Random Observations

In lieu of a proper story line, here are some bits of entertainment.

Last night, the spider did it again. The nice one (vagrant spider) fell down from the ceiling when I turned the light on in my bedroom, landing near my feet. I mean, is that a better locale? So I again slept with the small light just at the head of my bed on, assuming he'd stay away from the light. I am a foolish person. (Though he did stay away from me, as far as I know.)

I watched Gilmore Girls last night. I love that show. My favourite moment had nothing to do with plot. Sookie and Lorelei (it occurs to me I haven't a clue how to spell either of those names) went to Miss Patty's school's dance recital. During part of it, the dancers came into the aisle and danced at them and threw little glitter bits at them. Lorelei said, "Oh, I hate when they come into the aisle! It's so awkward!" I was greatly pleased. It is so awkward! Here I thought I was classist and elitist ("I'll come watch you, but don't come near me!"), but it turns out I am normal. Huzzah!

Also, I was irritated in a similar vein at some Red Cross people today. They camp out in the middle of campus (sort of) and beg money off people. It's so uncomfortable. Luckily, I'm a fast walker, so I can always say, "Sorry! Late for work!" But, I mean, maybe I should stop being polite. I could just stop and say, "Listen. You are in the middle of a university campus. Not only am I a poor student, I'm also busy. It doesn't help anyone when you slow down all of the traffic going to Uni by putting three of you campaigners across the path. Honestly. If I want to give you money, I'll come to you. Set up a booth near business building or the center of town and stop harassing the poorest people in the friggin' town." But that seems harsh. So I just mumble, "Sorry..." and run away somehow ashamed. I eat two minute noodles and budget brand rice (no, that's actually it's name: Budget Rice). Maybe I should bug you for extra money because clearly you have time to not be working, unlike the rest of us. :) All that being said, it doesn't make me angry so much as feel awkward.

Also, it's 13 days until my family comes to see me. That's awesome.

When I was little, I watched Nickelodeon. They had that face guy who talked? Like the screen would be all blue, but there would be eyes and a mouth drawn, so it was like the screen was his face. Well, once day he said that it would bring me good luck if the first thing I said on the 1st of any month was "rabbit, rabbit." I never remember. Plus, I talk to myself a lot, so I'll say things like, "What was I gonna...? Oh, teeth. Yeah, brush your teeth." I don't know if that kinda crap brings you luck, but if it does, I'm golden. Regardless, I have usually done some mumble grumble to myself before I remember. Today, I remembered. So I said "rabbit, rabbit." Is it sad that I remember that from probably more than ten years ago?

I think it's sadder that I can remember TV from more than ten years ago. I'm old.

Paranoia Problem

When someone enters the yard by my door, he or she must open the yard door (for lack of a better term). It has a metal latch which sounds like (very technical...) "clink, clink". It's very distinctive to me because you can hear it from anywhere in my flat and I like to pretend it's my doorbell. I am typically a light sleeper to specific sounds. Well, at 3.19 a.m., I heard a distinctive "clink". Now, remember, someone actually coming through the door sounds like --all together now-- "clink, clink". So, this was most likely the wind just blowing the door against its own latch. Most likely. Or... it was a psycho killer.

You know, one of the two. Also, the lighting situation is miserable outside my flat. There are no lights. So the only way for me to check on the presence of someone in my yard was to go outside... at 3.19 a.m.... in the dark... in the rain. Now, I've seen enough scary movies to know that this is a bad idea! Instead, I choose the rational reaction of turning on my bedroom light to discourage anyone from trying to enter my flat: "Oops, she's clearly awake. Best try later!"

Of course, as soon as these things happen, I run through the various ways it is possible to break in and kill me. Most of them are not worth it; you'd get caught almost immediately. But maybe, just maybe, there's some psycho who wants to kill me so badly, they don't care what the repercussions are (perhaps a girl who only wanted a simple hello in the toilet?). I was also extraordinarily tired. This means I was falling asleep while thinking these terrible things.

