I may have been impregnated by aliens

Aliens because no bassists have been around (in that particular pregnant-making way) in recent months and impregnated because I am acting in what I consider to be pregnantly ways. Or maybe I am just behaving in the manner of the Real Live Bona Fide Gen-u-ine Crazy Person I may have become.

To wit:

--I am nesting like a madwoman. The nesting includes all manner of intensive spring cleaning (yes, in mid-January--remember, pregnant with alien or batshit crazy), reorganizing, and redecorating plans. I have even hired my ex-boyfriend, The Bassist of 2005, to finish the Unfinished Built-in Bookshelves and Work Space of Doom--the bookshelves begun by Demetrius before he was hired to play bass for rhymes-with Dowie Hay and left in middle of the project to go on tour with that little punk-ass bitch, Dowie Hay. I tried to finish them, but in turns out I am not handy with wood. (Shut up, Beavis.) Narcissistic String Theory Guy added some touches here and there, because he enjoyed playing with curves and angles, but they have remained woefully unfinished, unpainted, and pretty much unusable. Enter The Bassist of 2005 to finish the job--this month, for an excellent rate. Hurrah! Yes, all the bassists I know are also carpenters, and I apparently have to have had sex with anyone who becomes involved with the shelf project.

--I want to eat everything in sight as long as it is: not good for me, fattening, and/or outrageously starchy, salty, or sweet. Right now I would eat nothing but chicken wings, hashbrowns, and Golden Oreos if I could. (Warning: Do not go the way of the Golden Oreo. I provide the link only so that you can learn to identify and avoid this dangerous cookie. It took me a full year to lose the 12 pounds I gained when I quit smoking pretty much by replacing cigarettes with Golden Oreos.)

--I am craaaaaaaanky. Yesterday I flipped off an elderly woman in a Buick (granted, she cut me off and made me skid on ice), had a fight on the phone with my dental hygienist (what do you mean I can't keep rescheduling my appointment at the last minute indefinitely??), and verbally castrated a couple of Uppity Boys* in my first class (usually I save verbal castration for week two at the earliest).

So what do you think? Am I with extraterrestrial child? Have I finally gone mad? (It occurs to me that the preceding two questions do not constitute an either/or proposition.) Or is it a deep dark cold days of winter thing? Do I just need a drink? An oreo? A bassist?



*Do you know the Uppity Boy type? The ones who try to undermine the authority of an attractive young(ish) professor by flirting with her in class discussion? I have been teaching only upper-level courses for a few semesters and so I haven't encountered it in quite awhile. Jesus, is it obnoxious.

Frantic Bullets of Crap

• Middles of the week are hell this semester. Every week I am pretty much completely consumed with teaching and meetings for three days straight, unable to come up for essential things like air, food, blogs, and the new Netflix supplied crack-cocaine of Medusa, Rescue Me. This would be fine if it weren't for the fact that all of the "real work" of prep, grading, research, and writing has to happen during the other four days.
  
• Check out the new look-of-the-week feature on my sidebar. As some of you know, fashion is one of my favorite, most obsessive hobbies. When putting together my own outfits (which I never like to do until the day I am actually wearing it--making mornings frantic and packing a total nightmare) I have one or two looks knocking around in my head from one of the dozens of fashion and street fashion blogs I read every day. I do try to adapt the look to be age and work appropriate but some days I end up looking like a Swedish teenager. I thought it would be fun to make the influence factor more of a conscious process, so each week I will be posting a picture (or two) of the look inspiring my wardrobe choices for the week. You can click on the photograph to get to its fashion blog of origin. This week: rocking out the late 80s/early 90s Peter Pan look! with Marlboro Reds! in Paris!
  
• I have a third third date with Narcissistic String Theory Guy this week. I am not sure how I feel about it. Part excited, as in I can't wait to see him and hang out with him. Part cautious, as in not sure what this is all about. Why are we seeing each other again? Why now? I think this part-excited, part-cautious attitude would be okay, but the thing is that part of me is TOTALLY excited (wanting to throw myself into this) and part of me is TOTALLY cautious (wanting to run in the other direction as fast and as far as possible). So how can I be part totally something or even two somethings? Well, that's the fun (and the crazy) of me.
• Chalupa photos soon, I promise!
  

Dos and Don'ts

DON'T arrange your life (and by "arrange" I mean proscrastinate until you have no choice) so that you have to grade fifteen 15-page essays in one day.

DON' T spaz out in the middle of mandatory grading session and decide you cannot read one more word of student writing until you relocate to your favorite coffee house in the middle of one of the most crowded parts of the city and DON'T drive to that place stupidly thinking you will find a parking place because you will not and you will have wasted over an hour of your precious grading time driving around like a jack-ass.

DO rejoice the next morning as soon as you realize every last one of those dreaded papers is graded.

DO not fret that I was too busy to post pictures on Chihuahua Wednesday. The Chalupa is on the job:

Good morning of the day, my viva-Chalupa friends of the internets!!

Welcome to my sunny kitchen! Is it not lovely? I extend the warm greetings to you from this particular spot of the garret, for I have the most exciting news! Since I came to live with the Mama Medusa I have been on the diet, mandated by the Doctor of the Chalupa. My former companion, bless her elderly and ailing soul, she did not walk me so the much but she did feed me much the muchness of the peoples food. The Doctor of the Chalupa is of the feeling that I will be of the better health, in the heart and in the floating kneecaps, if I lose a few of the poundages. A few is quite the bit for the 9 pound dog, my friends! How the ever, I visited the Doctor of the Chalupa this week. And?? I have lost nearly the one full pound in this the very short span of three of the months! Now I will spin for joy!




I have done well and deserve the congratulations, no??

Should be grading should be grading should be grading

I am stuck at school for another two hours (well, look at that, I have lost a full 51 minutes messing around on the Internet) hour and change. I am having an early dinner with one of my BFFs from grad school, who is in town for a conference, so I decided to grade in my office until it's time to meet. HA! I am embarrassed to say how few papers I have graded in the holy god three-and-a-half hours since my office hours ended.

Have I done anything one might call work in this time? Unless you count researching whether or not you can use flexible spending dollars to have your eggs frozen and stored, no, no I have not. In case are wondering whether or not you can use flex spending to freeze and store your eggs, the answer is yes. In case you are wondering if there's a more banally tragic scenario than trying to find out whether or not you can use flex spending to freeze and store your eggs, the answer is no.

I need a break, folks. I am talking a big-ass, long-ass, real-ass break. I know you know the feeling.