My Newest Roommate

Me and DoubleDee got a new roommate on Sunday. The best words I can find to describe the interloper are loud, obnoxious, time consuming, pretentious, and draining on the electricity.

Yep, Heston* bought DoubleDee a TV**.

Apparently, DoubleDee was going insane without a boob-tube to divert her. I guess I'm just not amusing enough.

Anyway, I can usually huddle myself in a corner with my headphones on and block out most of the inanity. This doesn't work, however, when she sees something particularly shocking, newsworthy, or just plain odd, as she starts shrieking.

Last night I was made to watch the BET Awards show thingy. Keep in mind that I passionately hate awards shows of any kind. The only reason I agreed to put myself through such torture was that I was promised some very bizarre outfit viewing.

The first act was the Fugees. DoubleDee shrieked so loudly and jumped so high that I thought she was having a seizure. When the shrieking continued, I had to remind her that we didn't want the police to have to come back again (long story, and one of the joys of living in a dorm).

So, anyway, the Fugees. I got their entire history as well as an impassioned speech about how happy she was that they were back together.

The next round of shrieking came with the sumo-wrestling turkeys. I have to admit they were kinda cute. But not enough to shriek over. Twice.

Anyway, the rest of the show passed mostly uneventfully. I have to say that I thought Mary J Blige and Alicia Keys have terrible taste in pants. And Lauren Hill's bow-tie was obscenely large. Oh, and Ciara's choreography left quite a lot to be desired.

Today, I was tormented into my headphoned-corner by daytime TV. I did learn that roughly nothing has changed on One Life to Live since I watched it in the early 90's.

Good to know, I guess.

*They officially broke up last weekend***

**At a fleamarket for $15 because it cuts off the top of the picture

***But for DoubleDee it still "doesn't really feel like it's over"****

****This could be because they still talk, hang out all the time, and have sex

Something That Amused Me

But will probably bore all of you.

Darling Robert and his friend Katie have started a blog together. There was a post in Latin and then one in English. This was further commented on in German, so I threw in a line in Italian (I'm a geek like that).

"Per imaparare una lingua, si deve toccare con la lingua."

BabbleFish will tell you that this means: "In order to learn a language, it must be touched with the language."

I will tell you this means: "To learn a language, you have to touch it with your tongue*."

Anyway, to respond, Chipper went to the lovely Babblefish and apparently typed in: "Superkate, how many languages you know? I wish that I was fluent.Perhaps a language could touch my naughty bits," and then hit translate.

Again, something was lost in the translation.

What he posted was, "Superkate, quante lingue conoscete? Desidero che ero fluente. Forse una lingua ha potuto toccare le mie punte naughty."

Which I read as, "Superkate, how many tongues do y'all know? I wish I was fluent. Maybe a tongue could have touched my naughty points."

I love Italian.

*A bit of wisdom I learned from Rita's friend as I was preparing to go to Yemen to study Arabic

Big Brave Italian Man

We just had chicken cacciatore in the cafeteria.

Cacciatore.

Hunter.

Hunter's Chicken.

Which got me thinking:

What kind of inept, horrible hunter do you have to be to brag about bagging a chicken?

The mind boggles.

Nothing Really Noteworthy

I have nothing terribly important to say today. Much like most days.

Anyway, there is an abundance of people wearing blue shirts around campus. And they're all apparently being herded by people in red shirts. I don't know what this means, and I think it is probably better this way.

It should be noted that anyone attempting to force me to wear any color shirt and be herded around (who doesn't also offer me a salary, of course) will be met with a smack and an invitation to kiss my merry white ass.

Yep.

What's In A Name?

I just got this email from Catharine:

Hi,
Does it disturb you that our name means pure or virginal? I can't quite decide how I feel- it seems like a lot to live up to.
Take care,
Catharine

This is interesting to ponder. Until receiving this email I wasn't aware that that is what the name means. Apparently I've been trying to shake off that pure/virginal stigma for the last 5 or so years.

I'm not the only one, however. The sexual exploits of Catherine the Great are well documented. Katharine Hepburn had her famous affair with Spencer Tracy, among others.

