A fortnight away till ten days of play

Did you enjoy that rhyme? That was just for you. Sometimes I just amaze myself.

But seriously: Manfriend and I leave in two weeks for Hawaii, and it simultaneously is way too close and can't come soon enough. I'm mostly racking up paranoia over my last two weeks as an undergrad, with one research paper due tomorrow, another due Friday, a presentation tomorrow, an oral exam on Monday, plus two other exams on Monday, plus my Capstone presentation on Monday, and one more research paper and take-home final next Friday. Oh, and another take-home final. Joy. All around joy and bliss. And I forgot--my surprise shower/graduation party I'm not supposed to know about. Well, I don't know when (yes I do) or where it is. The "where" will be a surprise. Blame Manfriend for spilling the beans, but in actuality, I'm glad he did. I simply have way too much to fret over without being bustled away for a party on a night I potentially scheduled for studying. Gah! I just remembered we still have to do our check-out dives for scuba!

Does anyone want to do any of this for me? I think I can actually see some of my hair turning white as I type this.

Buying into the dominant patriarchy in regards to looks and mentality

Yeah, right. I have a particular professor who I don't see eye-to-eye with. She's very much a liberal feminist, which is fine, but what I fail to understand when people are highly opinionated on matters of opinion, is why they feel the need to bully me into their way of thinking. I know that our society is dominated by the patriarchy--many are. I know that women continue to make on average a quarter less in salary than men, and that Hispanic and black women are even lower. This continues to be a problem, because in a country where we tout "all men are created equal," we're certainly not referring to women, or even all men for that matter.

I get it.

Now let's get back to what I don't get. We're talking about perceptions of beauty in various cultures, and FemNazi says, "You wouldn't believe all the ridiculous ingredients that are in beauty products." I chimed in with, "Oh, I know. I started tanning and my friend told me the best tanning lotion had emu oil in it."

What does she take away from that? The fact that I'm tanning. Now, she says, I'm going to get cancer and I should embrace pale skin and yada yada yada. I tell her I agree with her, but I'm going to get married in Hawaii next month and I don't want to get burned so I'm building up a base tan.

Once again, she continues her rant with complete disregard for my reasons. "Well, you should just stay out of the sun!"

Lady, I'm going to Hawaii. To get married. On the beach. We're going to be there for three days before the wedding for a ten-day-total trip. I do not want wedding pictures that look like they're representing China (read: I do not want to be tomato-red in a white dress). I also am not going to Hawaii to stay out of the sun. What's the point? Oh, I'm in Hawaii and I'm just going to sit in the shade while you go out and have a blast in the water. What? It's overcast? Well, dear husband, mom always said that you can get the worst sunburns when it's overcast, so I think I'll just sit back here with my pina colada, my Kindle, and a gallon of depression.

Eff that.

Hey FemNazi, did you know that you're more likely to get skin cancer if you get burned really bad? Also, did you stop to think that maybe I have a little skin condition on my upper arms called keratosis pilaris that lessens with UV exposure? No, no, you'd rather just shame me in public, saying that I'm the epitome of patriarchal female-body-image-acceptance, likening me to the women in China and Japan who are getting their skin bleached. Hell, for all you know, maybe I'm making a political statement in order to be as black as possible. White skin is, after all, the deformity resulting from a lack of pigmentation.

Sincerely,
Me

P.S. Bully for you that you're 60-ish and hardly grey at all. Did you know that when you brag about keeping your dark hair, you're buying into the patriarchal image of female beauty?

That's the last time I listen to popular opinion

My Tuesdays and Thursdays are pretty treacherous. They're not very scholastically demanding (I have two classes today, as opposed to three on Mondays and Wednesdays), but the killer is the break between the two classes. I get out of my first one at 11 a.m. and don't go to my next one until FOUR. The studious, industrious part of me that exists more in theory than reality thinks this will be an excellent time to get ahead on the big, demanding project that is my senior project and which I will have to present next month.

