Just Sayin…

Girls may be “precious” and “irrational,” but boys are “clueless.”

I really don’t know why I bother.

The Day that Never Ended

Some girls court boys with cookies. I move furniture.

My day began at 6:35. The alarm went off far too soon. My first thought was why am I waking up at this ungodly hour? My second was, “Oh, yeah. Eric. Moving.” My third thought was, “dammit, I caught the cold!” as my airway felt obstructed and my throat was dry and achy. Luckily, I had a package of Ricola stashed away for this very happenstance.

With little trouble, I made it to Eric’s house and the fun began. From Rutland to Fitchburg to pick up the truck. Back to Rutland to load it with all the house stuff. Then to Westboro to  load all the work stuff into it. I swear that each part of his desk weighed more than me.

From Westboro to Woburn to unload all the office stuff at the new office and then to Malden to unload all the apartment stuff. Then to Medford to drop off the truck.

If you’re not from around here, you have no idea what any of those places are, but suffice to say it was a very long day. And my day did not end when we got back to Worcester.

It began. I started work 45 minutes late, thanks to us getting lost, combined with rush hour Boston traffic.

I got home from work half an hour ago. I don’t know how I am still standing.

Maybe because my feet are hardly touching the ground.

Hussy-ness, or Lack Thereof

It’s a little ironic that I stumbled upon this post today.

Why?

Eric and I had a pretty long conversation last night; the kind that wanders and meanders and goes in circles, until you look at the clock and realise it is way past your bed time.

And one of the topics happened to be kissing and when and why and what it all means.

Now, I’m pretty liberal. I like kissing. I think it’s fun and kissing isn’t akin to marriage or anything, but it is pretty intimate. I’ve been of mixed opinion lately, because my past experience has been that once the kissing occurs, the flood gates are open and it’s pretty hard to keep the tide in.

My liberality does not mean that welcome unchatse occurances, but experience has borne that once the kissing occurs, guys think they have an all access pass, and given my weakness for all things carnal, I let them through the gate without hassling them about their security clearance.

So, it’s a bit refreshing to go on a number of dates with the same guy, but not have him so much as peck me on the cheek, never mind ram his tongue down my throat.

But it’s a little confusing, too, because it leads to thoughts like… is there something wrong with me? Am I not attractive? Am I reading the signs wrong? Is there broccoli in my teeth?

So, the conversation has to occur. And I try to find a nonchalant way to make it occur. Was it casual? I’d like to think I am justsoclever, but perhaps I am transparent.But I had to know. And now I know what type of guy he is and whether he is worth spending time with. As things get busier, time grows more precious, and the opportunity cost is higher.

I’m not sure that there is anything more attractive than a guy who wants to really get to know someone before even kissing them, because kissing is just that important and you don’t just kiss anyone.

That is so cute that I just want to kiss him…

Xmas 2006

I hate to say it, but the cliches are all true.

Christmas may be overly stressful, overcommercialised, and full of anxiety over just the right gift, but none of that really matters.

It’s all about family and making memories and letting those good memories overshadow the bad ones that just don’t seem to matter anymore.

Merry Christmas.

Ummmm, duh?

Okay, I hate abortion as much as the next socially liberal, moderately conservative girl, but I don’t get this.

If you didn’t want them to kill your baby, why did you pay them to kill your baby?

A little depressing for Christmas, but babies are mindlessly killed at Christmas, too.

Merry Christmas. To Me.

Glenn Beck Extras #2 from ABC 4 Utah interview

I know. I’m a fangrrrl, but this makes me cry.

By the by, I am keeping this Christmas theme up as long as possible.

I loves it.