On the other hand, we also have to contend with the likes of Saint Catherine of Siena, who is the patron saint of Italy and generally held to be the driving force that brought the Papacy back to Italy from France. And, of course, there is Saint Catherine of Alexandria; who was eventually martyred because she wouldn't marry/have sex with the Roman Emperor Maxentius.

As I'm not hoping to be martyred or canonized I guess I'll stick with the not-so-pure-or-virginal lot. It seems to be more fun and involves less beheading.

I Feel Myself Going Fetal*

The comments on Chipper's blog lately have been getting to me. Robert posted a link to a picture of a seriously modified individual, and MikeyPants keeps going on about removing my nipples in retribution for the WubblyWittleBabyMikeyPantsyFace thing.

I have to say that I have a horrible, horrible fear of amputation and sharp things in general. Not that they are things that most ordinary people look forward to, but for me it goes a bit beyond normal. If I see something sharp I can imagine what it feels like and I want to run away screaming.

Beaky is fond of saying that she must have starved to death in a past life because in this one she is paranoid to go anywhere without some sort of snacky things or other foody bits. Following this logic, I must have been hacked into tiny pieces in a previous life**.

(It should be noted that if you are the least bit squeamish, it would be best not to click on any of the following links)

Anyway, all of this has brought to mind an article (from the BodyModification eZine) I read several months ago that to this day makes me shudder and cringe. I mean really, biting each others' fingers off joint by joint as a sign of love? I can think of better ways of expressing such an emotion.

Looking at all of that, of course, led me to other sites that horrified me because I have a morbid fascination with the things that frighten me.

*Curling up in a ball, sucking my thumb, rocking

**I also have an extreme fear of fire, so perhaps I was hacked to bits and then burned***

***I must have been a witch****

****Perhaps this explains my fear of Christians as well

Kobayashi

I broke my favorite* mug today. It bounced and shattered, leaving only the word "Gateway" and a small cow-colored** box intact. Unfortunately, as I had not just finished a conversation with Kaiser Sose, or Kevin Spacey, nothing about the incident was terribly noteworthy except that now I am sad.

I posted another thing earlier, but it was much too big and pushed the sidebar down to the bottom. I don't like that, so I moved it. If you are terribly bored though and feel like reading it, click here.

*Actually, it was my only mug so now I shall malinger here in these dismal dorms without the benefit of a nice bit of hot chocolate to warm my spirits***

**White with black splotches****

***Expect maudlin posts until I return home or get a new mug

****Honestly I don't know why people look at me so strangely when I say something is "cow colored," it's perfectly logical

Stop! Thief!

I've stolen this (with an asterisked modification) from I Rage Robbins, who in turn stole it from someone else. Anyway, it sounds fun to me.

1. What’s the first word that comes to mind when you think of me?
2. Go to http://images.google.com and search for that word.
3. Reply* to this post with one of the pictures on the first page of results (don’t tell me the word).
4. Put this in your own blog so that I can do the same.

*Either by posting the picture, or a link to the picture

Is It Really Too Much To Ask?

It appears that my school detests the idea of letting it's dorm residents have consistent water temperature and pressure in the showers. My shower this evening was oddly similar to what I imagine* it would be like to be pissed on by a feverish old woman. The only thing it succeeded in doing was making me cold and wet (albeit with spots of blistering heat). Last night's shower acheived roughly the same thing (just without the spots of warmth), except in the opposite way; there was water pressure, but the temperature left me wishing for thermal underwear, hot cocoa, and a fireplace (all things I should not be hoping for in June in the northern hemisphere).

Anyway, I must now go write a paper commenting on the horrendous things Americans do to the Italian language**.

*I don't normally imagine such things, but I was trying to come up with an appropriate metaphor

**If I ever catch any of you pronouncing "penne" like "penny" you will be smacked

Compelling Reason

I have lost all faith in the culinary students at my school. Tonight I witnessed one of them eating a salad that consisted of lettuce, carrots, cherry tomatoes, ketchup, and meatballs. He thought it was fantastic.

On a completely unrelated note, they were giving away condoms in the lobby yesterday. Today, DoubleDee and I played inflated condom volleyball. It was lovely.

Adventures In KateLand

So, life with DoubleDee has been quite interesting lately. Yesterday she arrived home from 5 days in Boston with the BabyDaddy (whom we shall call Heston). Things were not all well and happy in Hestonland.

