Idiot Parade

Done with school for the next two weeks, and I’ve decided that I am very much overdue for some ‘me’ time. Finals were a easy as pie, with the excpetion of my two hour essay final for Medieval Lit. A bunch of us didn’t finish, and we all wanted to claw our eyes out by the end of it. But I survived. That is enough for me.

I’ll be working, thought not as much as I’d like…I could really use some extra hours, and I generally like being at the restaurant. With only one exception, all of the servers are very sweet and helpful. They take good care of the other hostess and me.

Aside from that, though, I’m very much looking forward to Disneyland (!!!) and finally reading a book that doesn’t require a six page analysis due at midnight to turnitin.com. Jason’s trading me his Starcraft series for my extra copy of The Princess Bride. So excited! He started reading part of one of them, Nova, to me last night. Have I mentioned how much I love being read to? It’s amazing. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and safe, like a kitten wrapped in a blanket and surrounded by teddy bears that are eating cotton candy. It is that awesome.

I will, I will, I WILL start going to the gym again. That is also on the list of stuff I want to do over break, because it really is just as much a matter of want as it is of need. I know how good I feel when I work out. Someday I would like to trade my gym membership in for pole classes, but I think that’s going to be a long way off.

Last weekend brought a whole bunch of bittersweet. My dear friend Myra and her husband Kurt are moving to Oregon…I think they already left, actually. The three May Revelers are spread out quite a bit now, but I will definitely keep in touch with Claire and Myra, and hopefully I will be able to reach Joanna. I don’t have such a tight relationship with many women. I never thought having close girl friends would be something I ever wanted. Now that I have a few, though, I can’t believe how much I was missing out on.

Nothing dramatic or epic to report. The biggest thing going on right now is the 1 vs 100 live game on XBOX 360 that Mom 2.0 and I have become completely obsessed with. I had forgotten how competitive I can get…apparently Jason was unaware as well. Oops! just one of those things, I guess, still getting used to each others little quirks. It’s fun, though. We make a good team.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to the conclusion that having a boyfriend is not entirely unlike raising a teenager. I realize how ridiculous that statement may sound, and I’m sure that someday, when I happen to be the mother of a surly thirteen-year-old, I will look back at this post and want to slap the past me for being so naive. For the time being, though, just try to follow me on this one.

I’ve mentioned this to a few people, but for those who are unaware, my boyfriend is going to be joining the United States Air Force. Currently, he’s playing phone-tag with the recruiter, but there’s at least a 90% chance of this actually happen within the next two or three months.

Jason is too tall to be a fighter pilot. Airmen are rarely sent to the Middle East, unless they are part of a security force, and even then, tours only last about six months. He would actually have to try to get hurt for anything to happen to him. As my dear ex-Navy friend Tim said: “It’s not like he’s joining the goddamn Marines.”

Logically, I know everything will be fine. Except, there’s this thing where I’m a worrier. I was born into a family of worriers. Worrying is our art, our craft, and we take it very seriously. So while there is every possibility that Jason will be at a desk somewhere in Arizona, way the hell out of harms way, my mind is absolutely certain that he is going to be shipped to Afghanistan and shot. Or blown up. Probably both.

As if that weren’t enough, now the boy wants to sell his car and buy a motorcycle. Now, financially, this is a good idea. Hell, I’ve always wanted a motorcycle. And I’m allowed to have one. He, however, is not, because every time I think about it, I suddenly turn into my mother and begin spouting off accident statistics. Because, obviously, anyone who ever owned a motorcycle EVER has died in a horrific accident of twisted metal and hellfire, just bloody and gory enough to be featured in one of those god-awful Red Pavement videos that we had to watch in Drivers Ed.

Moments like those, it’s a toss up between whether or not I want to kiss the boy or strangle him with my own two hands, because I really don’t know if my love for him outweighs the frustration he causes me. How dare he try and make a life for himself when I’m busy trying to KEEP HIM ALIVE.

But then there are moments when he does the simplest things, like insisting that I lock the door when he leaves and I’m by myself, because he needs to know that I’m safe…or how whatever house we’re in (usually his) is referred to as ‘home’, just because we’re both there. In those moments, I have never felt more like a woman or more loved by a man. Those are the moments that make every *headdesk* and *facepalm* and “Really?! Really???” completely worth it.

Alright, I’ve suffered in silence….quasi-silence….long enough. I can’t take this anymore. The seemingly endless amount of poor grammar hurts my soul.

