Being a Lady

Last night, having finished making a (delicious, I’m sure) mango smoothie for a waiting customer, I handed it to her only to realize that my back hurt.  Suddenly.  And a lot.

Of course, being a lady, I did not complain.  I simply continued on with my work, only hunching slightly as I walked.

When I woke this morning, glazed with the stupor that often comes with 6:40 am wake ups, I hardly felt my back at all.  But in statistics I felt it.  Man, I felt it.  I would shift in my chair until I found a bearable position, only to have the pinching in my lower back reannounce itself within a few minutes.

I asked my neighbor if she had ibuprofen.  Nope.

I asked the girls in front of me, who gave me scandalized glares.  Nope.

Finally, unable to take it anymore (yeah, I’m tough), I bolted out of the classroom and down to the Science/Math Division Office, where I practically begged the receptionist for painkillers.  She was lovely about it, luckily, and even offered to give me some for later.

And now, at the pinnacle of the story, I am lying on my stomach, a half-empty bag of frozen veggies propped against my butt.

My roommate has already been in to take pictures of the scene, which will surely be appearing on Facebook shortly.

It’s all very dignified.

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The Small Town Theater

Stats midterm tomorrow.

American Tropics Lit. essay outline due tomorrow.

I may be pulling my first legitimate all-nighter of the year.

Also, I have watched this trailer at least three times a day for the past few days, and while I will certainly find a way to see it come July 25th, it’s unfortunate that movies like this don’t come to small-town theaters.  Because small-town folks obviously can’t appreciate the low-budget quirkiness that is an Indie Film.  No, give us Transformers 3.  Give us The Lucky One.  Give us anything and everything with Nicholas Cage, and we’ll be perfectly happy.  We’ll even leave our pitchforks outside the theater.

What I Learn In Statistics Class

That has little to do with statistics:

“Girls, never go to Aruba with a guy you’ve just met; they’re going to kill you.”

“It would be inappropriate for me to hug and kiss you now, but I want to.”

“What is this, a makeup brush?  Someone left it here a few years ago.  We’ve been using it as a whiteboard eraser.”

“This graph is nice, but like Mitt Romney’s tax returns, you don’t get to see the whole thing.”

“Moby Dick is the work of the devil.”

“Statistical pilgrimages are to the Guinness Brewery.”

“We knew the cake was likely contaminated.  We also knew someone had to eat it.”

“This box plot has had a bikini wax.”

“Someone-and I won’t name names-may have broken into the Science Building while intoxicated to do some statistics.”

“This was our Thanksgiving discussion: how does Let’s Make a Deal work?”

“He’s giving birth to small kittens.”

“You can tell whose frontal lobes are more developed.”

“I see no light of recognition in your eyes.”

“I was going to continue that analogy, but I decided to stop.”

(After someone asked for an extension on their midterm): “Here’s what I’ll do: I’ll tell you I’m sorry in Spanish.”

(List subject to updates until the end of the semester)

The Ball Has Been Dropped

Well, I’ve done it.  I really thought I was going to make it, but I skipped a post for poor March 20th.  Not on purpose, mind you.  I was planning on writing a post before going to work (I work 10-midnight), but I completely forgot.

In my defense, this is the busiest my life has ever been.  When I’m not in class or at work, I’m campaigning.  I’m meeting with students, student groups, faculty, staff, etc.  If I’m not doing that, I’m sitting in the student government office brainstorming with my running mate. This campaign has gotten personal, quite suddenly; I’ve started to think about how much it will mean for me to win this position, and how I’ll feel should we lose.  (I’ll feel terrible)

I want this, you guys, and I believe in our platform and our goals and I truly think that we’re the best people for the positions.  I also believe that should this election go to the team that wants it the most, we would win.  And what a terrible, wonderful thought that is.

Anyway, to continue my defense, I’ve been stressed with the above, and overtired because I was up until 5 am studying for the darn statistics midterm.  And I forgot.

I’m a little mad at myself for this one, but I will certainly not let it happen again.

I WILL talk to you tomorrow.

 

 

Where Dreams Go to Die

What can I say?

I’ve spent a good five hours of my day in my room pretending to do Statistics (and really reading two books),

and then another five hours really doing Statistics.

Add another hour for my victory lap once I finished.

Tomorrow is the dentist, where dreams go to die.  I’m the kid who brushes at least twice a day, who flosses EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, and who, regardless, always has a cavity.  Sometimes I wish they’d just knock me out at the beginning of the appointment and save me the stress of convincing myself that I can feel the drill scratching my nerves, when I really can’t.  Or so they tell me.

Enjoy the lovely weather, my friends.  Enjoy not having to waste precious hours figuring out Statistics.  Enjoy cavity-free mouths (eat some Milkduds for me).

I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

 

First Saturday

Today I awoke, burritoed in a mass of winter blankets, to Spring.  Not just the vacation, but to the season itself.  It was mid 50s and sunny, and when I opened my window, two bluebirds dropped a crown of daisies onto my head.

Putting the daisies in water, I proceeded to have a quiet, albeit wonderful Saturday afternoon.

I’m taking care of the neighbor’s Beagle while they’re on vacation.  He’s fat and grey and quite deaf.  But he’s a solid little fellow who wags while you’re getting his lunch, and barks good-naturedly when he wants to come back in from outside.  He seemed confused, at first, that the tall neighbor girl was refilling his water bowl, but after I spent the better part of a half hour petting him and throwing his tennis ball, he put his nose on his paws and went to sleep.

At one, Mom and I went to pick up my shiny, glorious Christmas iPhone.  I love the thing already, although I’m not used to having a nice phone; it’s terrifying to think that if I drop it, the whole screen will shatter.  Additionally, though I’ve always found my fingers rather average-sized, they feel enormous when I try to type out texts and emails. I’m hope I’ll get used to these things soon.

Now that it’s gotten dark and cold again,  I’ve retreated to my bed, where I’m pretending to do Statistics and waiting for SNL to come on.

When Timed Tests Ruled the Earth

I hate timed tests.  I’ve hated them since the dawn of time, when multiplication tables came into being, and I discovered that teachers have a universal love of forcing you to do something difficult in only a few minutes.  It’s over quickly at least, but the stress is still enough to keep you up nights.

And then there was Statistics.  I like the subject enough in class, and when I’m working on my homework assignments.  But two hour midterms when your internet dies and the stats program freezes are a different story.  That was my evening.

Give me a week to prepare and I’ll ace a test.  But put a highly restrictive time limit on that test, and I’ll freeze and crack and melt onto the carpet like a puddle of Calamine-colored puke.

Luckily, there’s a Pizza Hut in this town.  Also luckily I have friends who like me enough to agree to play Trivial Pursuit with me on a Friday night.