Apparently, he has another girlfriend. We shall call her Heifer, as that is what DoubleDee calls her. Anyway, DoubleDee and Heston were getting it on at his house when Heifer shows up pounding on the front door. Rumor has it that Heston’s good-for-nothing brother tipped her off about Dee’s presence. So, a good yelling match ensued.

Fortunately, as Dee and Heifer don’t have violent personalities, no one was stabbed, maimed, shot, or otherwise bloodied. Heston did, however, spend a chunk of time hiding in the shower. DoubleDee decided she was through with the whole thing (well, as much as she could be as Heston is the BabyDaddy). But then she remembered she has a high sex-drive and her other love (whom we shall for future reference call MrTasty) is very far away. So after ridding themselves of Heifer they proceeded to have sex for the next 2 days.

Tuesday, they showed up in my happy little world as Dee had a class. Anyway, Heston came in, said hi, and asked Dee if he can make a few calls. He used her phone card to call some people. Then he asked if he could crash in our room for a little while. Dee and I said it was okay. About 10 minutes after he started snoring, the phone rings. It was Heifer. GeniusHeston forgot to press *67 before calling her from our room. Dee went ballistic (understandably). Phrases such as, “That’s it nigga, get up and get the fuck out!” and, “I swear to Jesus that it’s over, and this time I swear to God I mean it,” were hurled about. I have to admit that I was quite amused when she began hitting him with a flip-flop. She chased him from the room and I settled back into my ongoing game of minesweeper with an admittedly bemused smile playing on my lips.

Perhaps 10 minutes later they both came back and fell asleep (Chipper, that is when you called me and why I couldn’t be very loud or talk much). Apparently God gets sworn to a lot to no avail.

Anyway, eventually Heston had to go to work. After he was gone I got the 2-½ hour version of DoubleDee’s life and loves (that’s when you called me back, Chipper, but I had forgotten to turn the ringer back on when I was in the shower, I’ll call you later tonight). Needless to say, the sagas of Heston and MrTasty are quite fascinating.

Although really, it was much more information than I ever wanted. I would have preferred to sleep, but that would have been rude. And I would have missed my opportunity to learn about the intricacies of the social structure in Haiti and Heston's use of plantain-as-sexual-aid (in truth I would have preferred sleep over hearing that story again).

Oooh! Oooh!

I've found the man of my dreams. Thank you Saije for making this possible...

You're all invited to the wedding. ;0)

A Post For The Sake Of Posting

I don't have anything substantial to say, really. I do, however, have a bone to pick with whomever it is that names what they serve in the cafeteria. For a dish to be called "Breaded Veal Parmesean," it should contain something at least moderately veal-ish. I believe what we had tonight should instead be called "Breaded Breading Parmesean." It would be more accurate.

I think I understand why they're trying to be fancy though. There was a glob of high-school looking creatures and their parents milling about. It must be one of those "come try out our dorms and food and stuff and then send us your money" weekendy visity things.

I have to say the cream puffs were lovely, though.

As Promised

Things I have learned in accounting this week:

1. Skinny people die faster. This has to do with accounting because apparently so do businesses that don't have enough working capital. Somehow a bear analogy was also worked in, but, alas, I cannot remember how.

2. People who write accounting textbooks have odd, yet somehow endearing, senses of humor. An example of this is the example on page 85 which shows the balance sheet for a fictional restaurant supply company owned by a Ms. Susan Plies. Heh heh, Sue Plies. Get it? Sadly, I'm still giggling about it.

3. There is a no-tell Motel in Union, New Jersey, where my professor was once asked if he would like to share the room with his wife for an hour, the whole evening, or all night. This is not a good thing to ask him.

4. If given the opportunity my professor will refuse to pronounce "retained earnings" even remotely correctly, preferring instead "restrained earrings" and "retrained oilings." He always gets a devilish look on his face and winks when I raise my eyebrow at him in response.

5. It's not a good idea for me to re-use notebooks that I haven't properly cleaned out. This is how I end up with things like Sabri's Spring 2004 European/American trip itinerary, various unsent letters, and random notes in Arabic in the middle of definitions of things like "owner's equity" and "promissory notes."

6. I can't keep a straight face when "partner" is repeatedly referred to as "p'ner."

7. "Little Louie Carmine" is just fun to say. And he's from Denver, too.