Before we begin, I’d like to note that I am not going to slam people who speak in LolCats. That is meant as a joke, and is generally used sparingly. If someone starts abusing their “I can haz?” privileges, have no fear, they will be drawn and quartered, and then I will sell all of their belongings on Ebay and use the money to buy the 80th anniversary edition of the Oxford English Dictionary.

First lesson: there, their, and they’re.

“There” refers to a location. Where is the book? Over there. For a more abstract use: There are only a couple ways to use the form “there”, so stop screwing it up.

“Their” is a possessive. You should know what that means, but just in case you were too busy passing notes in your middle school English classes to pay attention, that means “their” is used when the noun in the sentence belongs to someone. That delicious, mouthwatering, nearly-orgasmic sushi is (unfortunately) theirs.

“They’re” is a contraction. That little tick mark between y and r? That isn’t decorative, amazingly enough. It really does have a purpose. It’s called an apostrophe, and it takes the place of an extracted letter, in this case the a in are. So, if we replace the apostrophe with the a, “they’re” becomes “they are”, and we all know how to use that phrase, yes? Please? For the love of all things holy?

Edit here: Holy crap, I fail at life. I could have sworn I typed ‘contraction’ when I first posted this. Thank you, Angela! You are wonderful

Second lesson: loose versus lose.

I can’t even begin to understand how these two words are confused; they mean completely different things. However, I’ve been seeing this mistake for a few years now, and it’s not getting any better.

“Lose” means to misplace/get rid of something, or it is the opposite of ‘to win’. As in, I hate when I lose my pens because then I have to buy more, or My dad’s volume reaches ungodly levels when the Red Sox lose.

“Loose” is the opposite of tight. My pants are loose; I must have lost some weight! Also can be used as a slang term when talking about those who are sexually promiscuous, i.e. “loose woman”.

My hand to God, I will brutally maim the next person who switches those two words around. Public school education is NO EXCUSE.

I have a few other more generalized gripes. Run-on sentences, comma splices, apostrophe errors (it’s versus its), lack of capitalization at the beginning of sentences….look, people, these are things that can be fixed easily and will help you be perceived at least as intelligent as fifth-grade GATE students. Please, go forth and try not to suck at this. It makes the rest of us cry like starving Ethiopian children.

One last thing: if you use ‘2′ for to (or too) or you spell “what” with a u, just give up now. There is no hope for you; you have lost your soul and you will probably spend eternity in the circle of hell that also houses those who don’t take advantage of deodorant and those who write Snape/Hermione (or Sirius/Lupin) slash.

that Cal Arts does not have the monopoly on weird shit.

I try to be on campus as little as possible. I don’t belong to any clubs, I live far away, and traffic always blows. There are times, however, when I am SO HAPPY to be there at a precise moment.

The music building has three floors. I generally like walking past it, because I always hear a cello or an aria or something. This morning, however, I heard a loud yell from a third-floor window. As I stopped and looked up towards the noise, two heads popped out, one male and one female.

Let the shanghai theatre begin!

From what I gathered, I was supposed to be their marriage counselor, and lord did they need one. It was a very funny scene, probably one that they wrote, just a couple bickering about each other’s crap. Very good rhythm…they had definitely practiced. The most amazing part was that no other passersby seemed to take notice of what was happening…just kept walking on by. Kind of sad, actually. After about five minutes, the couple finished and popped their heads back through the window. I applauded, waited for an encore, and went on my way to class when none came.

Later that day, during my third class, I was preparing to recite my twenty lines of Middle English. This has been hell for me.I worked my ass off…bless Jason for being so patient; I was a complete basket-case for about a week now, stressing about this assignment. About fifteen minutes before my turn, my classmates and I noticed a smell…odd….kind of like…hm. Smoke.

A generator had caught on fire, and the buildings were being evacuated. So at 5:30 pm, I found myself outside, in the cold, under a dripping tree, during random bursts of pouring rain….speaking in Middle English, a skill that will never help me in life.

I’d also like to point out that this class has gone from 27 members at the beginning of the quarter to 15 now, and at least three of those are grad students. This has no bearing on the story, but I felt like bragging about being awesome. We are the few…the proud…the 460.

So yes. Odd day. Good day. Hopefully I’m in for an equally good, though less eventful night. Though with my luck, there’ll be a zombie apocalypse or something just because I wrote that last sentence.

When the powers of my exhaustion and hunger combine, my impatience outweighs my cooking skills.

In related news, this morning’s pancakes left something to be desired. I really suck at flipping.

I know a lot of talented people who excel in many areas….but it’s time for some humility and shame. What’s something that you’re terrible at?