Gross Anatomy

WARNING: If you are someone I once dated, OR whom I might want to date later, OR whom I might just think is cute if we met, OR if you are a judger, OR if you just aren’t up to reading about someone’s personal kind-of-gross body issue right now, please do not read the following.

So I am in finals misery, drudgery, curmudgeonry. Which involves a lot of sitting. On my ass. For HOURS and HOURS at a time.

Which produces:

A butt zit.

Oh yes.

I said “butt zit.” On the internets! For people to read! And snicker. Or frown disgustedly.

And I can only really write the words now because it is gone already. Really, it’s like it never even happened. Really! I didn’t spend all weekend checking 12 times a day to see if it was gone yet. No siree! Which you know, if I had done, which I didn’t, would not have been good for my self-esteem because, hello?! sitting on my ass for five days? Not good for the shape of said sat-upon ass.

In any case, hypothetically, if I had spent that much time in front/back of the mirror, it would have been one of the more exciting things that had occurred in my life in the last five days. Which would be why I’m writing about it. Even though it’s gross.

But now it’s back to Con Law because I have confused myself with all the tenses used in this entry.

And to everyone I have not e-mailed, commented on, called back or otherwise reached out to you, I’m sorry! December 14 I will be free and clear. And so will my ass be, G-d willing.

p.s. Speaking of (Grey’s) Anatomy, CAN YOU BELIEVE Alex screwed that nurse? So wrong! Boys are stupid.

My Only Salvation Is a Deathtrap, OR Signs that Final Season Draws Nigh

Hm, second blog post with “death” in the title. Excellent.

So anyhoo, the Top 5 signs:

1. You, Laurie, and Roy the Cat nearly head onto the 405 with your First Amendment Law book on top of your car. Luckily, at the metered on-ramp, the local Roto-Rooter van man informs you that $80 and four lbs of LAW are about to go flying into the SUV behind you, and you intervene. But really, didn’t the SPEECH in that book just want to be FREE?

   Hahaha.

   Ha.

   Please, what is happening to me?

2. In the vet waiting room, you just HAVE to tell Laurie something hilarious Scalia just said.
3. You kind of think Scalia is cute.*
4. The thing you most look forward to every night is EXERCISE. On that infernal deathtrap you see above. Just because it is an escape from when bankruptcy trustees can set aside a foreclosure sale.
5. You start to think about corn rows as a time-saving measure.

*p.s. You HAVE to check out this site, only for the lovely ripple effect. Also, p.s. I generally disagree with everything out of Scalia’s pen and think he should have recused himself from the Cheney case.

Calendar of Death

Apparently this is the point in the semester where a giant bowling ball of panic takes up permanent residence on your chest.

And where you realize that aside from class you will not be leaving your apartment for the next three weeks.

And where you start to remember how shitty this was last semester, and then you at least had a boy to make you feel human once a week, and now your only boyfriend is mortgage substitutes, and all you want to do is take a nap, or paint your nails, or write a really whiny blog entry complaining about your upcoming hell.

So that’s what I’m doing. Whine.

Whine.

Whine.

And now I feel kind of better.

Better enough to get back to reading (whine).

Répétez-vous après moi, s’il vous plaît

Bonjour!

I just started listening to Pimmsler CDs in preparation for our trip to Paris.

And as soon as I popped one in, I was transported back to high school French class, and the world of Mireille* et Robert, French in Action!

My French teacher, Madame Baxter, breathed France. A chain-smoking, constant-coffee-drinking, tee-tiny woman in striped sailor tops and jauntily knotted scarves. I loved her. And I like to think she loved me. I couldn’t roll my r’s like Katie did, but damn if I didn’t master the conditionnel passé.

But even if she did love me, it wasn’t as much as she loved the French.

They did everything better in her mind. Including raise children. One of the most fascinating, and still unverified, fact she conveyed to the class about the French was how they raised children with refined palettes.

Apparently, instead of Gerber, the French blend whatever they consume for dinner and feed it to their babies. Duck confit? Blended! Gratin d’oignons? Blended!

This astonished me. And for the first time opened my young eyes to the fact that other people, elsewhere? They might do things differently because IT WAS BETTER THAT WAY.

So do the French really blend their meals pour les bébés? I dunno. Mystère et bulle de gomme.

But March will be the time to solve these mysteries!

*Apparently, a porn star?

Sleeps with the Fishes

I have never mentioned my other pet, Punxsutawney Phil. My betta fish. I got him to be a pet for Fred & Ethel. CatTV.

Unfortunately, F&E like a little more interactive entertainment than I had anticipated, so I had to move him onto my armoire, where F&E are too fat to jump.

But even though he wasn’t serving his original purpose, I grew to love little Phil. Even liked dropping his bloodworms (ew!) into his tank every morning.

But this morning, I went to drop them in and little Phil wasn’t swimming any more. No, he was stuck at the bottom of the tank, pale and lifeless with his little fishy mouth open.

This is a little maudlin, I suppose, and I’m sorry, but I’m sad to lose my little Phil.