8. "Debby Does Debits" invariably makes boys think of porn.

Beyond that I'm also debating asking him why he puts little dots in the o's in words that contain double o's like book. At first I was thinking, "Oh how cute, little eyes," but then it dawned on me that they could very well be nipple representations. Ya never know. I wouldn't put it past him.

More next week, I'm sure.

Bulimic Shoelaces

I'm making a whole other post instead of just responding to the comments from the last post. Because I'm a geek. And this is MY adventure in narcissism so I can do what I like.

Oh MrLegend, you have no idea of what you are saying. Beaky knows some of what goes on in my head and she ran away screaming to California...

DarlingSaije, I agree it could be cathartic. But going by things past it would most likely just be maudlin and confused. Which would depress me and then I'd end up eating a bunch of chocolate and throwing up. ;0)

If you offended anyone, I've offended them more so you're off the hook. :0)

MikeyPants, no I don't. That was yesterday. Today my breath smells of chocolate and bile.

Essy, I could not have said it better myself.

Robert, sadly the accounting teacher is the feature rather than the shoelaces. Although the shoelaces do feature prominently on his shoes, they make up only a small portion of the whole experience that is my accounting class.

I Guess I'll Go Eat Worms

Or maybe not.

I don't really have all that much to say.

Which isn't exactly true, but I have better sense than to vomit all of the things that are currently running through my head onto the keyboard.

That being said, I'm preparing another fantastic and superbly entertaining entry about my accounting teacher (he's been wearing bright pink shoelaces this week). I'm thinking it will become a weekly feature until I get away from this place.

Good Morning

To follow Essy's example, I think it is time to define what I mean when I say "Good morning." It's a phrase I use quite often in my real life, not so often on here, although it does occasionally appear.

Anyway, I will say "good morning" any time of day, regardless of the actual state of morningness. First off this is because I find "good morning" to be much more fun to say than any other greeting. It just rolls more pleasingly off the tongue. Second, it is a code. Yes, it is a foray into the land of Katespeak.

You see, the typical response to an anachronistic, "Good morning," is, "It's not morning here." To which I will reply, "It is always morning somewhere." "It is always morning somewhere," has much deeper meaning than one would expect. It means "It is always 5 o'clock somewhere." Which then, of course, means, "Who wants vodka?"

So you see, what appears to be a simple, eccentric greeting is actually an invitation to alcoholic celebration.

The Baton Has Been Passed

I've been tagged by Essy. So, here you go. Judge harshly if you must, I don't really care.

Total volume of music files on my computer: 0 (I've been technologically left behind - it is only recently that I've stopped asking "What's an i-pod?" or "MP-what? I don't understand...")

The last CD I bought was: "August And Everything After" Counting Crows (I lost my other copy)

Last aquired: "Caoineadh na Maighdine" Noirin Ni Riain

Song playing right now:"I Think We're Alone Now" Tiffany

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
"Solsbury Hill" Peter Gabriel
"Chiaro" Stadio
"Snow On The Sahara" Anggun
"The Space Between" Dave Matthews
"Buddha Bar IV" David Visan (I know, it's a whole CD, but whatever, I like it all and listen to it over and over and over)

Five people to whom I’m passing the baton:

CoyoteMike
ChipperPants
Steve
Robert
SuperNitin

Because I'm Obsessed With traveling...

I was bored so I was messing around with world mappy things and came across these sites where you can make a map of the paces you've been. Naturally, I was ecstatic.

Yes, I am a geek. And I've got a lot of traveling to do. Those big blank spots are embarrassing.



create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.



create your own visited country map
or check our Venice travel guide

Why I Shouldn't Listen To German Techno Before Sleeping

I've noticed a disturbing pattern. When I listen to E Nomine before I go to sleep, I am plagued by very strange dreams. The first occurred several weeks ago. I dreamt I had seduced Tim Allen (yes, Tim the ToolMan). In an antiques store, no less. The manager had gone away for lunch, so we were going to have a go on one of the antique sofas. The problem was, there was a coffee shop next door and large windows, so all of these people had their faces pressed up against the glass watching us. We couldn't find a place where they didn't have a good view. We were about to give up and just do it anyway with everyone watching, but then the manager came back and opened the store. And I woke up.

