kill

that's what I'm going to do to him.

damn him.

damn his communication and his messages and his opinions.

grr.

About whom am I talking? My computer, of course. Who did you think.

Thank goodness for beer and slightly cold (free!) pizza. Because if my computer tells my one more time that I have 33.5 MB free on my external hardrive, and 9 MB free on my harddrive, and that I don't have enough memory to save a stinking 12 page paper I'm going to pick it up and throw it and let my work take advantage of the replacement policy the purchased. And if it weren't for the beer and pizza, I probably would have already done just that.

Grr.

Back to my final paper for ChE 575. how come I'm always the group leader?!?

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

Okay, so I have little or no reason to ask that (you do get it, don’t you?), but I couldn’t help it ‘cause I think it’s hilarious. Very, very funny, if you ask me. Which, by reading my blog, I think you technically do.

So, since I was political a few days ago I think I’ll be more philosophical today.

Last night, over beers at the flying saucer (which the guys refer to as the flying sausage, since there are tons of males and not so many females in Raleigh) we waxed. And waxed. And waxed. Wax on, wax off, y’know?

But it was good. A different way of thinking than I’m used to. And here’s the gist of it.

So perhaps, God or the Universe or Karma or whom/whatever gives people skills, abilities, experiences not necessarily to teach them (though they often do learn from it) but instead because they alone are able to handle it. For instance, you’re capable of, say, climbing a mountain. Or performing in front of people. Or handling going through a divorce. Or teaching. Or being an engineer or artist or comedian or lawyer or mother or boss. The end result is still pretty much the same—you learn, you grow, you experience. But it’s about your having the capacity to deal instead of you being subjected to it. Makes me feel a lot better about some of the shit-tastic stuff I’ve had the privilege of going through.

I also learned that I have a drinking super power. Allegedly, anyhow.
It’s the ability to drink and drink and drink and reach a drunk-ness plateau and keep drinking, and maintain the plateau. Eventually there is the possibility of a sleep incline ending in booting without rallying (they call it boot and rally instead of puke and rally here—weird, huh?), but that’s rather unlikely to occur. Anyhow, that’s my drinking super power. Reaching the plateau.

Tonight is the Hillsborough Hike. What’s that, you ask? An event at NC State that’s held on the last day of classes each semester. It’s awesome, apparently. What you do is this—begin at one end of Hillsborough Street and have alcohol from every establishment that sells it. Some businesses only sell beer or whatever on this night. It’s a HUGE. And you’re supposed to go chug a beer at the bell tower, which is cool too. I think maybe we’re going. Except that tomorrow…

I have to be at registration for a 5K walk at 830 AM.
I am meeting Otto’s extended family on his mother’s side.
We are celebrating his grandmother’s 80th birthday.

So maybe that’s not the best idea we’ve ever had. But I’m an NC State student now, and I should revel in their traditions. So I’ll let you know if we’re going.

Last, but not least, I need an opinion. I’m supposed to write a bio for our book jacket. Here’s my rough-draft. Think 50 words. Opinions? Am I missing something super important about myself? Should I leave something out?

A pun-loving ChEand KayDee from Tulsa, Oklahoma, CR enjoys acrylic paint, laughter and daisies. She has loved, lost and is thankful that she has learned. Carrie currently lives in NC, where she appreciates the greens of trees and misses the oranges of the OK sky.
thanks, yo.

more thought than I drunk I was

okay, maybe not. but it was fun to write anyway.

I woke up this morning in a teeny panic (which does, in fact, exist) worried that I'd done something stupid last night. But thank goodness, it all seems good to go. Whew.