Wait until you hear this dream, man. Okay, apparently my flat was exactly as it is now, but like five people lived there. If you've seen my flat, that's scary enough in itself. People were strewn about my lounge, but not my bedroom. Apparently, I'm a space hog. In my messed up little brain, a prostitute had broken into my flat to steal my computer. Naturally. Well, she broke in this one window right next to where everyone was sleeping. Fearing for their own lives (obviously) they kept still while she wandered into my room. Seeing me there, she decided not to steal my laptop, but did (prepare yourself) feel my face like a blind person would. I did not know this until I "woke up" and my flatmates told me what had happened. The next thing we had to do was take me to get an AIDS test because (and it made sense then) that she must have been breaking in to give us all AIDS. Of course. We had a long and indepth conversation about what to do if I did have AIDS and then it occurred to me: "...Hey! That's so not how you get AIDS!" Everyone looked at me in disbelief and then I woke up.

Then I fell back to sleep. This time, the same "flatmates" and I were trying to win back our flat which was now a boat. Basically, pirates (better than prostitutes, I guess) got in and forced us out. This naturally reminded me of the Simpsons episode when the gang has to reclaim their house from carnies. I suggested using a similar line of trickery when everyone yelled at me, "Everybody's seen that episode!!" Then I woke up again.

At this point, I bit the bullet, checked the flat, returned to my room, shut off the light and went back to bed. I slept soundly til morning. Stupid pirates.

"Hi!"

Today is the day I am trying to retain my good humour. It's just been one of those days. So in an effort to make sure I was on time to work, I got there about 15 minutes early. Since I didn't feel like small talking for 15 minutes, I decided to stall in the building next door. I checked my email, I looked at the food they were selling, then I decided to use the toilet and head to work. I walked into toilet. One stall was occupied. When I came out of the stall, the person who must have been occupying that stall was washing her hands. I went to wash mine as well and she said, "Hi!"

...

What the heck? Are we friends? I mean, I know there are the friendly greetings you give people in certain situations. If you sort of know someone, at work things, etc. But I did not know this girl at all. She just felt that washing our hands together made us instant friends. I disagreed. I gave her a look which I'm sure said, "I am deciding whether you're crazy or just annoying." But c'mon. Is that normal? I think not. Perhaps my sour mood didn't help, but some random girl assaulting me with kindness in the toilet is not the way to "be nice".

My River Runeth Over

So much to say today! Look at the Leith, the small river that runs through town... we've had a lot of rain lately...

Good Lord

Good ol' Valpo is making headlines because it appears the VUPD finally went too far. Now, I suppose you can view the cops as doing what they were supposed to, but having gone the university and experiencing their tactics firsthand... Well, let's just say I believe the fraternities over the VUPD any day.

To sum it up: the cops raided a house with guns aimed. C'mon man. Get over yourself, rent-a-cops. The video is here.

Cooking with Style

I was watching a cooking show on TV while making my two minute noodles (rather depressing, actually). The woman was a chatty wee thing that was highly entertaining. Then this happened:

"Ooh, you can tell that this is still quite hot because that sherry is boiling and it's going right up nose! Speaking of things up your nose, my son's left me. Yep, he's left me. Sunday night. I'd like to apologise to him, if he's watching, but he has to apologise to me first. Because I'm right, you know. Oh teenagers, just don't want to do what their mothers tell them. Well, they'll learn. We should have a wee support group for us parents who are too hard on our kids by expecting them to help out. We could all help each other. I'll lead it! So if my son is watching, I really hope you've gotten over this little phase. Just like our mixture here is through with its phase! On to the next step..."

What?! I mean, it was entertaining, I guess, but good Lord!

Oh the dramas of food channels.

Christmas in April

The following sentimentality is brought to you by the most recent (in NZ) Grey's Anatomy. They're starting the Christmas season -- not meaning that it was The Christmas Show (all shows have 'em), but just starting to allude to Christmas spirit.

I've always loved Christmas. And if you recall from many posts from last year, I have only loved it more as the years go on. The older you get, the busier, the more distracted, the more distant (physically, emotionally, etc), you realise that times like Christmas are pivotal. It's a time for grounding; reminding yourself who are, where you came from, and who is important to you. Everyone gets a little cheerier, a little more lenient, a little more humane.