Then yesterday I listened all evening again. My dreams throughout the night involved complicated and incredibly strange sexual scenarios. There was one that involved being on a military plane that was dropping bombs, but also happened to be on fire and was about to blow up, so the pilot and I decided to have a go. And then we blew up and were ghosts. He said, "I think it's kinda shallow, but the last thing I thought before I died was, 'I wonder what people will remember me for?'" And I said, "Probably for being a good fuck. Anyway, at least now we can sneak into the CIA without being detected." Because apparently even in death I am very shallow.

There was another that involved the fate of the world resting on whether or Andy (I guy I used to know who is very happily married) and I had sex. It was a complicated dream-logic kind of scenario. He didn't want to cheat on his wife, I didn't want him to cheat on his wife, but if we didn't make that happen, like I said, the world was going to end. We couldn't make ourselves do it, so alarms started going off, things started blowing up. For some reason I was concerned about the mess I was making as everything was going insane (it made sense at the time). And then we discovered that in a fit of jealousy, "the Australian*" had betrayed us all and set the preceding events in motion. And then people in my hallway started yelling so I woke up.

Ordinarily my dreams aren't nearly so exciting. And they don't usually involve sex. Normally I dream about fairly mundane things like yelling at my parents (I only yell at them in real life once or twice a year, so I need some sort of psychic release or my head will explode), or eating ice cream in small towns in Oklahoma while waiting for a flight to Beijing. But apparently my subconscious links dark German techno with sex and excitement. So, I don't think I shall be listening to such before sleeping anymore. It's not that I object to sex and excitement, it's more that I find it rather inconvenient to wake up with all of my sheets (including the fitted one) on the floor. And I still feel dirty about the Tim Allen dream.

*Malcolm, the guy I would have married for a European passport

Look! It's A New Poll!

So, yet again I'm contemplating my future life. China seems like the place to be in the coming years. Especially Beijing since they'll be having the Olympics there in 2008 (which means tons of new hotels are being built and they like hiring white people with a good grasp of English). But I still have Central Asian and Russian desires... *Sigh*

I was talking to this kid named Alexander in my English class who is Russian. He think it is very silly that I would want to go to any of those places. I think he's silly for wanting to be here. But hey, who am I to judge?

He lives across the hall from me. And apparently I'm one of the only people whose English he can really understand. But I think that might be a line, like when Italians say, "Oh, you speak Italian so well. You hardly have an accent. Wanna screw*?" Little does he know that he is much too young (the boy is only 21). At least he can drink though. And he is kinda cute.

Hopefully I won't get bored. When I get bored, I get in trouble. And my roommate is out of town until Tuesday...

*For some reason this works very well on me except when it comes from smelly people named Alessandro

Crumudgeon

I have to write about my accounting teacher. He really is the most adorable grumpy old* man I've ever met in my life. And what makes him all the more adorable is how irate he would become to know that he had been described as adorable. I guess the best way I can think of to describe him is a constipated teddy-bear. Cranky yet still entirely cuddly, even though he really doesn't want to be.

Anyway...

He's from New Jersey but has lived all over this area. As such, he's got a formidable accent. This made me giggle the second day of class when he began talking about "historical cost" and pronouncing it "hysterical cost."

My quote of the day today was, "I was supposed to give you a handout but I forgot. Maybe I burned it."

His anecdotes make me want to fall out of my chair half the time. Like when we were talking about "exposures" (in the liability sense) and he brought up a time his wife and her friend were golfing. The friend hit the ball and managed to knock a duck unconscious. This was followed by the "shit happens you don't expect" speech. And then the "sometimes the alligator on the golf course will bite you in the ass, and sometimes it won't," speech. Which we tend to hear at least twice every class.

He also likes to tell stories about a former student of his who was an "enforcer" for the IRS and has now turned into a DEA agent. Apparently he decided he likes guns more than calculators. Can't say I blame him.

And, perhaps you'll find this amusing Essy, he used the word chicanery today. The context wasn't all that amusing (it was used whilst discussing things people do to drive down stockholder influence), but it honestly was the first time I've ever heard anyone use the word. So I did a little happy dance.

He doesn't like the other accounting teachers at the school, especially the "mommies". Mommies being people who have Master's degrees or PhD's in accounting, but were raising kids while he was out doing the books for big companies and other people like his lawyer friend Scongie.