I am very hungry, and trying to resist the urge to eat that yummy-looking granny smith apple over there, because I want to save it for the plane ride.

also, here's a conundrum for discussion.

in a state in the US native americans give over a trillion dollars to the democratic party each year. in turn, they get to continue having a monopoly on casinos. technically, other people are losing out because they don't have the ability to make money from gambling. however, that trillion dollars may be going to good use.

it's a toughie.

two-stepping and doing the polka

in no shoes

so, big deal, I kicked off my shoes.

and I'm a skosh drunk.

and crazy about a guy.

and I love being a ChE. And being a "glutton for punishment" since I'm getting my master's (eventually).

and I miss being in my bed.

and I go home tomorrow after a morning of presentations. and I'm tired and in a too warm bed but it's cold and I wish I were home.
and I'm sorta tipsy.
and love it when people say I'm cute/hot/fine/attractive.
and I wanna go home. Which will happen in like 17 hours thank goodness.

sigh.
more when my life is a bit less of a frenzy.

a few interesting amenities

so, where am i?

let's not talk about the psychological or spiritual or any-other-al sense of that question.

the answer, my friends, is in the Buckhead Westin on the 17th floor in a corner room in Atlanta, GA. I'm at our rep training event.

So, I wanted to quickly share with you about some fantastic features of this room. For starters, everything is "heavenly." The heavenly bed, heavenly soaps, heavenly towels. Sheesh.

Next is the volume control for the TV, which in addition to being on the front of the TV is also located on the wall of the bathroom next to the sink along with a small speaker. Wowzers. So while I brush my teeth I can crank up the volume on the show.

Then there's the telephones, which are everywhere. There are three total. One on the desk. A cordless one by the bed. And one hung on the wall by the crapper. So if you get a call with an atlanta area code, you know where I'm calling from. (from where I'm calling, I know, I know.)

Best of all (drumroll? toiletpaperroll? right.) is the shower. With TWO shower heads, both adjustable, one right behind the other. Ahem.

had to let you know. I'm in a fancy room in the Bible belt with a shower built for two. Ha. :)

off again, off again

jiggity jig.

I'm going to Virginia for another wedding. And I'm going to get to wear another cute dress.

And I never really told you much about last weekend, but I'll get to it.

I am excited. Good news is that weddings don't bother me. Not even a little.

Check out a group called the seepeoples sometime--they're pretty good.

time to get sonic, crochet and look at ads for rental houses, not in that order.

of contentment :)

So, getting some apartment stuff done--check.
Doing KayDee senior stuff--check.
Looking for places to live--check.
And finding some that appear at least semi-promising--check.
Finished taking test--check.
Found another four-leaf clover--check.
Talked to CFTs--check (I've been missing y'all).
Told Jeff I'm moving out--check.

whew.
and I got a backrub to boot.
Mmm mmm mmm I love getting to say "check."

Also, I love it when $2--yes, really, two whole dollars! dresses get lots of compliments. I bought it a while ago on clearance. And wore it tonight. It was very fun.

We inducted seniors into the wonderful world of being a KayDee alumnae. It was a nice reminder of why I like being Greek, and why I like being a Kappa Delta. It's always good to reaffirm your conviction to something, if it's something good and something important to you. And today I did just that.

Also, how does August sound for an OK visit? I know I might have a visitor then, so we'd have to coordinate. It's either then or the end of July. Let me know.

PS-happy earth day!

where were you?

Ten years ago, today.

I was in 8th grade in Bartley’s art class. Watching the live coverage and worried ‘cause Mrs. Looper, aka Nell-Bows, was in downtown OKC and we hadn’t heard from her yet.

The TVs that Cox cable had provided were all turned on, all covering the news of the terrible event that had taken place that morning.

And I’m pretty sure I was busy on my final project.

God, that was a sad day. And what do you do as a measly little 8th grader? Cry yourself to sleep? Make out with your boyfriend? Write a letter? Or a book? Or a poem? Take precautionary measures? Or just get royally freaked out?

I chose the latter, I think. I didn’t do anything about it, but I chose the latter.

At that time, I remember things like earth club. And the science fair. Mrs. Compton and putting “all hope abandon ye who enter here” on her door. Doing crosswords in class and talking through Ms. McNulty’s class. The eighth grade dance with our tag-team party. And the short black sparkly dress I had that was made of fabric akin to a slinky, the way it hung when I jumped up and down. I still own the shoes that I wore to that dance ten years ago. And now I’m working on a graphic novel with my date to that dance—the dance where Mrs. Butts put up Mercedes signs instead of peace signs, and the girls all sat on one side of the table while the boys sat on the other at Chili’s.

