I finally got someone on the phone at One Stop (at the U) who discovered that my appeal to the hold on my financial aid had been marked as processed when really it had just been ignored. They put me on hold for a while and got it approved, so now my tuition will be covered by a loan to me! Hooray!
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Oh yeah, there was no discussion of grad students tonight and I didn’t have any urge to bring up the subject. Time to listen to that song by Thomas Dolby. Yes, that could be construed as a cryptic reference — or maybe it’s just a straightforward reference.
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A eagle-eyed reader asked (auf Deutsch) what the flashing lights mean, so I will share the torrid tale with the whole class.
Back when I worked for Internet Broadcasting Systems, distractions were the digits of pi: irrational, random, and unending. That was where I found out about http://www.homestarrunner.com/ and http://www.fark.com/, two sites which can chew up slack time at work by the bucketful. My coworker (and friend) Gerg sat immediately next to me in an adjoining cubicle. He and I would occasionally AIM eachother links (from five feet away) to keep amused.
One fine winter morning I received a rope light as a secret Santa gift. It was vaguely cool, so I put it up across the top of my cubicle, since my Britney Spears shrine was suffering from inadequate lighting. One day down the road I found myself staring at the rope light as the tiny lights chased eachother from end to end and danced in marvelous patterns. The ticking of the clock slowed to an echoing crawl as the dance grew more and more intricate, back and forth, up and down, on and off.
I turned to Gerg and said, simply: “I have flashing lights.”
And thus a new term was born for any sort of distraction. This whole story was probably only funny to me, but there you go.
The speaking in tongues category is for things involving foreign languages, like the post about Chinese crotchless pants. The rest are pretty self explanatory.
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These tend to get lost in my gallery, so I will start picking out the good ones for your amusement.
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I think that I was up too late. At least I wasn’t up as late as Cake Woman, who is working the third shift now. She baked me another cake, but this one had crumbled under the weight of its own deliciousness. I hope she is sleeping now instead of plotting more cake. I may take a nap in anticipation of tonight’s fireworks, perhaps while the Monk marathon plays on TV.
I took a little time to take pictures of seven of the eight elm trees in the neighborhood that will be cut down. Thanks a lot, Dutch Elm disease. I would have taken a picture of the eighth one, but it snuck up on me. Hopefully they won’t plant a dozen of the same tree next to eachother again — c’mon, how about a little biodiversity for once?
Hoffentlich meine neue Freund liest mein Blog jetzt gern, aber schreibe ich nicht auf Deutsch. Was fur eine Artikel soll Ich schreibe fur Sie? Vorher Ich schreibe sollte ich mehr schlafen?
I swear that I’m not always this off-kilter, but my German is always this atrocious.
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Things to do today:
- Roll out of bed
- Take pictures of Yolanda’s swollen thumb so she can get out of her weight lifting thing, or whatever the heck she needed it for.
- Do three loads of laundry… in a row!
- Watch the end of Dogma and the start of Super Troopers while doing my laundry
- Go to Pracna on Main with the quasi-fam and spend way too much money on delicious food and THE WORST SERVICE EVER, FUCKERS! I mean, seriously, if you are going to spend all that damn cash for mojitos that taste like rubbing alcohol you expect them to be delivered in a timely fashion. At least my open faced meatloaf thing was awesome. Then, Lisa, Stan, Noah and I tried to crash a wedding at the Nicollet Island Pavilion (where L and S had their wedding one sweaty day in July a few years ago) but were turned away by sternly worded signs.
- Watch Resident Evil II: Apocalypse with Stan. Why exactly do the women in that movie wear teeny tiny clothes? Shouldn’t they be wearing armor when battling zombies? I sure would. Of course, if they were wearing more clothes, would the movie still be watchable? Movies based on video games are never a good idea. Netflix should just screen those out for me so I’m not tempted to drown my brain in awfulness. If I wanted to do that, I would have finished that excrable mojito at Pracnas. It was like cough syrup! Not even minty cough syrup, just a plastic cup full of foul. It was like being at a frat party, only without the paddling. I missed the paddling.
- Practice my eloquence and wit while chatting online with babes until all parties involved turn into pumpkins. Thank you science jokes! (it was only one babe)
OH, that’s YESTERDAY’s list, because it is the 4th now. Lisa promised that her friend has fireworks and booze, which are all I need to complete my Independence Day weekend. Time to lose a finger!
What’s on today’s list?
- Write an embarrassingly loopy post in my blog
- Go to bed
- Crawl out of bed
- Do another two or three loads of laundry
- Maybe cook something for the quasi-fam, like breakfast, although in more of an afternoon timeframe because the “go to bed” step happened after three am. Maybe I should take this right off of the list, because honestly, until I cram some coffee down my throat I might as well be a member of the undead — a fate which I hope to postpone until my 30th birthday, when undeadedness is inevitable.
- Drink some beer.
- Go to Lisa’s friend’s house for fireworks so said friend can tell me about her grad student friends (who would hopefully be more compatible with me than the hiphugger, flip-flops and Abercrombie crowd that seems to infest the U of M campus like trendy freshman rats). Plus, they live close to the Roseville fireworks, which had better be awesome, because for the love of all that is holy, I cannot go even one 4th without inhaling the sweet aroma of gunpowder.
- Drink a lot of water.
- Get to bed crazy early so I can get to work early for a day free of grownups! I love staff retreat days! I go hang out with the designers and we talk about boys and braid each others hair! Yay! I’m getting a makeover and Angie is gonna tell me what Mr. Dreamy said about me after the lecture! I heart you, Paul! Actually, I have stuff to do, so we’ll probably not gossip very much.
I already complained to everybody about the Saturday’s manual labor at my mom’s house, but if you are the sort of random girl (or member of law enforcement) who visits my blog after googling for me, you might not have heard about the half ton (or more) of bricks that I helped unload while my dear mother lorded over us with the shotgun and the bottle of rotgut whiskey. If you are not a random girl, but some specific girl who has been directed to read my blog, you have already heard this story, albeit without the embellishments that I added tonight because I punchy and loopy. I don’t know who else reads this on a regular basis besides Lisa, Paul, and my cousin, who probably cringes every time I swear. HELLO, FUCKERS!
John taught me some new songs that we could sing while we worked, but the lyrics were all pretty simple:
Take me home!
I’m so tired!
After each line we’d swing our sledgehammers and bust up some more rocks. Shore was hot out there, all chained together and bustin’ up rocks. Then we made a break for it with George Clooney. John done got loved up and turned into a horney toad. I kept ‘im in a box but that one-eyed preacher done squashed ‘im and we thought ‘e was dead, but he weren’t dead ‘tall, just back on the gang.
Maybe that was something else. I’m kind of tired. Anyway, we unloaded bricks, then deadlifted rotten railroad ties into the back of the Home Depot truck (which is like chest-high, because Home Depot HATES PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO PUT THINGS IN THEIR TRUCKS). I won’t say what we did with the railroad ties because those random law enforcement officers might be reading this and not only find out where we dumped them (next to the railroad tracks in some woods) but also where the bodies are (under the railroad ties) — or at least the inedible parts, which include the liver. GROSS.
Once again, there are no bodies.
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Here is one of my favorites:
There was another one, http://photos1.blogger.com/img/296/2612/1024/IMG_2400.jpg, but the site says that I can only put one on my site. Or something. You get to click if you want.
Oh yeah, get to PostSecret through this link: .
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