When I was little, I loved Christmas morning for all the obvious reasons. I dig presents. I also dig the quiet time with my family with the smell of coffee and the sound of Christmas music in the background. It's just lovely. I used to have fleeting hopes that all year long could feel like Christmas morning. If only! But. Christmas Day gets more and more hectic itself. Again, with the age and responsibilities, it becomes more a to-do list than a fun time of enjoyment.

As this episode of Grey's closed, it has some key main characters lying on the floor, heads underneath and looking up into a Christmas tree. When asked why, Izzy said, "Lights." Perfect. Seriously, perfection. I now want everything to be like Christmas Eve. You're happy because you have so much to look forward to and you've enjoyed the holiday so much. It's dark all around with twinkling lights all around to remind you for that little moment that you're in a warm house on a cold night with family and friends. There's the feeling that most of the country (if not world) is sitting around having some sort of similar communal feeling of humane warmth.

I know it's April. I know I don't like to wax poetic in this blog. I know it's most likely another example of me falling prey to the marketing of sitcoms and commercial holidays. But for a minute, think of your favourite Christmas Eve: try and tell me it wouldn't be a nice permanent feeling.

Lights.

Coffee=Happy

I inherited my mother's loud stomach (darn you, Mom). It's not usually an issue. Places are usually loud, or at the very least, I am so no one can hear my tummy making noises. There are a variety of noises it makes. There's the standard rumble -- but most people get it when they're hungry. I get it when I'm hungry, when I'm eating, when I'm digesting, and when I've finished digesting. Then there's the "inside farting" as I've coined it. It sounds for all the world like a muffled fart; but (and this is key) I'm not actually farting. It's just stuff moving around and air bubbles floating around in the abyss of my stomach.

I've grown accustomed to my stomach. We hang out, we communicate, it works for us. Except on Sunday mornings. Church. Oh, the horror. For some reason, my stomach is especially noisy in the morning. I give it toast, I give it multivitamins and water... what more could it want? Well, we (the stomach and I) finally figured it out - coffee, and lots of it. I woke up early for church and get ready in record time. I decided to make an entire pot of coffee to bask in my having a proper coffee maker. Huzzah. My coffee addiction has greatly decreased out of necessity since I came to New Zealand. First off, coffee makers, coffee grounds, etc are expensive. If I'm going to go out for a cup of coffee, I'm going to get a dessert in a cup in the form of Starbucks. Sure, I drink coffee at work, but it's hardly the addiction I once held. So I decided to rejoin the ranks of addicts and make an entire pot of coffee to drink in an hour.

At first, the stomach was a-rumblin'. But then, it just started making some really happy noises. (You'd have to know my stomach.) Then... it just shut up. No awkward noises in church. No people looking around my area of the church trying to find the source of the gurgling. Just peace and quiet. The solution is merely obscene amounts of coffee; how did I not suspect?!

Spider Standoff

I am not a "good" hunter, but I have some quality hunting skills. I have a good eye. I have that "deer sense", and I am a decent shot (at least at non-moving targets). Unfortunately, the sitting still and being quiet for 8 hours a day does not bode well with my personality. Otherwise, I think I'd rule.

I awoke this morning with my spidey sense tingling. Sure enough, I looked to my left and saw two spiders having a standoff in a nearby corner of my room. I am still on my anti-kill (unless absolutely necessary) stance, so I could do nothing but stare at them. Instead, I showered, left and went to the art gallery, which was happily spider free. When I came back, only one spider remained -- the stupid one. The smart one is the one pictured, the vagrant spider (though upon further inspection, it could be a sheet something spider -- the only difference seems to be colour) and the other one does not apparently exist. Which is fine. Because I might kill it. It has been in the same spot all day. This means (I have logically concluded) that is either a1) dead, b2) laying in wait, c3) dumb. All of these mean I should be able to smash it with a shoe. It is dangerously close to my bed. Maybe one Annika armspan (a standard measure in most countries).

At least I know the spiders are eating the flies and moths in my flat. Now to get a bird to eat the spiders! ...Then I'll need a cat to eat the bir-- wait a minute! No, no... I can see where this one's going.

People Watching For Free!!

