friday is the new monday

I find something terribly disillusioning about the fact that although tomorrow is Friday, I am in no way experiencing any thoughts of relief at the weekend's proximity. My professors are beginning to get hit in the face with the realization that they've only made it halfway through the syllabus with less than a month to go, and thus feel the need to transfer that smack onto my face by sucking the fun out of my weekends. Fridays bleed into Mondays, erasing all demarcations of the current week's so-called end and the new week's beginning. I have lost my sense of time, finding myself triple and quadruple checking my calendar in order to recall what day it really is.

If my new feelings about Fridays transcend the classically TGIF sentiment of the past into some monotonous droning on of the same ridiculously long week, then what I am left with? How jading is that?

And that's what I look like. Really. I just looked in the mirror.

note to self

Never go grocery shopping when you're starving.

that's hot

The true definition of beauty if there ever was one.

lazy scranton

A little cure for a bad case of the Mondays...

The Office will be back on Thursday! Finally. My life can now resume. (Sad, but true.) The much anticipated episode centers around a dinner party thrown by Michael and Jan.

It will be interesting to see if the writers realized during their break how boring the Jam situation is now that Jim and Pam are together and perfect and happy... and boring. Don't get me wrong, I love them. I hope to be part of a Jam someday. But let's face it. They've lost that heartrending-yet-addicting feeling of the "Will they? Won't they? I can't take it! But I want to take it because it's so enthralling!" drama. Also a mediating factor: I would like to marry Jim.

the maternal vote of confidence

The phone conversation with my mom that took place today began as follows:

Me: "I have to update you on my post-graduation plans. I got a job, but don't get worried when I tell you, ok?"
Mom: "... Is it at Hooter's?"
Me: "Uh, actually it's at a women's shelter in the Ninth Ward..."
Mom: "Oh, ok. Whew."

Yes, Mother. Whew. Because Hooter's was a real option for a while there. Not that there's anything wrong with it.

having my cake and baking it, too

Today was a pretty craptastic day, academically speaking. It was one of those days that makes me truly thrilled to be graduating (which usually is overshadowed by sheer terror) and very apprehensive about my decision to continue with graduate school.

During times like these, my mind falls back on the dream tucked way back into the depths of my subconscious - the dream of dropping everything to be a professional cake baker and decorator. Now, when I say decorator, I don't mean the person who pipes, "Happy Birthday, Judy!" on a sheet cake. I'm talking about BIG cakes. Big, awesome cakes. Cakes that require massive construction, and proportionally massive decorating jobs. I have no training, I have no equipment. But I feel that the combination of my Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder and my extreme love of all things cake puts me in a position of prime cakery potential.

Perhaps one day I will be both a scholar and a cake baker. Until then, I will continue to drool over Food Network's Ace of Cakes and Food Network Challenge, causing slight damage to the various books situated below my face.

high students

In today's Oxy Digest, there was a posting with this title:

Help a High Student Succeed!

The rest of the post, as you may have guessed, makes clear that the subject refers to high school students. But... I was amused nonetheless.

High students need help succeeding, too. Obviously.