The Saddest Christmas Song

Little altar boy, I wonder could you pray for me?
Little altar boy, for I have gone astray
What must I do to be holy like you?
Little altar boy, oh, let me hear you pray

Little altar boy, I wonder could you ask your Lord
Ask him, altar boy, to take my sins away
What must I do to be holy like you?
Little alter boy, oh, let me hear you pray

Lift up your voice and send a pray above
Help me rejoice and fill that prayer with love
Now I know my life has been all wrong
Lift my your voice and help a sinner be strong

Little altar boy, I wonder could you pray for me?
Could you tell our Lord I’m gonna change my ways today?
What must I do to be holy like you?
Little altar boy, oh, let me hear you pray
Little altar boy please let me hear you pray!

And yet, it resonates so well…

Feel Free to Ignore This Post

::Gratuitous Celebratory Geekdom Post::

Two grades out of four are in and… drumroll please…

Intermediate Macro: 379/400 = 94.75 = A

English Comp 2: 90.9 = A (I don’t know if this going to end up being an A-, because that’s what a 90.9 really is, but she listed A as the letter grade on Blackboard. Maybe it’s scaled.)

I’m thinking A or A- or B+ in Money and Banking. It’s too close to call. Depends what I got on the project and the take home final.

Probably an A- or a B+ in Econometrics, depending on what I got on the paper and how I do on tomorrow’s final.

So, the 3.9 might live on for another semester and I just may apply to grad school.

And just as an aside, the two classes I desperately want A’s in (and think I deserve, given the amount of effort) are probably the two I won’t get A’s in. I so don’t deserve an A in neither Macro nor English Comp, but I am not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

In less celebratory news, tomorrow is the last new Glenn Beck show of the year.

Merry Frickin’ Winter!

[update: I managed the 4.0. I get a 4.0 to hide the pain.]

You don’t like me, you really don’t like me…

It seems my popularity is plummeting. How can that be so, this soon after being named Time Magazine’s Person of the Year?

You are a fickle, fickle, audience.

What to do in times like these? Continue to whine about my unbearbly overscheduled, undervalued life? Delve in tothe mysteries of life, the universe, and everything? Wow you with needlessly long words, just to show how smart I am? Puzzle on about all the boy drama caused by a revelation that came just a few weeks too late?

Nah, I’ll go with the cheap humor shot.

At FHE last night, we played Loaded Questions, which is the best game ever. I’m too lazy to link it. Just google it already.

Anyway, Devin chooses the question: “If you could have one part of your body surgically altered, what would it be?”

Now, the answers were:

1. Eyebrows
2. Teeth
3. arms
4. Buttlift
5. Brain

Devin has to guess who said which. Now, the respondents were:

• Me
• Eric
• Hector
• Dan
• Andrew

Do you see that there is only one girl on that list?

After we finally got ourselves under control (much laughter abounded), Devin says, “I… Uhh… I’m not saying anything about you, or that you… ummmm… need it, but by process of elimination, I choose you [me] for buttlift.”

Again with the laughter. Red in the face, begging for breath, laughter.

With four guys and one girl in the room, you choose buttlift for the only girl?

Good luck at BYU, Devin.

Super Procrastinator

It’s 11:03. I should be working on a take home final that I was given a week ago. It is due in the morning, as is the FOMC project that was assigned the very first day of the semester.

I’ve got plenty of time. Eight hours until I have to awake and shower and give this presentation. So, why am I blogging instead of doing much needed studying?

Because this is who I am; this is what I do. I upload all of my hopes and dreams and fears and anxieties and then take care of the task at hand.

I’m glad I handed off my copy of Glenn Beck’s book to Eric when he left. I was doing myself a kindness more than I was him. If the book were here, I’d be reading it, and that would take longer than watching the Dexter season finale and then blogging my cares away.

I’m not sure that I can impart to you how very tired I am, in body, mind and spirit. The bishop of the ward I was visiting today told a story that was touching, but not overly so, and I felt the tears fall. Not lopping tears, but not baby ones, either.

All the emotions are so close to the surface and this is not how I operate. Feelings are best burried deep down where they are not easily found, seen, or heard.

Or read.

Now, about the Taylor Rule…