Okay, not like people watching usually costs money, but this website is awesome. It's stuff that people overhear in NYC and I love it.

http://www.newyorkoverheard.com/

I Might Be Old

It may be too early for me to have a midlife crisis. I don't think that's a good term for what I am currently experiencing, however. :) I have just realised I'm not a kid anymore. I was looking in the mirror while putting on makeup (a helpful hint... mirrors help) when I realised I have wrinkles. (Now, okay, I am not thinking that I have huge age lines that make me look 90. But understand from the start that this entry is going to be blatantly superficial, and slightly naive by nature.) Granted, these are not deep crevices in my face just yet. But, they are wrinkles none the less. And they aren't the good kind. "As long as my wrinkles are proof of the laughter I've had, the smiles I've given... blah blah blah." No, no. These are tired wrinkles. Like the bags of my eyes are wrinkled into a permanent tired state. No crow's feet to show how I've smiled. No wrinkles around the corners of my mouth to demonstrate prolonged happiness. Wrinkles because the bags under my eyes are like clothes thrown onto the ground -- they're stuck that way.

Again, I don't think of this as the end of the world or even that noticeable. But it's the first time I've looked in the mirror and thought, "Hm. My skin looks... adult. Or old even?!" Being as obsessed with beauty products, you'd think my skin would be like a baby's butt. I use nice face soap, moisturiser, skin friendly make up -- all with SPF! Must have been all those long hours spent writing papers. I guess I'll have to give that up. "No, sir, I've decided to quit the Master's program... Why? Well, sir, it was giving me wrinkles."

In addition, I am sore. I can't figure out what it must be from aside from my vain pride and old age combo. Yesterday, on my final walk up the hill, I had an encounter with a young thing. Now, let me explain about this hill. It's not so bad, I suppose. But I am usually puffing by the time I get all the way up. The problem isn't the puffing, it's people hearing you puff. A worse problem, sparked by vanity, etc, is if someone else is walking behind you. You don't really want them to pass you as the chubby elderly woman that you now appear to be. Sigh. So after walking up and down that hill four times already that day, some young punk (I'm sure he must have been a punk) came trucking up behind me. So I basically sprinted up the hill, not be beat out by a young uni kid. And now I ache. Awesome.

But I still beat him up the hill. That means I rule.

Hot

I think living in this rainy country has finally taken its toll on me. It's been sunny for a while. I mean, like a week. No rain. Now, showers are predicted for the next couple days, but this week of niceness? That doesn't happen. I was basking in it.

I was even basking when I went to a job interview I didn't feel ready for. I was even basking in it when I got a call from payroll telling me they were not continuing to pay me because they didn't have a copy of my work visa. I basked in it all the way up the hill, to the phone call that told me to walk all the way back into town by 5 to ensure I got paid by showing my visa. I honestly was basking in it. Then, I decided to shop around town a bit and I finally had to admit it -- I was hot. There was sweat. My hair was bothering me just by not being up.

It was probably 65 degrees. Granted, sunshine can do a lot. Also granted, I was wearing black. But. I am almost hoping for some rain because I am starting to look as parched as the flowers. I am ashamed that I crave the poopy weather which I like to complain about. But I do like rain... why can't we just have some balance?!

Proof That My Parents Are Cool

As if we needed proof that my parents rule! But still, here is the car that they used to have when my brother and I were wee ones. Actually, I believe it was my mom's baby, but still. Now, I doubt this is the actual car, but you can still go ahead and picture me sitting between the two seats, hanging onto the stereo wires, and rocking out to Mozart. Because that's how we rolled back in the day. (And we also rocked out to "cooler" music, but I dare say few could deny the sweetness of a summer's drive in that car with Mozart.)

In addition, they sold it shortly before my brother's 16th birthday demonstrating their intelligence as well as coolness. (Though I still think they should have worried less about him than me. I've crashed one car whereas the bro has crashed none. But mine was totally the deer's fault.)

I'm the Incredible Hulk

My shower fixin' got bumped. It was sad. Someone else wanted to shower before they went to work and I lost that competition because I only have to be at work by noon. Fine. So he finally got there at 10.15. (I was told 10.) That hardly makes it finally, but let's see how long you'll wait to shower when your hair is so slicked to your head that you resemble a sickly, wet seal. He was done in ten minutes. I hate that. If I knew how to take apart that stupid nozzle, I would have tried it too. The washer was broken.