It’s funny how it all takes you back. Sometimes the way the sun feels on my arms and face makes me think of working outside with Mrs. Wakeley and Jonathan and Anna trying to complete the garden at Edison. And then it makes me think of my granny pulling up to get us from school, driving the old turquoise “bat-mobile” caddy with a scarf wrapped around her head in a failing attempt to control her unruly hair. I will never be able to forget how my name sounds when she yells it to get my attention. Days where French fries, apple pies and Dr. Peppers from McDonalds made my day. I listened to Pearl Jam and the Offspring and the Beatles. Oh, and the oldies and some Christian Rock. Man, I was so conservative then. To think that all along Eddie was sorta kinda right. What a time that was. And all I had to worry about were boys and homework.

And oddly enough, now a large part of my worries today revolve around boys and homework. Oh, and money and work. And my sinuses. Sheesh.

I miss the X-files
My So-Called Life
Trips to the zoo (and getting to have an eagle perch on my arm since I was wearing an orange shirt)
Riding my bicycle
My big green formica table
Zink Park
Plastering my walls with posters and things that made me happy (and also with a censored letters to cleo poster)
Rainbow and Bluey
Lucky
My big window in my room that faced east (which I still use as a reference point for directions in Tulsa—oh, and PS, who knew I’d be moving east, huh?)
The pink dresser
Softball
Blue Bell Icecream
Searching for four-leaf clovers (I’ve found two in the past two months!)
And my family.

I think I’m going to have to make a trip to Oklahoma this summer. I miss it something fierce.

Parallax.

Main Entry: par·al·lax
Pronunciation: 'par-&-"laks
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French parallaxe, from Greek parallaxis, from parallassein to change, from para- + allassein to change, from allos other
: the apparent displacement or the difference in apparent direction of an object as seen from two different points not on a straight line with the object; especially : the angular difference in direction of a celestial body as measured from two points on the earth's orbit

Like a speedometer looking different from the driver’s seat than it does from the passenger’s, right?
Right.

Well, maybe that's how life is. Just maybe.

I talked to Justin today. For twenty surprisingly-pleasant minutes. I found out that he's dating four girls at once right now, but he's not especially interested in any of them. And it made me the teensiest bit sad, because he said "but none of them are Carrie." He meant it in a nice way, I think, judging by the way he said it. And it made me remember that he did in fact love me. He just didn't know how to be a husband, and he still doesn't, and he may never.

But it made me a little sad. I don't miss him--not even his funny comments, which I really expected to miss. But it hurt just a little, and made me feel sorry for him.

Operation: Apartment Hunt has begun. I need to get up the nerve to tell Jeff that I'm going to move out. But I think I'm going to let the dust settle first.

the conflict and the (sort of) resolution

me, one angry lady.

a confrontation about me taking my used tampons outside in exchange for him fixing the kitchen sink went awry.

I just wanted him to fix it, dammit. It leaks when you use it. You have to change out the water every five minutes if you're washing dishes--and I'm referring to the water in the pot under the sink. Yuck-o.

So, I calmly (yes, really) asked if we could talk, and said I wasn't sure if he realized what I was asking him to do. I'd do it, I said, but if I'm going to accommodate him could he please try to accommodate me (and fix the sink).

He said the sink wasn't broken.
He said I knew he had a dog when I moved in.
He said I have a cat, and he doesn't care for everything my cat does.
He said he's doing me a favor by letting me live here for $350 a month.

I said it's not about your dog.
I said he knew I had a cat.
I said that the sink leaks.
And that I thought we were both doing each other a favor. Me, paying $350 to live here. Him, getting a fairly easy-going renter and some extra cash.

Apparently I'm mistaken.

I had to excuse myself when I started to cry.

So I'm moving out. By the end of May. I just have to tell him that.

Also, I had an alarming realization while trying to fall asleep last night. I was sitting there trying not to stew over this (to no avail, I might add) and I realized that I am so upset by him because he argues like my dad did. In an unreasonable, hurtful way. And that, apparently, is more than I can take. Which is fine. (Sigh)

So, operation moving is now in full swing. Well, at least I think it is.

have a good monday.