And he really, really doesn't like liberal arts teachers. He nearly had a seizure over the fact that my English teacher was in the room until about 2 minutes before his class was supposed to start. It led to a 5 minute rant on how he thinks it's silly that liberal arts teachers have to stick around and schmooze the students just so they feel loved. Which, she wasn't doing really. We had a paper due and she hadn't be overly clear on the parameters so people were asking for some extra instructions. But, he couldn't be dissuaded from his rant.

It made me want to go up and pinch his cheeks (the ones on his face) and make baby noises at him just because it was so cute, but I didn't think that would have achieved and sort of positive result so I refrained.

Anyway, I think I shall remain amused for the rest of the term and beyond (I have him next term as well). Which is a good thing.

*Significantly out of my dating range

Oh, The Horror

DoubleDee and I were wandering aimlessly around "Downcity" Providence (where I come from this is called "downtown" but whatever) this afternoon. We ended up in the mall. It was spectacular and terrible all at the same time.

The Victoria's Secret store is across the hall from the Lindt chocolate store. How terrible and cruel could they be? And to make everything worse, both stores were having sales. I mean on one hand I was so entirely happy I could hardly contain myself. Two of my favorite things right there together, and cheap! But still. One store is designed to make your ass big, and the other is designed to make you feel bad when your ass is big.

And, as DoubleDee is looking for a job, she was picking up applications as we browsed. She picked one up for VS. I think she has no idea how potentially dangerous it is. I see myself becoming a bra-nazi of sorts. Demanding the latest Emma Collection (which I think they're about to discontinue if they haven't already), or Second Skin Satin delight... Ooooh, it'll be bad.

Of course she could always take the job at Pottery Barn Kids (really, who ever heard of such a thing?). Which would be good because then she could get discounts on all kinds of cool but not terribly useful things (like a tiny lamp shaped like a pink motorcycle).

Anyway, we're still* getting along quite nicely. She laughs** at all of my jokes and frequently tells me I'm the strangest person she's ever met. What more could I ask for?

*I should hope so as we met scarcely 24 hours ago, it would be very sad if we already hated each other

**Not just polite "this girl is crazy and I'm going to run away screaming very soon" laughter, but full out guffawing off her chair laughing, which I like quite a lot

Gripes About My School

I'm quite thoroughly annoyed with my university. I think the Rhode Island housing department is staffed by antisocial morons. How difficult is it to send out an email to someone to let them know you've received their housing application? How difficult is it to send out an email that says "Sorry, we don't have single rooms in the summer hall?" For a school that spends quite a lot of curricular time on customer service, their employees are really quite appalling. And the people at the front desk are either horribly underinformed about useful things like the location of the nearest printer, or so rude one has to fight the urge to jump over the front desk and shove one's ID card down their slimy little putrid acid spewing throats.

Which leads me to another rant. Why do I have to get a new ID card for this campus? If I do that I'll have to get another new ID card when I go back to Denver. And they'll charge me for all of them. Fuck that. I'm keeping the old one and not getting a new one. It's got my name and ID number on it. With the little barcode thingy. That's all they need. So they can go fuck themselves gently with a blowtorch while kissing my merry white ass. Or they could at least ask me nicely. I generally comply when asked nicely.

Which leads me to the fact that no, I will not attend a hall meeting when I am informed of such by someone banging loudly on my door and shouting at me that I'm late. Again, kiss my merry white ass. Inform me in a timely manner. Ask me nicely. And I might consider it. Otherwise I'll be conveniently busy doing nothing in my room and you can feel free to fuck off and die.

And, while I admit that the food here is better than at my last university/college/thingy/place in Durango, it is still not quite up to the level one would expect from a school that is best known for it's culinary program. I suppose that I can survive it for 2 months. Afterall, I survived my mother's attempts at cooking as a child (she made the school lunches seem like gourmet affairs), so I can probably survive anything. So long as it doesn't involve botulism.