Here's what happens: because there are two separate taps, the hot tap actually gets hot. I mean, the actual metal part is surprisingly hot. This causes the washer behind the knob to get soft, as plastic will do in the presence of heat. When I turn off my shower taps, I apparently use superhuman strength to shut off the water, which bent the washer while it was warm, ruining it. Hmpf. So I did this?

Lemme get this straight -- because you still use archaic two tap shower strategies, and in spite of that still use plastic washer that by definition do not stand up to heat, I am the culprit (just a little girl!) because I like to make sure the shower isn't still dripping by giving it that one extra twist? Now, don't get me wrong. The plumber did not lecture me, or yell at me, or even blame me. He just said that in the future, I should realise these simple facts about the shower. Now, I can shower in peace.

But I am still frustrated that the little old washer couldn't stand up to me. Wuss.

Updates with 0% Chance of Showers

First, I want to complain. Like always. :) I cannot shower. My stupid hot water tap (seriously, what kind of developed nation still has separate taps for hot and cold water?) in my shower has gone beyond the permissible "finicky" stage into nonfunctional. And because I'm a) too Lutheran at heart, b) too shy to call the landlord again, c) an idiot, I waited until it totally wasn't working to call about it. So, it's also still kind of the holidays (how long do we get for Easter?!), so I don't know when the plumber will even get here. We're on Day Two of no shower (as in, it's Tuesday, and I last showered on Sunday morning), and I'm none too happy about it. This will be the 4th major thing I've needed fixed/replaced by my landlord and I feel guilty? I should demand a refund on rent or something. And for those of you thinking, "Well, at least you save money on water this month", no I don't. We don't pay for water, just for heating it. Weird. But anyway, since I am always cold, the showers in the morning really keep me warm. So I am lounging about in forty layers. This plumber is gonna think I'm hot!

But enough of how I'm too much an idiot to complain before my shower completely stops working... on to the updates.

• I take back every not nice thing I ever said about Immigration. They're being dolls this time around. (Perhaps because it's not for me? They did kind of hate me, I think. Pushy Americans.)
• Turns out? It's the Easter holidays. I don't have classes, and therefore don't get to bask in the break, but the school is shut down for the week. Awesome; I hate students (and yes, I see the irony there).
• OCD cleanly Annika has returned. It went away there for awhile, but I was cleaning countertops at 10.30 last night, so I have returned to normal.
• It's officially less than a month until my family comes to visit. For my mom and I, that is a huge milestone: it's now socially appropriate to rant and rave about the trip -- not that we haven't been for months now.
• I saw Capri Suns on TV yesterday and flipped out. I had forgotten they existed. Stupid TV. It also made me miss SNL. I mean, honestly. That's ridiculous.
• I switched to AIM triton and hate it. Did it mess up anyone else's computer? It is totally not acceptable to go back to the old version because it was prettier?
• My wrist is officially better, did I forget to announce that before? We're all clear for soccer and doing dishes alike.
• I am now into really, really long books. Currently reading Vanity Fair (for the first time, if you'll believe it: I highly recommend it) and next up is Atlas Shrugged, suggested by the beautiful and talented Beth.

And so forth. I just felt I have been neglecting my blog loving public -- though my celebrity gossip columns were neglecting me for Easter: are the celebrity gossipers highly religious? -- and felt I should make up for it. A pleasant day to you all. : )

Word of the Day

meliorism \MEE-lee-uh-riz-um\ noun
: the belief that the world tends to improve and that humans can aid its betterment

Example sentence: Jane's resolute meliorism fueled her insistence that both world peace and the worldwide eradication of hunger were indeed attainable within her lifetime.

Did you know? In 1877, British novelist George Eliot believed she had coined "meliorist" when she wrote, "I don't know that I ever heard anybody use the word 'meliorist' except myself." Her contemporaries credited her with coining both "meliorist" and "meliorism," and one of her letters contains the first documented use of "meliorism," but there is evidence that at least "meliorist" had been around for 30 years or so before she started using it. Whoever coined it did so by drawing on the Latin "melior," meaning "better." It is likely that the English coinages were also influenced by another "melior" descendant, "meliorate," a synonym of "ameliorate" ("to make better") that was introduced to English in the mid-1500s.
*Indicates the sense illustrated in the example sentence.