I'll give y'all a weekend update later. It's kind of funny.

why is it?

seriously. I want a damn answer. If someone has it please give it to me.

Why am I not only blessed with the joys of being a girl, but now I get shit from my landlord. Why am I expected to walk my used tampons all the way to the door just because he can't teach his dog not to dig through the trash? Good gracious. I'm pissed.

He won't even fix the damn sink, or clean anything unless he overflows the toilet, yet he gets grossed out because his dog won't keep his head away from the trashcan, and asks me to make an already unpleasant week even more unpleasant by walking my stuff to the trashcan outside.

I asked if I could put the trashcan in the cabinet, he said no. He doesn't even want me to put them in my room. He wants them outside.

I am pissed.

Who is so inconsiderate? Really.

Not to be gross, but for the love of god I have a part of my body that bleeds on a monthly basis. I have cramps and swelling associated with it. I'm forced to use compacted cotton in a very unnatural way. I have to avoid certain colors of pants and outfits and wear panties that I don't mind being ruined, just incase. I mean, normally I don't mind accommodating others. And I understand that it might bother him. But this seems ridiculous.

maybe I'm out of line.
we shall see.
maybe I'll make him a deal. if he'll fix the sink, wash the dishes and clean up after himself, I won't be upset about having to walk to the trashcan outside just 'cause he can't train his dog.


also, the pants aren't actually too small, well not really. I am capable of zipping them. And sitting in them and everything. I just think maybe bigger ones would be more comfy.

Jenny Says!…are my pants are too small?

So, I saw Cowboy Mouth last night. Such a fun crowd band. So so fun. And I had forgotten his catch phrase—“are you with me?” Wow. Their drummer/lead singer sweats. A lot. Ew. I’m really glad I went. I almost didn’t, but I did, and it was a great time. And everyone was pumped when they played “Jenny Says!” I also loved it when he told everyone to envision someone that they used to be with who screwed them over or didn’t pay attention or was a jerk, and to smile their ass off ‘cause they weren’t with them anymore. And proceeded to play the song “The Love of My Life” which repeatedly celebrates someone crappy not being the love of your life anymore.

A-freaking-men.

Project: Super Secret seems to be going along swimmingly. Someone *ahem* should call me tonight to discuss it for a few. I’ll be in the car on my way to Virginia. To meet the groom and his buddies for a few brewdogs post rehearsal dinner and before the wedding tomorrow. (my date knows them from college) It should be fun. I’m not sure if I’ll be the only female or not. We shall see.

I’m a little nervous because this is the first wedding I’ve gone to since mine. There have been a couple of times that I’ve wanted to say “when I got married,” but I’ve stopped myself.

Because they were things like “when I got married he didn’t care what anything looked like and didn’t want to help. He wouldn’t even listen.” And “when I got married he didn’t want to go and register for anything. So one of my best friends helped me pick out everything. Which is fortunate, since I now own it all, and it only brings back memories of the fun we had picking it out.”

So I have a few wedding issues. Which is understandable. (isn’t it?) But I think I’m going to have a lot of fun at this one, and then hopefully I’ll have no more worries on that front.

I’m a little nervous about something else. Which I think is probably silly of me. But still. It’s only a little single digit number. On a small scale or rectangle. Located near the small of my back on pants that are almost too small for me to zip. Do I buy new pants? Do I try to slim down? Do I ignore and pretend that these jeans aren’t rather tight? Is my small weight gain me becoming the size I should be, or instead is it the result of poor eating and hardly any exercise?

For the record, I am not fat. And you needn’t respond to this portion of my post. But it worries me a teensy weensy bit that my pants have all shrunk, or that I am expanding. But just a little.

Lessons learned?
Always go to cheap music shows if you can. Like the $5 ones.
Be open-minded.
Don’t obsess about pant size. Just buy clothes that fit you. At least, until you’ve gained 15 extra pounds or so.
Sitting outside at lunch is fantabulous.And this whole crochet-a-blanket-in-a-year thing may be more challenging than I though.
Try not putting your pants in the dryer. That might solve your pants problem altogether.

I feel good...

nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-na-nuh.

I knew that I would. Eventually, anyhow.

