Friday, May 04, 2007

Moving Meltdown Part 2 in progress

This morning after I finished my first radar simulator session, I called MB to see how her final day in The Swamp was going. She was in tears. Not because she was leaving her home of the last two years, not because she was running a little behind because her all her clothes weren't yet packed, and not because last night she had to sleep on the floor of an empty apartment. She was in shambles because the vacuum cleaner has bit the dust, no pun intended.

This is a crisis of unimaginable proportions. It's the first major purchase we made as a couple after she moved to The World's Most Famous Beach and our apartments were in the same complex. We got the vacuum to share between our apartments and she was looking forward to using it wherever we wound up if/when we got married. Now it has died and she's all tore up about it. Not to be callous, but I don't care about the vacuum. It's only a piece of machinery, darlin'. This is not a sign that our coming marriage is destined for failure. Vacuum cleaners die all the time. That's why vacuum cleaner door-to-door sales still somehow exist.

I love this woman because she notices the little things like this. Granted, I just said I don't care about the vaccum, but I do appreciate that she loves me enough to be upset at our first major couple purchase headed to the dumpster. We'll get another one, babe. Besides, David Oreck recommends against bagless.

18 hours until we see each other again! at:

Thursday, May 03, 2007


I've been wondering when the Official Moving Meltdown Trigger would arrive.

It wasn't when I found myself on my hands and knees painting the toilet with white acrylic craft paint because the scrubbing sponge scratched the lid.

It wasn't when I looked with horrified shame upon the Pile O'Crap I was donating to Goodwill and realized that I was casting off more than some people accumulate in their entire lives.

It wasn't when I was forced to duct-tape the cabinet knob that fell off last January and is apparently coated with some sort of extraterrestrial resistance to glue.

It was when I began to fix myself dinner and realized that there were no forks. There! Were! No! Forks! In! The! Kitchen! I had to drive to 7-11 and scavenge some plastic ones from the hot dog counter.

A lack of forks will get you every time.

many thanks to Lois The Pending Wonder Mother-In-Law for cramming the car at:

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Go Time

I'm seriously at go time with this packing. I'm just hurling everything into bags and boxes at random at this point. The crusty dryer sheet I peeled from the bottom of the bathroom cabinet goes! Stack of bent paper plates bearing the 2005 Kentucky Derby symbol, you're coming with me!

Today I saw an ad for The Bill Engvall Show, and initially I paid it only the passing attention it warranted as the potential downfall of the entirety of Western Civilization. Then I saw the premier date: July 17.

I'll be married by then.

It had not yet occurred to me that mankind had scheduled any events past July 14. Because really, once I stand around for seventeen hours in a dress that weighs slightly more than the entirety of Fiji, what else is there?

And THEN I was again reminded that the universe really does revolve around me by none other than you, The Readers. Some wedding gifts arrived, and oh. There is going to be cookies.

Juleverde The Reader has sent us a cookie sheet. That's room for a whole dozen cookies, ten if I haven't already eaten the dough. So the next time the lovely, talented, and thoughtful Juleverde is in town, she is more than welcome to all ten. Thank you, Juleverde.

And now, the extreme awesomeness that is... Taryn The Reader. Taryn shall drink!

Taryn is a full-set thinker. You may hold Taryn completely responsible for any crap writing that may result from repeated us of the margarita set AND the glassware set to put it in. She even thought to include a set of kitchen towels to mop up the ensuing spew. I would go to any party hosted by Taryn. Many, many thanks.

squeeeee, presents! at:

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Professor Ellis' End-Of-Semester Emails

Here is what happened at the final.

ME: Do not whine to me about your final grade. It won't help. I won't change it. You will accomplish nothing but piss me off. Do not whine to me about your final grade.

STUDENTS HEAR ANNOUNCEMENT AS: "...whine to her about my final grade."

Dear Dr. Ellis,

I know you don't actually have a doctorate, and I never referred to you as such in class, but I thought I'd do so here in a lamely transparent attempt to send you an e-kiss.

Seeing as it's May, I thought I'd take a look at the syllabus you gave us in January, the same one that has been available online for the past three and a half months and that you begged us at several points in the semester to read. Also, although I've been blatantly ignoring the assignment sheets and rubrics you've been giving us at regular intervals, I am now an expert in the minutiae of each.

I will now demonstrate more communicative skills, passion, effort, and reasoning ability in one email than I have displayed in every single class of the entire semester put together. I'm not completely sure of the exact reason why it's taken me so long, but I'm pretty sure it's your fault.

I am not pleased with my B. I know that you have an attendance policy, one that you reminded us of until you wanted to impale yourself on the overhead projector, but I wanted to let you know that now that I have violated said policy and it has lowered my grade, I neither understand nor like it. Or the fact that you included peer review as a small part of the final grade. Or the fact that you expect me to make intelligent contributions to class discussions rather than just sinking into my ballcap, letting you stand there in front of the room desperately rephrasing the prompts as the silence presses down on all our heads and your soul develops yet another fissure.

Of course, had I received an A, I would have been totally okay with all of these things.

You need to give me an A for the following reasons:

1) I attended not all, but several, class meetings, at which I both inhaled and exhaled.

2) All the other teachers I've ever whined to about raising my grade immediately did so. This means that you will, too.

3) I am me.

I would like to talk to you about this in person, so, although I never came to visit you before, I spent all day wandering around in front of your office assuming that you would somehow materialize, now that you have calculated everyone's final grades and will, as you have informed us several times, be leaving the state in three days. I cannot believe you weren't there. You obviously don't care at all.

Please rest assured that if my A is not granted, I will cyberstomp immediately to, where I will type, in capital letters, that you are, quote, a "F****** PSYCHO B****." This will then rectify the situation.

Also, all three of my grandmothers died simultaneously in a tragic grandmother-exploding accident on the day of the final, which is why I didn't hand in any assignments for the entirety of February.

Thanks for your timely response. I expect an answer in .00000000001 seconds.

The Occasional Student Who Creates The Bile-and-Chunk Aftertaste Following The 72 Hours Of Violent Vomiting That Is The Stack

Monday, April 30, 2007

She's not dead, folks

The Stack is simply taking all her time.

In addition, she's busy recovering from students' whining such as, "I have a bad participation grade?! True, I didn't say a word all semester in class, but I deserve an 'A' because I was passionately listening." That's a direct quote, I kid you not.

passionately listening to MB vent about her students' idiocy at:

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