At least he got to see a little bit of California before he passed. Twice I drove him and F&E up to Redding to see the ‘rents. Losing half his tank of water each time. I guess I could have been a little lighter on the accelerator, but don’t you think he enjoyed a little fishy thrill?

I like to think that Phil was cursing the bastard CHP who gave me that ticket (even though I CRIED) in Colusa county. And that he had a little giggle outside of Harris Ranch when, after stopping for gas and spying a bunch of kittens near the dumpster, I left them a pile of food and somehow accidentally left the bowl on my hood, making a terrific crash as I headed onto the onramp and it flew off into I-5 oblivion.

So RIP, Phil. I’m glad I knew you.

Jingle Bells Are Ringing in My Head

Or maybe it is just bats in my belfry.

This is the point in the semester where I realize I am 80 kajillion pages behind in Public International Law and finals are nipping at my heels. But how do I react?

By adding even more social engagements to my calendar, starting a new exercise regimen and cooking up ambitious plans for Christmas presents, of course!

I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the gingerbread lattes now available at Starbucks. Maybe it’s because I watched Home Alone today while typing up my Real Estate Finance notes. But already, the holiday spirit has taken up residence.

So because I am totally nuts, and despite of the fact that the last time I made a mix Laurie and I nearly broke up over some Photoshop and card stock issues, I’m making an indie Christmas mix!

Want one? If so, e-mail me your address at jen@sundayundies.com!

I Love Paris in the Springtime

That’s right! Come March Laurie and I will be in Paris! And, serendipty on our side, Gloria‘s trip will overlap!

It’s been a long time I’ve looked forward to anything as much as this. I’ve dreamt about going to Paris since the first time I heard “Paris Sera Toujours Paris” by Maurice Chevalier in 10th grade French class.

There’s a million things I want to see, but any particular recommendations, mes amis?

Technology, I Dis-Evite You to My Party

Just when I thought my boyfriend Technology and I had made up, he makes a fool of me again.

Last week Gloria and I supped at El Compadre. And in discussing her upcoming pre-holiday holiday party, she mentions that one invitee has not yet RSVP’d but has checked the Evite like 1200 times.

“Uh, Wha…?”

“The creator of the Evite can view how many times you’ve checked it. But only until you RSVP.”

Sheisse.

So Gloria totally knew that I had checked her Evite like 20 kabillion bazillion times. Oops! Luckily, she already knows I stalk her. But, um, Carolyn‘s nice friend Ginger? I am very, very sorry I sort of cyber-stalked you for a week. And Amber? I just kept checking that Halloween Evite because I wanted to, um, you know, see how the party was shaping up! And um, guy in that other law school section whose birthday party I just attended? I was just seeing if, you know, the venue had changed, or if, um, you had altered the time. Really, I swear!

Oh me, oh my.

This is only the tip of the iceberg. Those are just the people I have stalked in the last two weeks! I have stalked COUNTLESS other Eviters over the years, never knowing that when I showed up with my bottle of merlot and Williams-Sonoma whatchamacalit? They were not marvelling at my generosity! No! They were wondering how the hell I managed to have time to purchase that housewarming gift since I spent every minute of the last two weeks pouring over their Evite.

Egads.

So please, learn from my mistakes. Either a) step away from that Evite, or b) RSVP right away so you can stalk in peace. You can always just put “I dunno” or “Barely there” or whatever catch phrase the party host has selected for the socially ambivalent.

And you, Technology? (Yes, I like to think Technology looks like Jason from Laguna Beach. It’s my blog and I’ll fantasize if I want to.) You cannot continually make a fool out of me and expect to stay in my life! Even washboard-abbed bad boys can get dumped. So watch out. Or next thing you know I’ll throw a big party and not invite you. If LC can do it, so can I.

%*#@$ Finally!

OK, that Knittin’ and Other Krafty Krap category has been haunting me for what feels like YEARS, YEARS! And nothing. Because I have been working on the same freaking scarf since 1992. OK, since August, but you know what I mean. But! FINALLY!

Above is Katie’s (um, an Aries) birthday scarf, which she will most likely get as a Christmas present because I am po’.

And because Fred is responsible for much of the cat hair lovingly interweaved throughout, here is another pic.

Isn’t he GINORMOUS? I swear he as long as my leg.

In other scary news, here are some pics from Halloween, further evidence that I de-ho‘d my outfit. And before you ask, my Globo Gym partner there is a purely platonic one. And also before you ask, I have no idea why the photographer believed a shovel went with my construction worker outfit.

And in other knitting news, I finally met Carolyn! Who is just as funny and charming and pretty and girly as one might expect from her blog. And p.s. Carolyn, I owe you an e-mail but school has been kicking my butt. Over brunch her friend told us how she has been experiencing role reversal with her current beau — HIS unreturned phone calls, HIS fruitless attempts to smooth things over after emotional outbursts, etc. And HER immediate impulse to pull away. Seriously disturbing to understand how boys typically feel. Yikes!

Close Encounters of the Cat Kind

Last night I thought maybe if I put out some extra food Fred wouldn’t wake me up so early.

This morning I realized I could build an entire Devil’s Tower out of tuna in my living room and that cat would still be biting my toes at 5:30 a.m.

If the aliens do come, they can have ’em.