right now. But there isn't too much more I can do about it. I'll just have to finish up my work for this semester and see what happens. Stupid, stupid.

so much for no blogging

but it will be a short n'. It's not all that bad, the assvice. I mean, there are a lot of pages without writing on them. A lot more than with primary advisor man. Only two majorly rewritable sections. Provided the advisors can look it over this weekend, and give their okay, I can hopefully hand it in on Wednesday the 7th. And I'm not too too worried about the presentation in my Caravaggio class. It's about technique, about which a lot of my classmates know not a thing. I'll enlighten them, sure!

So you know I'm not dead, for now anyway.

Can't talk, revising

Got a dreaded email from my second advisor. Seems she is even more full of assvice than the first one. You remember him, he knows not of Smoke on the Water. Anyway, lotsa work and 10 days to do it. You will not hear from me. I may be dead. But if not, I will update on December 7, a day that will live in infamy not for the whole Pearl Harbor thing, but for me doing a presentation and handing in my thesis on the very same day. Jesus Christ, I hope I don't die!

Oh, and the Mac? is here and very beauteous.

What to do?

Soooo, there are two conferences that I'm submitting abstracts to, try and get one of them. They are two weeks apart, one in Boston, one in Montreal. The one in Boston is on humor in art; the one in Montreal is on shifting borders. This one's call for papers mentions images of death as a possible topic.

My dilemma- I have a paper that works for both of them! But I think it would be cheesy and possibly even tacky to submit the same paper (done two different ways, of course) to different conferences. I think I'd rather just send the Boston one and hope and pray. Maybe? I dunno. Again, the suggestion box is open, people.

Help!, she whines.

just whatever

I've become addicted to tracking our mac. It's on its way from Shanghai. Can't wait till she gets here!! The internet is crazy. In many ways, it's a very good an useful tool. But things like this drive me a little nutso.

Also, my boss has been looking at info on thyroid cancer, since she's got it. And it's making her a little crazy too. Because really, all you have to read is one off stastic, and you're completely freaked out. She's so scared, and I don't really blame her. But we try to joke about it, and make light of the situation. We figure that when she can put "Cancer Survivor" behind her name, her work will sell like hotcakes. Specially since she's only 29. She's a cool boss, she gives me lots of room to just work on my own and stuff. Very nice, much better than the last assignment I had, jeeee-sus! AWFUL students, scatterbrained profs, and I had to do all the final grades myself. F that!

Nerdiness on the horizon

Tomorrow I'm going to a symposium on the exhibition Alice Neel's Women, at the National Museum for Women in the Arts. nimwah. :) I can't waaaaait! And it's a subject that I have studied before. It'll be fun. Going with Steph (my friend from school, not my sister) and Lori. My school wife. Well, my only wife, really. We're pretty much always together, we study sort of the same thing, etc etc.

In December or January, I want to go with Andrew, aka sheepshank to see Raymond Pettibon's drawings at the whitney. And I want to go to the Met with my mom and sister to see their giant frickin tree and creche. Ginormous and intense.

Bless you, Mac

We just ordered Kev his own computer. Thank God! He got an iMac, and I am way excited about it. I use a Mac at work, and now I'm pretty much converted to the greatness that is Mac, too. But I'll be really happy to have my Dell back and all to myself. Take off his big friggin programs, and his music, and all our pictures. There's a lot of stuff on this baby. And I just finished paying it off, too. I'll be able to take the computer to school with me, ya know, it being portable and all.

And if anyone knows anything about setting up a business, like for tax purposes, let me know? Kev-dog wants to set up No Problem records, officially. And maybe Uncle Sam will cough up some dough for our new, beautiful, 20-inch Imac with 1.5 G of RAM and a whopping 250G hard drive (and that's without any upgrades!) When did I turn into such a geek??

addendum part deux

there are some STUPID STUPID word changes that he erased. There's also an instance where the phone must have rung, because what's there is not even a word, let alone a sentence.

I will not have my students hate me as I do mein Maester. grumble grumble

addendum

If they're within the vicinity of what you're talking about, that's helpful, too.

I've lost my secret decoder ring.

A note to all teachers

Comments are nice. Nicer still if they're legible.

Revising, revising

So today I set to work revising my thesis. I hope to be able to give it right back on Friday, or Monday possibly. And I'll get my other advisor to look it over during the break too. I am getting closer.

