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Vendredi

Ok, so I mentioned that I wasn’t lonely? I’m not. I’m in a funk. I don’t think the funk is related to my aloneness, but it’s certainly not assisted by it either. I’m going to focus on house stuff this weekend, and hopefully losing myself in To Do lists and mini projects and floor shopping will allow me to focus on something other than the dark cloud of numbness hanging in the space above my eyebrows. Because nothing makes me happier than wielding my power drill. I am not even being funny’ it makes me feel ridiculously self-empowered.

I wonder how a tool belt would look with the black dress? Because that would be hot. (No, I don’t have any full pictures of the ensemble, but Deb sent me this one. I’m making a weird face in it, because I was singing and dancing, but who am I kidding’ no one is looking at my face.)

So instead I focus on how pretty it is outside after our light dusting of fluffy snow that seems fake, like the stuff in department store window displays, and how the brilliant pre-spring light is picking up the crystals and making the sparkle like a movie set, and certainly this means that spring is not far away. Certainly it means that everything does not, indeed, suck.

And I can tell it’s spring because I’ve started cruising the Internet looking for shoes. I do not have enough patience for actual shoe shopping, it seems, unless it is in Nordstrom where you can sit on a leather couch and have salesmen kneel before you, going for a whole Queen Noor fantasy there, oh yeah. In certain civilizations, I would have been worshipped as a queen. Like, for instance, bee colonies.

Oh, how I love the veiled fat ass joke.

Also, I am seriously jonesing for these iPod earbuds, because damn, how cute is that? Except that I hardly ever use my earbuds because I’m either in the car or sitting at my desk. I don’t care! Want!

I went to the dentist last week and the hygienist warned me that I was doing ‘too good of a job’ brushing. Um, ok. Nothing is every good enough for you people, is it? Apparently, my twice daily (thrice on weekends) regime combined with my tendency to give my teeth the Karen Silkwood treatment, well, apparently it’s not good for you. I have a recession in my mouth. I am not making that up. Thank you W! Your economy is so bad that it has even ended up in my mouth! And who would blame it. Badump bump.

So now I’ve been making a conscious effort to have kinder, gentler brushing habits. I’ve turned it into a zen ritual, a sort of mouth ballet. The result? My teeth feel scummy now. But my gums are no longer cowering in fear, so I guess that’s a good thing. Meanwhile, I’ve been mainlining Altoids strips, which I find less frightening than the Wrigley’s or Listerine kind, which both remind me of insect wings. I’m sorry. In advance.

My detox from the weekend continues. I ate such horribly greasy crap all weekend and then got grossed out by how much meat I ate (normally I only eat meat once a day, if that) that I’ve decided to opt for a fruit/cereal/toast/water menu for a few days. Then around Wednesday, I realized that while coffee could be argued to be both a fruit and also water, my morning Sbux mocha was not exactly holding to the spirit of that plan, so I’m back to just water. And Diet Coke. Because I am not a robot, people. Cripes.

And in other news, I received official word yesterday from Dr. Frank that I was not accepted into their program. Again. Hat trick. I find it really annoying, though, that they don’t tell you why. You just think you suck. I now know that it’s because of stupid GRE rules (or because Dr. Frank is a cock smoker) or whatever, but it would have been nice if they would have told me that, oh, I don’t know, last year, when I could have done something about it. So irritating. And so satisfying to have gotten an email from one of the two low-residency programs, welcoming me to their program. Because the sucking? Is not me. Not unless you buy me dinner first.

I am sort of thinking of showing my sweet professor the letter, though, especially in the wake of my rocking story. But that would be bad. And wrong. And oh so fun.

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