I would also like to register a complaint about the airconditioning in the classroom I'm stuck in for nearly 6 hours a day (in a bizarre scheduling fluke my English class and hospitality accounting class are both in the same room, next term my classes are in the TACO center, yes TACO Center, I hope it is in acronym for something and not just the twisted joke of a bitter, hungry, man craving Mexican food). As anyone who knows me can tell you, I have no problem with cold weather, cool temperatures, and anything that has to do with non-sexual frigidity. But that classroom is fucking freezing. I have to wear a padded bra so as not to walk around with conspicuously (and painfully) pointy nipples. I mean seriously. I have to sit on my hands so my fingers don't freeze and fall off. Other people regularly turn blue and end up in the hospital with hypothermia. It's not conducive to learning.

That is all.

For now.

On Having A Roommate

I've got a roommate for the first time since I was 18. I mean I've lived with other people since then, but not in the actual same room. As an only child, I object to such things on the basic principle that I don't like sharing or listening to other people snore (I don't hear myself snore so I don't care). As an peoplephobe, I object to such things on the basis that I really don't like people. As someone who likes to walk around in her underwear, I object to such things because I don't like walking around in my underwear in front of someone with whom I have no intention of ever having sex. But no one asked me. Nor did anyone bother to inform me that I would have a roommate, either.

So, anyway, here I am with a roommate. She's actually very lovely and nice. For the time being I shall call her DoubleDee on the blog as we are not yet properly acquainted enough for me to know what her appropriate nickname is. Anyway, I met her mother and her boyfriend* and her daughter this afternoon. She also arrived with a refrigerator. That is good, but I am dangerous with such things. I like to experiment with growing mold. Also, she has night classes and is a self-proclaimed socialperson. I have early morning classes and I hate people.

Hopefully nothing will be thrown.

At least we both agree on the fact that sleeping without airconditioning is a moronic thing to do. And we're both apparently quite messy.

*The father of her daughter of whom she isn't quite fond** but they're working on being civil for the sake of the kidlet and because he lives in Boston***

**She's actually in love with someone else

***She's from Florida, but some of her mother's family lives in them thar parts

Trees And Yachts

As I was flying into Providence I noticed quite a lot of foresty bits. They made the ground look all nice and comfy, like something a baby would like to rubs it's face on and then fall asleep. It made me smile. Not that we don't have trees and foresty bits in Colorado (as evidenced by our frequent summer forest fires), but ours aren't nearly so comfy looking and generally involve things like hills and mountains. Which invariably involve some form of hiking. And like I've said on many occasions, there are some things I just won't do.

Another thing I noticed from there air while flying over those big lakey things (whose names I've never bothered to learn) is that yacht people are pussies. Well, most of them anyway. If I had a boat I'd use it to run/float away screaming from all other forms of humanity (except the pool boy, but that is a whole other story entirely). To me that is sort of the point. But looking out over the lakey things I noticed that 99% of the boats were all clumped together like little masses of floating dog-poo.

I mean, why do that? Unless they're all exhibitionists having sex on the main deck so everyone else can watch I don't understand where the joy is. If you want to be around other people on your boat, invite them on. Go sailing together. Don't be clumpy. It's just stupid.

Perhaps I could understand it better if they were all miles out to sea, had just survived a massive storm, and hadn't talked to other people for the last several weeks. But these guys were all less than a mile out on the lake. It was a perfectly lovely day with no storms in sight. And if they hadn't spoken to anyone for weeks they'd have no one to blame but themselves.

For Chipper

Yes my darling Chipper, I will be blogging from Rhode Island. Someday. When I can think of something witty and charming to say. Not that I don't have mounds of witty and charming things to say. I just don't have the proper motivation to do it.

So yeah.

Later dudes.

HappyKateDance!!!

Ooooh! I'm so happy! I got the official "buy your plane ticket, Kyrgyzstan's a go" email today. The Brits in the group were waffling a bit on account of the Kyrgyzstanis overthrowing their government in March, and since they make up more than half of the group, without them none of us would have been able to go. But today, oh joy and rapture, they decided to take the risk. Yay!

Woohooo!

Now, much like DearEssy, I have to go pack*. Or, more precisely, unpack and then repack. It seems I'm still not properly moved in from August, or unpacked from Cairo (October). Apparently one should take care of these things before packing up and going to someplace new again.

*Not for Kyrgyzstan, for Providence - I'm leaving for my summer classes on Sunday

Notice!