Just thought I'd share my nerd-dom with you for the day: what a great word for Easter!

Hot Crossed Buns

I acknowledge that I might be ignorant. Maybe people in the States eat hot crossed buns all the time. But I only think of it as the first song I learned on the recorder and the oboe. Because it's easy. And I think when I asked what they were, adults told me that it was something people used to eat "in the old days". Because that's what I think of them as.

Wrong.

It is an Easter thing here. You eat hot crossed buns at Easter time. My church even had them as a special treat, though apparently you had to hang around and talk to get them. Alas, I did not. It was a trick, you see. : ) But later, I did get them at a friend's house. They taste like raisin cinnamon bread in muffin form. Kind of. I mean, they're good, but I think the novelty is way cooler. I ate hot crossed buns. Did you?

Happy Holidays

So my new favourite reason (in addition to religious, you people who want to yell at me) for the Easter holidays is TV. For some reason, they give up on commercials for this weekend. So, a break will come on, it'll be 30 seconds of ads for shows that will be on later in the week, and back to the show. That rules. And they've been playing sweet movies (E.T., Shrek, Shakespeare in Love, etc) which so enable marathons of sitting on my couch, reading magazines and watching TV. I am in heaven.

The productivity bandwagon is still carrying me, so I do a bunch of work in the morning, followed by hours of nothing. It's a very good reward program for my Masters. Sweet. Also, the weather has decided to be nice these past couple days and I can only assume will continue to do so. I mean, honestly. What more could a girl want?

Besides a vacuum. This place is getting a bit ridiculous.

Sometimes I Hate Myself

I have been struggling beyond reason to get my buttocks into action for this Master's thesis. I mean, struggling. So when the opportunity arose for me to present my findings thus far at an informal meeting of other postgrads, I leapt at it, knowing I thrive on the pressure.

This morning, I woke up sort of late without having set up what I was going to say. This morning (it is now 30 minutes before said meeting), I have done a load of laundry, done the dishes, made lunch, cleaned my entire bathroom, cleaned most of my bedroom, comprised my presentation complete with handout and printed outline, and solidified in my head my exact thesis question. I hate myself. I did more in the past four hours than I have all week, I believe. Though I did play an awful lot of Sims this week, which is very close to real life. I was quite successful there. Promotions, marriages, fame, children... I mean, I really cleaned up.

And today, I reminded myself of my capabilities. I hate when I do that. Because now I have no excuse for being so bloody lazy. And if I turn out to be one of those students who needs lecturers, I might have to shoot myself in the face. Here's hoping I don't have to resort to that.

So Dreamy

I have been having some strange dreams as of late. I looked them on a dream dictionary online. The first dream was that I was talking to various people and I kept adding pieces of gum to my mouth. Then, it got to be too much, but I couldn't get all the gum out. I tried and I tried, but I couldn't. This means: "To dream that you are chewing gum, suggests that you are unable to express yourself effectively. You may feel vulnerable. Alternatively, is symbolizes a sticky situation that you found yourself in.
To dream that you are unable to get rid of your gum, suggests that you are experiencing some indecision, powerlessness or frustration. You may lack understanding in a situation or find that a current problem is overwhelming." I had no idea. Then, to make matters worse, my second dream was of a ferret. I looked that up (because I have no ferret experience or preference) and found this: "To see a ferret in your dream, symbolizes distrust and suspicion of others. The dream may also be a pun on searching. "

So... in summary, I am searching for something, distrustful of those around me, but unable to express myself regardless. Sweet. Thank God for dream analysis (here), or I'd never know how messed up I am.

Stacks and Stacks...

You know what's worse than doing the whole visa process of moving internationally? Doing it twice. That's right. For the second time in two years, I am venturing down the path of acquiring a visa into this tiny, strict little country (and it's not even for me; I better win humanitarian of the year or something). At least this time I'm not doing it all by myself, but that's really no comfort. My lucky big brother gets his job to take care of it for him. But at least for me, I've got one person in the country (that's me) for the inside info and one person outside to acquire all the necessary requirements.