So naturally, I took Manfriend to breakfast instead. I was really excited. We went to Morning Glory in downtown Ashland, and neither of us had ever been there before. I have consistently heard they serve the best breakfast in this touristy town that prides itself on its awesome food choices. And as I'd skipped my normal breakfast of branny-raisiny goodness (or not-so-good-ness) knowing I'd be going to Morning Glory, I was fully prepared to eat more than my stomach should contain. I ordered the special--chicken-fried steak and eggs (hearkening to my somewhat Southern roots). Manfriend got biscuits and country gravy.

The portions were huge and everything looked great. That's where the greatness stopped. The steak was 1) not chicken-fried, but Progresso bread-crumb-fried, 2) not pounded flat at all, but really thick, and 3) horribly overcooked. And then there was the gravy. It was sausage gravy. Mistake numero uno (or really, 4 at this point). Who puts sausage gravy on chicken-fried steak? That's a big Southern culinary faux pas. Plus, the gravy was so full of onions that I couldn't even taste the sausage. The hash browns and eggs were cooked to my specifications, but had no flavor. The best thing on my plate were the orange slices. But I suppose I can't give the restaurant credit for that unless they also manage an orange orchard in the backyard (they don't). Manfriend said his coffee and water were good. That's all he felt he had to offer to this review.

I wistfully pointed out as we were leaving that the guy sitting at the counter was eating pancakes with fresh strawberries, and they looked tasty, but as Manfriend pointed out, it's pretty hard to screw that up.

Now it's been two hours since we left and I feel like this lump of nasty, tasteless mass (save for the onions) is steeping in the pit of my stomach, waiting to either make me incontinent or transform me into a shapeless blob seeking out the destruction of all that is pure and natural. I suppose you won't know what happens either way, because while I lack the decency to refrain from mentioning future...illnesses, I still maintain the dignity of not broadcasting their actual occurrences. And if I turn into a hell-bent veggie-hating blob, I probably won't be able to type anymore.

I'm supposed to be doing homework but I'd rather be doing something else that in no way benefits my attaining a degree. Boom.

I'm kind of freaking out. Just a little bit.

You see, I graduate in less than two months now. And then I get married six days later. Both things have been a long time coming (the marriage not so much--we've been together for a little over two years and engaged since July), but what is causing ein Bisschen anxiety is that I'm taking care of two major aspects in the entrance to the next stage of my life in one fell swoop. A college graduate and a wife. Not that I won't rock at both. Because I will. But I'm also a tad crazy so that can either help or be detrimental. Don't worry--he knows what he's getting into.

The idea of graduate school is...daunting. I wish time and again that I'd finished school on time, but no one can predict what life will bring them (joining the Marines, leaving the Marines, moving to help mom with brothers while mom's husband was in Iraq for...three tours?). I'm not making excuses--I had legitimate life events that prevented me from finishing school when I would have liked to. I've also not stopped working for more than a few weeks at a time since I was 17...so almost nine years now. Life gets in the way, you know?

So now that I should be doing either German homework or preparing for my midterms or working on my Capstone project, I'd rather be blogging and legitimizing my existence internet-ionally (I just coined that. Copyrighted as of now by me.). My upcoming Schule-freiheit is also spinning the creative cogs of my brain. There are so many things I want to do now that I'll be out of school. How about a list to keep me on track, eh?

• Re-finish and re-upholster the oak rocker I got at an estate sale in Cross Plains for $20 (bundled with an old quilt that needs repairs, a copper-coated aluminum cake carrier with a wooden handle, and an original View-Master [which is sadly no longer in my possession]).
• I'm actually glad I waited so long on this, because my tastes in wood-finish and fabrics has matured some in the past three years.
• Make a t-shirt quilt.
• Cheesy, I know, but a quick, fun project that will be peppered with memories and promises of future coziness.
• Paint a wickedly awesome painting for the living room a la Van Gogh.
• I can do this sh**.
• Finish the Christmas quilt I started four years ago. It only needs to be quilted and edged.
• Finish the embroidered Christmas stockings I started for myself and future DH.
• Plant and keep basil alive and protected from earwigs. 
• I love basil. I could eat it like lettuce. Plus purple basil looks awesome.
• Learn how to make a fondant-decorated cake.
• I have a feeling I'm going to be watching a lot of "Cake Boss" this summer.