Steve will be on the radio tomorrow from 10am until 2pm (Denver time, the rest of y'all can figure it out for yourselves). Listen, or I'll smack you.

Carry on.

At Least Nothing Was Thrown

I was tempted though. Dinner this evening was interesting.

I'm not sure how the conversation got around to it, but I mentioned that I was going to take a boat across the Atlantic at some point in my life, and most likely next summer on the way to or from Study Abroad in Belgium (and Beaky better go too, or I'll be very upset and cry in the corner inconsolably for at least a decade).

This was met with, "You and what navy?" I responded, "The Queen Mary 2, of course*." The subsequent parental response was limited to hysterical guffawing which lasted the better part of five minutes. As I'm not fond of being laughed at if I'm not being funny, I was forced to go get my Cunard catalogue and prove that while there are $25,000 per person suites, there are also rooms for less than $2,000 a person. Which isn't bad at all especially if you consider that it is six nights and you're crossing an ocean.

Anyway, the masochist in me took over my brain and I continued on, outlining my around-the-world-mostly-by-train-with-some-boats-and-planes-thrown-in-for-good-measure plan.

For some reason, despite the fact that I have explained it probably hundreds of times over the last 5 years**, they keep forgetting that Mongolia isn't a tropical region and as such chided me for wanting to go to a hot climate (I don't do well in the heat, just ask the people I know in Cairo, on second thought you can't as they're not speaking to me, so nevermind). They got quiet when I said I would be crossing it with the Trans-Siberian.

My mother wanted to know "why in Heaven's name" I would ever want to go there. That's like me asking her "why in Heaven's name" she likes to sit at home between shopping sprees and watch Fox News. There is no real explanation (at least none that would really make sense to anyone else) and no way to dissuade her from it.

Then we got to the rather tired, "Well, don't expect us to pay for any of this." And my tired response, "Have you paid for any of my traveling***, ever?" Really, I can't think of a better way to spend my own money than on an around the world trip.

It was sort of funny as I left the room when the meal was over, I heard my mother whisper, "We can't let her do that." To which my father replied, "Well, we can't stop her, remember Yemen?" "Oh God, don't talk about that!"

So, my father is being a bit more perceptive about these things. I still haven't divulged that I'm going to Kyrgyzstan in August. Actually, I haven't even told them I'm going to London and Denmark. I'll break the Europe part of it to them when I'm in Providence. I'm thinking I'll wait on the Kyrgyzstan part of it until after I'm safely out of the States...

*These things must be done in style and I'm pretty sure they're the only company that does the route regularly

**I've been obsessed with going to Russia/Central Asia/Mongolia since I got back from Southeast Asia in 2000

***Independent traveling anyway, they did pay for things when I was like 8 and forced to go on those HappyFamilyVacations

Strange But True

(At least according to the Travel Channel)

A hippo's jaw is strong enough and wide enough to bite a 9 foot crocodile in half.

Words I Have Trouble Saying Correctly

I have some kind of mental block against some words apparently. If I try to say them excruciatingly slowly I can usually get them right, but at normal speed, I'm hopeless. It wasn't until I was nearly 12 years old that I could properly say "Massachusettes". I always said "Massatooshits"*.

My current issues have evolved to involve simpler words. I really don't know what my problem is, but I cannot say "Microsoft Office". Instead I say "Microsoftice". What should be "Popcorn" comes out as "Cocporn". Those have been around for a while, but recently I discovered a new one "Colon cleansing kit" becomes "Colon cleansing clit"**.

I'm sure I'm forgetting some, but those are the ones that plague me the most...

*Chipper has also had problems with that one

**Incidentally Chipper refrains from talking about Hello Kitty because it inevitably comes out as "Hello Clitty"

Who Really Needs Marble Counters?

I don't think anyone really does, and they're a pain in the ass while they're being installed. Especially when the installers keep insisting on shutting the power off at the most random moments.

They picked a very silly color as well which I'm sure my mother will hate very very soon. She's like that with any sort of interior decorating. And most everything else. The longest she likes anything is about 2 months, which leads me to believe that she should never have gotten married or pursued motherhood. But she didn't ask me.

Also, the counter space in the middle of the room used to be a nice oval shaped block of wood. It is now disturbingly phallus-shaped marble. Why they chose this particular design, I will never, ever, ever understand. Ever.