I've looked over the notes, and there are a record 6 pages without writing on them. Wow. And a lot of the writing of his is not major, dude, you have to address this, this and this. It's crossing out my words and putting in rather similar ones. Argh. I'll say it again, I will never impress him. Nevah!!

I just have to brush up on my feminist literature, no big. And throw in some other artists, no problem. I can't wait to be done! Cause when I'm done, I'm getting a massage. And maybe a facial too. I'm developing a hump in my neck from craning to read/write/edit/catalog/do all the things art historians do. I've noticed that almost all of use wear glasses or contacts. Could it be because we sit in the dark looking at slides and trying to take comprehensible notes?? Maybe?

Oh, and go Birds!

Who, me, hip??

So this meeting with my advisor on Friday, yeah, it was 45 minutes long. Good

Christ!! And he pretty much just read me his comments. Dude, I can read!! There

was this one passage, I loved it, where I reacted to an

oft-quoted statement on Lisa's work (the artist that I'm

writing about. Since I've spent a year on this project, I 've

decided that I can call her by her first name). The critic

said that he felt like a rock fan "parsing nuances on a guitar

strum." After I looked up what parsing meant (sorta like examining)I took issue with it. Because, well, that is completely dumb to me, there's nothing

subtle about her work, at all. So I likened her technique, in

the conclusion of chapter one, to a riff. And I began a

sentence with the phrase, "Like the opening chords to Smoke on

the Water...yadayada art speak pretensious...." And he didn't

know what I was talking about. HE doesn't know this song!!

He's in his late forties, I think, maybe early fifties. GOD!

Even if you don't know what it's called, you know that riff.

He said that I can't assume my audience is as hip as I am.

Uh, dude, the song, it's about 30 years old!! I give up, I will never impress him. Sigh

Tick tock

I'm sitting here on the computer, like a doofus, waiting on an auction to end. It's for Kev, it's not even for me. Some kind of comic book thingy, I dunno.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with my advisor. He's read my thesis and wants to discuss. Jee-sus. I hope it's not bad. I feel like the last chapter is bad, personally. My dream reaction would be for him to say, hey, that last chapter, cut it. Expand this, this and this, and call it a day. I am so on whatever he says though. I just hope the criticism isn't too biting! Cause crying in front of your advisor is not something you should do. Twice.

Oh, and I'd like to send out a big FUCK YOU to PGW. There is no gas in our house. The stove was broken, so my parents bought a new one. Well, it wasn't the actual stove, we have a gas problem. So the gas co. came out yesterday, turned it off and now... brr! It's cold in here, and there's not hot water. I am going to look so sexy tomorrow without showering! Maybe I'll become a hippy....

Not-so-smooth Criminal

Just apparently stole about 20 dollars worth of merchandice from Target. I didn't even mean to!! I bought a couple of plastic storage bins for our ever expanding collection of crap. And I evidently threw some socks and a STUPID Eagles Christmas hat that Kevin drove me nuts looking for last year. So I get all my stuff home and realize, hey there's stuff in this bin. Not bagged. Well, must have just fallen out. NOOOOO!! The cashier didn't ring me up!!

I feel really guilty. The guard even checked my stuff, and he didn't catch it either! It wasn't intentional, honestly! I feel like I should go back, but I had to wash the socks, I need them for tomorrow. They're gonna think I'm crazy. My mom said to give the money to charity. Don't need a lecture, but what do you think I should do??

If any of my faithful readers can help me...

I need a topic for my Art of the 80's directed research paper. So far, I got NOTHING! Maybe I'll write on Eric Fischl, he's fun and pornish. I'm also going to check out a show that happened in 1990 called High and Low: Modern Art and Popular Culture. See what pops up. But for now, the suggestion box is open and being checked regularly...

Sniff sniff snort

Ugh. I am a really bad wife. Like really bad. What have I done, you ask? Well, see, I kind of made fun of Kev while he was sick. "You're not sick," I say, "you just have a cold." And he complained a bit more, and I made him help me clean the house. Bad, right?

I got mine. I am now sick too. Only me of the retarded sinuses, my cold turned immediately to a sinus infection. Right now, the stabbing facial pains are gone, but I am congested and generally under-water feeling. And my breathing sounds like Darth Vader.

All because I made fun of him. I mean, yeah, guys are usually pussies when it comes to being sick. And I always get a cold around this time of year. But I am not going to make any more fun of my wonderful husband. Well, at least not about being sick. Even though he wasn't sick, he just had the sniffles. I, on the other hand, was sick sick.