When I’m drunk, and I want other people to be drunk, too, I say I’ll buy their alcohol. Usually people protest, and I am forced to explain that I’m independently wealthy so there’s no concern about me purchasing drinks. Yep. I say that, I’m definitely feeling the booze.
Well. Imagine my delight when Katharine Hepburn, sassy reference goddess in Desk Set, drunk on champagne says, “I’m independently wealthy you know.”
I feel so vindicated in all of my life choices now. If I wasn’t in a hotel room I’d be poppin’ bottles in the stacks.
I’m in my last week of my first year of grad school. I’m actually completing the year! It’s hard to believe.
It’s also just hard. I’m writing a paper for 50% of my grade for a professor who is notoriously hard on students, but I’ve never had to write for her. And my perfectionist nature wants six more weeks to do all this research and write this amazing paper (because the other four weeks worth of research and prep was not helpful). But I have four days. Really only two days.
So naturally I decided to watch Firefly again. God, Nathan Fillion is a dreamboat. Maybe I should be Malcolm next year for Halloween. Anyway…
Bring it, school. I fly out for a wedding tomorrow night and I will not be denied.
As I Frankenstein together a term paper–lots of copy & paste, dragging things about, automated footnotes, etc–I am ever so grateful that I am writing a graduate level paper on a computer instead of a typewriter or ::gasp:: having to physically write the whole thing out. I would never finish. There would always be mistakes because I am incredibly careless. I would kill so many trees and pens.
Oh, Lord, thank you for this technology.
I haven’t really thought about my college ex in a long time. People have asked me how he’s doing and I’ve just been like, “Oh, I don’t know. Probably great!” and then that’s been that.
But recently, so many TV things have happened that I’ve wanted to talk about, but he’s really the only one who would get it. Like, the fact that a favourite student-stripper-mischief-maker is the daughter of a famous actress. Did he know that and never tell me? Is he as surprised as I with that knowledge bomb?
Oh, and Christopher’s pregnant girlfriend is THE Janie Jones.
And Amy Poehler’s book has Sue Collini. That was an (awesome) audio shock.
And what about these looksies at this young Bates (a professor and a gym guru) in Murder She Wrote. It’s even better to hear him talk, because it’s nothing like the raspy alcoholic, dick-tucking, highly sexual professor we’ve come to not even hate for banging Karen.
Instead, I’m hitting the ol’ blog with my revelations. Man, hope that guy really is doing great, though.
I hate admitting it, because I fancy myself Wonder Woman, but I really want it. The whole package.
Sure, flowers have been blooming for weeks, and the trees have flowered, and the sun is out for more than one day a week now, but I know it’s finally spring now because I woke up this morning without pants on. That’s right, folks, I came home drunk from a party and left my pants at the front door. Spring is here!
I don’t know if it’s because America actively left the British colonies, but damn, I cannot relate to all this settler/colonizer guilt that’s happening up in Canada. I also didn’t get a strong sense of guilt over the treatment of indigenous peoples in my homeland, either, so that could be part of it.
That said, I feel like part of at least one class a week is spent acknowledging colonizers ruined everything and treated everyone horribly and that no one is properly talking about it/the original peoples. Like, every white person is supposed to feel some guilt and responsibility for their descendants. It’s a really different environment that I’m definitely learning from. Definitely an uncomfortable experience, too.