Spring Break

Well, of course everyone wants to know what I did on my spring break. They have been asking me! in my comments! And threatening to go elsewhere! I rather think it is just because they want me to spend all my time blogging and not do my homework and then fail law school and improve the curve for them. Fie on you, but here you are anyway.

I should have: taken all those practice exams like I said I was going to, and several other importanty things.

I did do my taxes, but I think there's something I need to do yet to finish them, and I haven't done them and I have to do my FAFSA. We did get the other Buick to run, Briefly, sort of, but the door panels are still off- and then this weekend, after Spring Break we got it to run briefly again. The exhaust manifold turned red hot. Mitch is probably right and that car probably does need a new intake gasket. I still don't think it's getting enough fuel pressure.

I did can! Which was very exciting, let me tell you. How did this come to happen?

well, I bought a lot of baked chicken on mark down at the Buckhead Kroger and thought I would pull the meat off of the bones and freeze the meat and make casseroles or something. Normally I throw the bones out in the yard for the opossum or for the stray cats ( a judge told Ola that if you have cats in your yard, you will never have snakes, so there.) BUT I had a brainwave. I could make SOUP and can it! And it was delicious! and fun.

And I went to Gork Night: Games for Dorks. The food, and the company was great. We played several games, something called apples to apples, and I tried to play Scotland yard, but that was too boring and complicated, so I played Taboo. One of the words I got to demonstrate was Organist so you can guess how I did that. Deana told me my technique had too much teeth in it.

And I helped Trey move to Chattanooga. This was- well, it was late. Matthew, his friend who visited during Christmas was still there, and had apparently packed up all of his things so was living there in an apartment entirely empty except for a small radio in the kitchen. That I thought is what comes of making friends with people with no jobs and cars. Matthew was nicer than I thought he would be, given the run of Trey's friends, but is not the sort of person (unemployed and carless alcoholic) I would care to live with for any period of time. As far as I know he's still there and Trey is getting irritated with him. The powers that be had apparently recently sprayed the apartment with enough bug spray to warrant superfund status; I got sick from it. His apartment reminds me vaguely of my house, it's a similar era of seen-better-days-too-many-coats-of-paint-on-the-woodwork-everything's-settled-out-of-level sort of apartment. And the carpet is some kind of super-industrial carpet which is- not so nice. Also there are closets? But they were not wide enough to properly accommodate a standard hanger? Dude, WTF,? b/c didn't they have standard hangers in those days or what?

And I avoided working on my appellate brief for a while, but that did not last: I eventually had to finish it at 3:30 monday morning, and then I had all the car drama.

Now for an entirely different subject:

You know what would be great? Is there such a thing as bodice-ripper movies? Well, why not? I think it will be a great idea to watch Vin Diesel movies with the sound off and imagine my own dialogue, like in Pitch Black where he is trying to escape the pterodactyls or whatever, I could imagine;

Vin: We have to get back to the ship to save Cruella!
Girl: Why is he so important to you?
Vin: I have this vision that in Decatur, Georgia, there is the love of my life. And he drives a turbo Buick and is working on another and is in law school and is the man I am going to wrap my hot sexy arms around and clutch to my hot sexy chest and stick my tongue down his throat and other things, secrets only men can share.
Girl: But what about me?
Vin: You are totally inadequate for Vin Diesel. I am sorry, but I have to do what my heart tells me and it tells me to Find Cruella Dearest and go and have wild Ayn-Rand-heroine type sex with him.
Girl: You suck.
Vin: No, you suck, and you are going to grow old all alone except for the 27 cats you will gradually acquire along with mild alcoholism you will attempt to disguise as "wine appreciation." Cruella and his minks are the true love of my life. And I will spend the rest of my hot sexy life with him making him happy.

Or maybe I should just read Pride And Prejudice while watching, like, Point Break.

Yes, do y'all not think that Wuthering Heights should be remade with a happy ending and a shirtless Vin Diesel and me as Cathy? Well I do. If those bodice rippers sell as novels, I think they would sell as movies.

Y'all here is the latest on the Alex dating front:

I was telling Alex about my "dating" experiences, which are- well, apparently, I can have all the guys I want so long as they're fat. Do not want. And I was almost about to feel that whole sense of shame thing, but I told Alex anyway, in very minor detail, about my experiences, and he did not like them.

Also he came and helped me put in the alternator in the other car, but he chortled with glee when he made me ride in "I Go Where I'm Towed/Toad The Sequel."