Not all good. Still got a yicky nose and a bothersome person to deal with. But good.

I had some nice stuff happen today.

-I felt important at work.
-I got the remake of my KD certificate.
-I stood up for myself and let the appropriate people know that I was not pleased with how they keep using my wrong name and sent my test to my STBEH's house.
-I found out that one of my friends uses li'l ol' me as a measure of how funny something he says is--if I get a good laugh out of it he figures it's really funny (which is quite the nice compliment in my book),
-and I found out that I got the highest grade in the class on my test. Which feels really, really, REALLY good. Really. Makes me want to stick it to the people who were negative, told me I shouldn't go to grad school, told me I shouldn't be an engineer. That I wasn't smart enough or capable or whatever. But, as someone so eloquently pointed out, you should always say "f*ck the nay-sayers." And he's right.

Time for work. It's cold outside today, but I'm wearing a skirt anyway 'cause I want to. So there.

a quickie

so, I've been ultra busy.

still am.

but due to my brother's overwhelming powers of influence, here's a short post.

I AM SO EXCITED!!! I took a test forever ago (read: March 16th!) and I just found out what my grade is. My friend Terry, who is also taking the class, got a 98. He got his test back on Saturday. I still don't have mine back, BUT, they emailed me back my grade. I was figuring I'd get like a 90 or 92 or something. But no, I got a 98.5. Hooray! Wahoo! And NC State does the silly weighted grade thing, so since I've been doing ultra well I might--just might--get a A+ in this class.

I also bought a dress to go to the second wedding. There's one this weekend and one next weekend. It's very cute. And it means I get to go buy new shoes and a new purse. Yay!

The one downer this week is that someone's being, well, catty I guess. I sent him signed papers--a memo of our separation agreement--and put a post-it note on the inside. And signed it with my full name. (I'm really enjoying signing R again. Know how my Rs are capital in my first name? Well I made them capital in my last name too--which means no more yicky lower case Rs!) So, he emails me, saying "very classy touch by putting CR on the inside of the note." I think that was terribly rude of him. I'm not responding to it. But I still don't appreciate it. What an ass. But we all knew that, now didn't we.

Work is crazy. The other AE left, so I'm holding down the fort by myself. Which sucks. But I'm managing okay, I guess.

I'm hungry. And my hair is wet. And I should be getting dressed now. So I'm gonna.

and here's another view... 

my pretty mattie... 

can it get any better?

I mean,really.

So, ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-a-check it out.

Last night I had cheap mexican food and yummy beer for dinner.
I got all gussied up.
and we left for Durham.

I had purchased tickets to this little shindig on Thursday, and I'd paid a whopping five smackeroos a piece for 'em. For all the beer and wine we could drink.

But wait, it gets better....

So where, you might ask, was this event? In the Durham Museum of Life and Science, that's where!!! So, yes, that meant copious drinking AND nerdy stuff, even better!

But wait, it STILL gets better....

Because my date, a fellow chemical engineer, is also a nerd at heart (though I am most definitely more nerdy, for the record). So now I'm 1) dressed up, 2) drinking free white wine and getting tipsy, 3) at a science museum, 4) looking at exhibits with a fellow engineer.

We spent almost an hour playing with those silly blocks. See the pic below? We made a couple of structures before deciding on these two. Can you guess which one is mine?

And right before we took this picture, the funniest thing happened...we were diligently working on our respective structures when we noticed people watching us. It turns out that our things were MUCH taller than everybody else's. And there was this group of people at the end of the table, and this girl in a cute green outfit was watching us intently. She said, "I'm sorry, I just have to ask, are you all engineers?"

We most definitely are. Most definitely. and this gave me quite a good laugh. And also made me feel kind of good, since someone saw the engineers in us, if that makes sense. I like it that I'm an engineer. I most surely do. For a while there I though it was going to totally suck, but now I like it, even though I don't care so much for my job. anyhoo...

Sidebars aside, there's still more to the goodness of the evening. We moved from the museum to the insect zoo and butterfly garden. We saw scary spiders and grubs and stuff, and then went inside where all the butterflies were. It was really pretty.