Better still, I now officially have an Immigration Advisor. That woulda been real handy before I came. But you live and you learn; I am syked to hear an official talk about the unlikelihood of me getting a second person in the country for only 4 or 5 months. Stupid rules. And it's all about money. They care how long you'll be here and what you're doing if (and only if) you plan on trying to earn some money while you're here. I mean, a girl's gotta eat... and shop.

So here's hoping having an Immigration Advisor will make the whole experience pleasant instead of what it was the first time. Remember: they were thisclose to asking me to send them a poo sample. Honestly.

Spam

I've never claimed to understand spam. (And I mean the junk mail kind, not the ham-like meat kind.) Has anyone ever responded to spam? I mean, has this proved to be a worthwhile medium by which to sell products? "Well, I'd never considered a penile enlargement, but now that an anonymous stranger has suggested it.... well, it's a whole new ballgame."

But I still don't understand how they decide to put certain spam in certain inboxes. I have two email addresses. One of them gets the standard prescription medicine and porn ones. But only those two types. My other email address gets only office software programs. What does that mean about me? I don't visit illegal porn or software websites. I don't enter my email addresses into things. I don't even get a lot of spam. I just get four or five emails in a month and they are all streamlined.

How do they do that? And why are they making me paranoid?

Yay!

The first game I couldn't play and we won 5-0. Granted, the team didn't have much experience (shockingly less than us), but we still looked awesome.

I should miss out on more games!

Thwarted Productivity

It's my own fault really. It always is.

I decided to go out for a quiet night on Thursday. Mhm. Well, that turned into me and a friend stumbling home at 5.30 am. But cursed as I am with a sense of obligation, I woke up at 8 on the dot because I had a meeting at ten. After an hour of convincing said friend that we did want to go to our obligations (she had a lecture at ten), we stumbled back out into the daylight.

"I don't really feel that hungover."
"Me either. Go us."
"Wait, what time did we get in?"
"5.30, I think."
"And what time did you wake me up this morning?"
"8ish"
"So... we're most likely just still drunk."
pause
"'Yeah, ok."

Sigh. I am no longer the spring chicken I once was. This was rediculous on all counts. But off I went to my meeting with the library professional to show me where my articles were hiding in the databases. It was brilliantly successful. Off to work, where they kept me much longer than I preferred. Again. So no call to Grandma for her birthday due to horrible time zone differences. Sorry, Grandma. Then off to meet up with an old friend for a cup of coffee. Then home. Then a horribly needed shower. Two messages on my phone when I got out instructing me of the where and when of that evening's festivities. And I piked. Piked like I never piked before. (Piking, by the way, means canceling plans in a very non-socially acceptable way. Just saying no. Saying no to peer pressure, I like to call it.) So I began re-collecting my life. Shower out of the way, started cleaning, mostly sat on the couch and relaxed.

Then, this morning was to be productivity central. Well, I didn't consider a couple things. 1) my arm is still... out of commission, so doing dishes is really a feat. 2) I now know where the articles are, but I print them out for free at work. I didn't do that. Now I have no printer. 3) that only leaves cleaning up the flat. Since I have no vacuum cleaner, that really means putting things away. I can't see that taking very long. 4) Productivity is officially killed.

Perhaps Monday will have to be my productivity day. I have fun books to read anyhow. That's productive for the mind, right? So that counts, right?

Shoot.

Congrats!!

My brother got the job in London!! Look at our jetsetting little family. So that means I have a place in London to visit... as often as I like, right? :)

So proud of my big brother!

The Lady and the Spider

This card was sent to me by a certain lovely person. It is by Edward Monkton and I highly recommend him and his cards.

So true....

Out Of Commission

I sprained my wrist at our first soccer game yesterday. Well probably sprained. I might have to go back "if pain persists". You know what's hard to do with a bum dominant hand/wrist?

Everything.

So I shant be typing here for a while. It's possible, but time consuming and painful. Frankly, I just don't love you all that much. I may end up putting pictures or something up -- clicking doesn't hurt. Just typing.

Peace out, friends. I shall return.