Look at that. I have a good list, and now I'm hungry. And then I have class. And then I am off to Central Point to help the lovely Stefanie pack for her trip to visit her family. I'm actually really excited about this, because we're ordering pizza with what we want on it, not catering to silly men and their desire for only pepperoni. I've been promised tomatoes, olives, and artichoke. Do you know how long it's been since I've had artichoke on my pizza? Probably not since my mom and I lived in Texas, which was 4 years ago.

Hopefully I'll be on here again before I graduate!

The One Where I Introduce Brother 2

I love living with Manfriend, but oftentimes I do find myself missing living with my family, especially those days of my teen years in Germany when Brother 1 was between 5 and 8, and Brother 2 was 2 through 5 (Brother 2 is younger, and I assigned them chronological name-numbers based on the order in which they were born--see how I did that?). While I love Brother 1 and he had many a quote-worthy moment, Brother 2 was a plethora of awkward and vulgar utterances that are coming into Internet publication now because I feel, as wiser Older Sister, that he is old enough now to be a little embarrassed but more proud of the tongue that got him into quite a bit of trouble.

Brother 2 went to Babysitter's house during the day on base. Let it be known that Babysitter is a wonderful woman and loved Brother 2 almost like he was her own (I later found when I taught pre-K that I fell in love with the 4 year-old who always got into trouble, most likely due to the strong resemblance between him and Brother 2). So, rather than be too hard on him for his gems of vulgarity and lack of a verbal filter, she shared his most shining moments with Mother, who always took them very well (she had to--she was in uniform).

One day, little Ellie came to Babysitter's with some gnarly scratches on her face.

Babysitter: How did Ellie get those scratches?

Ellie's Dad: Oh, she grabbed the dog's private parts and he turned around and bit her.

(Brother 2 saunters over, hands on hips)

Brother 2: Ellie, was you trying to have SEX with a dog?

Like I said, a gem.

La Loca

Am I a big ol' nerd? Well, the immediate answer is 'yes,' but allow me to be more specific: I'm getting geared up for my and The One's wedding. It's not going to be a huge affair, but I keep reminding myself that running off to Hawaii with our families is pretty huge in and of itself. We've got our place booked, tickets purchased, and my dress all taken care of. We've even begun to take care of ourselves--I'm down by ten pounds in a month (no, I haven't watched "Shedding for the Wedding," nor do I want to). My mom even gave us the awesome Christmas gift of scuba lessons and certification, which is really exciting.

Why am I a nerd? Because I've already registered a new email address and blog site in my married name. Sure, the wedding's 3 1/2 months away, but I've known The One for 13 years now. Patience has never been one of my virtues, so I figure I'm allowed to be a little impatient when it comes to the fast-paced technological world. No, I'm not sharing their names. That was one of the stipulations in my being "allowed" to create them anyway. As the Germans say, "Pfft."

Besides, there are other things that make me way nerdier, but those are not the focus of this post. So I guess my question is: is this crazy, or is it okay so long as I don't advertise what the addresses are before the wedding? I've never been married before; I don't know these things. ;)

Can You Spare It?

Living so high

gives me nightmares of

 falling,

down

down

down,

and just before impact,

I don't wake up.

I lie there like a mutant,

absorbing my pain through my mouth,
like sucking the juice from a Sierra Lady.

Back at the dinner table,

elbows on bleached linen,

you're selecting a cut of

meat from the waiter's tray.

I figure my flesh is more to your taste,
so I lift my shirt and cut a sample from my ribs.