I had calculated this in advance. Alex will come help me if he gets to inflict significant amounts of pain and suffering on me, namely, by making me ride in "I Go Where I'm Towed/Toad The Sequel." So I weighed the balance of: get help with car v. ride a distance I could walk if necessary in "I Go Where I'm Towed/Toad the Sequel."

Alex was quite gleeful. "I Go Where I'm Towed/Toad The Sequel" was not so gleeful; it shuddered and coughed and wheezed in a very, please put me out of my misery and let me lie in some field somewhere and slowly return to the ground from whence I came manner.

In the future I will no longer look at cars in the junkyard with any sense of sadness, they are quietly resting and decomposing and enjoying their fate and not being forced out of well-deserved retirement to wheeze forth. Would you make Bob Dole run a marathon? I hope not.

I was sorely tempted to buy him a car decal of Mother Mary which read, "Please Pray for Us" because I will never in my whole life, or any others, be able to think of any more appropriate sentiment when riding in that car. That is in fact the primary, if not only, and constant sentiment I feel about that car. Alex wants to buy a large decal for the windshield which reads "Chevrolet" which strikes me as extremely pointless without being ironic; all the people who care that it's a "Chevrolet" will already know because it is quite obvious, and all the people who don't already know won't care any more because there is a giant decal on the windshield. I think he should put a large "Honda" decal on the windshield to confuse people, but Alex does not think that is so much fun, he mainly specialises in making people miserable.

With that piece of information in mind, Alex signed up for Match.com. But Alex doesn't really have a lot of time to date, so I'm curious about how this is supposed to work, and I think he is too- he is still doing the you have to be mean to girls thing. I think the way he is interpreting it is he's going to go out with them, and then tell them, well I really like you but I don't really have time to date you, so suck it up.

I am very confused. I know how my dating strategy works: talk to someone on line, be like, I'm busy, but you can come study with me if you want, and then if guy is not fat, have sex.

Anyway, he met some girl who is a PhD student in Physical Therapy- how much physical therapy can you learn anyway?

Amber's a whore name, I tell him.

Alex disputes this.

Amber's not a whore name, he insists. For some reason, he always thinks I'm just making something up. But everyone I know agrees with me, it just is a whore name. I didn't say the young lady in question actually was a whore, but her name is definitely- Debbi Duz, you know? It's like, how many Marks are straight, or how many Tiffanies are really smart, or how many Blossoms are entrusted with high power financial decisions? Do you know any very young hot Bills? No, they all seem to be middle aged and- let's say Gentlemanly.

My mom has suddenly gotten very attached to a chav sweatshirt. Perhaps it's not exactly chav, but it's very chav, or hispanic girl gang member or - you get the idea. I tried to explain to her, over and over, why she cannot wear this. I wish I could post a picture of this, but I cannot; I will have to trust in your powers of imagination. It is white and gray with New York in Gothic letters, so it is totally the Fergie- sideways ponytail- ponytail on top of the head gum cracking look, and it is totally- wrong. Today she wore it with brown loafery looking shoes, dark green socks and a white skirt with little green flowers on it and refused to understand why she couldn't wear it.

"I don't see anything wrong with it," she insisted.

Well, of course you don't, I told her, you have no awareness of what other people are wearing at all, and where would she go see chavs? I tried to explain to her what chav was but she didn't understand that either.

It's just the wrong statement, I said. It's the wrong socioeconomic group and it just looks bizarre.

She still does not understand why it is wrong. I guess the best description is: think Indira Gandhi wearing a Hooters outfit. Ok? Not good.

Well, I will tell her I wrote about it on my blog, she is very concerned about what I am writing on my blog.

You should not write things about us on your blog, she says.

I do not think she really understands what a blog is, but she is afraid of it, so perhaps from now on I will tell her: if you keep wearing that, I'm going to write about it on my blog.

Also Alex! I got him talking like me! Yes, my general sluttiness conquers all. Because I told him, well, if you don't have any time, tell her to come over on Wine Wednesday, and he said, well, he couldn't let her "pierce the man veil" and of course I thought that was great, now he is making sexual double entendres. Just like me, awww. Don't you think the phrase "pierce the corporate veil and access my personal accounts" is a great double entendre. As in, yes girlfriend, I had to wash that man out of my hair the next day, (he did not understand what I meant by that but it was sort of like taking off a pearl necklace?!) but I did not let him pierce my corporate veil.