So now we have
-beer and mexican food
-beer and wine
-being dressed up
-science experiments
-a fellow engi-nerd/nerd-i-neer
-building blocks
-bugs
-butterflies

and then we went home. and I slept very well, and had dee-lish breakfast burritos. and now I'm typing a listening to cake. and since I'm done, it's time for me to give Mattie a bath while desperately trying to avoid getting a sunburn.

structures... 

bits and pieces of stuff

mean a lot of things to people.

So, I’m getting tired of a few things….

I’m tired of people being so materialistic. Especially about this divorce beeswax. It’s uncalled for. In addition to be absurd. Why is the big worry the wedding gifts and who got ‘em? Why, oh, why?

For the record, anything of value is mine, really. At least, as far as the gifts are concerned. I got the kitchenaid mixer, the china, the calphalon, the dishes and pretty much all of the cookware. The candlesticks and pitchers and all too. And where is it right now? Costing me $72 per month to keep in storage. There’s other stuff in there too, of course. But, I mean, really…why? I’m glad I have it and some day I’ll be glad to use it. But that’s not the heart of the issue here. How I am is so so so much more important than things. They happen to be very nice things, but at the end of the day, it all boils down to some carbon molecules and other elements and plant matter. Nothing is irreplaceable.

It’s like people who worried about how everything got divvied up. How he got practically everything in the house. But I don’t care. I love it that when I said “he definitely got the better end of the stick” Audrey said, “Carrie, no he didn’t. You did. You’re free of him.” And she’s so right.

And even better was when someone pointed out that if we were arguing over money, well it was just that—money. And that I’d make more, and it would all be fine. And they were right too.

But the comment about the wedding gifts really got to me.

And I’m also tired of people telling me how CK has such a ring to it. Or how good it sounded. How happy, how chipper, how fun. Because quite honestly I think that deep down inside CK wasn’t happy or chipper or fun. Or at least when she was it was the CR inside of her coming through. CK was gloomy and lonely and disappointed. It’s sad but true. And every time that people tell me how they liked K better as my last name it makes me want to yell and scream. Or correct them. Or point out the lunacy of what they’re saying.

And really, really, it makes cry inside. Just a little.

a small correction

Describing the possible situation from a few postings ago as creepy was entirely too much. A mild bit disconcerting. Maybe even troublesome. But creepy was overkill. I never meant to insinuate that said person was a creep. Because he isn’t. So I retract the use of creepy. A mild bit disconcerting is more accurate and not at all slanderous. He’s a nice guy. I’m being serious not sarcastic.

So consider it done. Changed. Revised. (and PS, this is a bit weird for me. Usually I get in trouble/made fun of for using my vocab—and this time not using it caused problems. Hmm).

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

And, as is turns out, he did put 2 and 2 together. I’m unsure as to whether he got 3.99 or 4.01 or something in-between, but regardless, it was a case of deductive reasoning, not a case of snooping.

I think I unintentionally made him feel like I was trying to question his character. Slanderous was his word. But good ol’ Merriam and Webster offer the following definition: “the utterance of false charges or misrepresentations which defame and damage another's reputation” OR “a false and defamatory oral statement about a person.” Wouldn’t it be libel if I wrote it? Just checking. Anyhow, does this mean he thinks I had ill intent? Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. But if I wanted to talk poorly about people there’s many a person who’d be more worthy of the talking. Many. But what would that accomplish? …………………….So instead I’ll just ignore anything that I could possibly read in to his statement and continue to revel in being hunky-dory and in trying not to hurt others. (hows abouts hunky-dorky? Naw, a boy would have to be hunky-dorky. I could be hottie-dorkie. hmm)

As I’m sure you can tell, I spoke to him today. And amongst other things, I was reminded of 1) the beauty of jumping to conclusions, and 2) that I must take all hearsay with a grain of salt. Even from kin. Or, perhaps, especially from kin.

But, then again, as far as I’m concerned, the point of a blog is to get out whatever you’re feeling, and to maybe let it serve as a sounding board for idea/suggestions, and to keep people updated on your life, if you so choose. So I’m just gonna write what I feel at that time. Which I did and do and am. I don't mean to intentionally step on toes or anything. Sorry....

So there.

And I’d like us to all take some advice from Bright Eyes, who I personally find catchy and kitschy and kinda cool…

“So when you’re asked to fight a war that’s over nothing. It’s best to join the side that’s going to win. And no one’s sure how all of this got started. But we’re going to make goddamn certain how it’s going to end.” –“Road to Joy”

big rocks, video games and yarn

So, I went rock crawling this weekend. In a Jeep Rubicon. Why someone would buy a jeep just to go drive it over rocks was beyond me--but now I totally understand 'cause it's damn fun.

Friday night we drove to Richmond. Had some beer and went to bed.

Saturday got up early and drove to Harrisonburg, VA. Stopped to get new windshield wipers on the way. And went up a very pretty mountain to go on the trails.

You remember when you were little and you though jumping in puddles was fun? (Especially if you were wearing cool galoshes) Well, it's WAAAAY cooler when you rip through a puddle in a jeep. Kind of like the log ride at Bells, right at the end before you get off and after you go up that horrible conveyor belt affair. Except more water, it's muddy, you don't get wet and don't have to endure soaking socks for the rest of the day. Which is a total plus. I loved it.

Some things were impassable though. I'm glad the guys were smart about it, at least a little.

We went home after four and hours of bouncing around in the jeep and having the seatbelt cut into my shoulder a bit. And then went and had dinner at Star Hill in Charlottesville. Instead of going to see a movie Cory and I (whose name is also R*chardson...two C R*chardsons. Anyhow) convinced the guys to watch episodes of Sex and the City. But not before we played some old video games. Like Ms. Pacman and a racing game (the one where you die when you hit the billboards) and Galaga. I did rather well at Galaga, surprisingly enough.

On Sunday we slept in and went home. But not before we saw Sin City, which was horribly violent. Horribly. Scarringly. And it has a rooftop scene of hookers in leather with machine guns for all the fantasizing guys out there. Wow.

Anyway.

I also got more of my blanket done. I'm on color four of seven (which doesn't mean much--I'm going to repeat it.) And I'm doing six rows in each color. It's gonna be pretty.

I have a headache. And I learned today never to use thigh cutlets--chicken breast is well worth the additional money.

time to study. Why did I think grad school would be a good idea? can someone remind me please?

bah. (again)

By the way, I wanted to clarify. I'm upset 'cause he is a hypocrite. He gave me hell because I was willing to put thoughts and feelings--be they good or bad--online. He said I should tell people personally or over the phone, and that I should never tell Renee or Jess about it. He was very mean about it. And so I think it's funny he's reading it (maybe) and telling others about it.

bah.

what a wild and crazy and suuuuper fun weekend. It's a must-tell. But not a must-tell-right-this-instant. Because I have something more important to address.

So, what would you do if you had a reader that might not be welcome to read your blog, huh? There are two possibilities. One is that this person put 2 and 2 together and got 3.998 and rounded up accordingly. The other is that this person's been reading my blog and isn't making it known. Which is kinda a little rude and kinda a little creepy. And I'd kinda appreciate it if you kept your nose out of my business. Or at least if you didn't tell my sister shit and get me in trouble.

So, if you're reading this now, please consider this your official invitation to either quit reading or quit telling her stuff about me. I should not be a topic of convo between the two of you. And, for the record, if you have some creepy ulterior motive behind talking to her know that 1)itain'tevergonnahappen and 2)you're pretty inconsiderate. Oh, and pot, this is kettle. You're black.

That being said, I'd like to point out that I realize that this is on the internet, and though it's difficult to search for it's certainly possible. So anyone can read at will. And you're all welcome to. Yes, even you.

Ah.

Sorry for the rant. I'm sure we can all guess who this might be. And if you can't, then you probably don't need to know. And for the record, Justin never really talked to my family, so it sure as heck isn't him. And I imagine he's not reading this anyhow.

Right.

I'm anxious to tell you about my weekend. But that will have to wait. Short list:

it includes:
mud
beer
sin city (disturbingly violent!)
big rocks
galaga
chili
and some delicious icing-on-top from last night, which makes me very happy for you.