Sunday is Putnam county - pancakes-bacon-and a goat.
Hopefully Sat morning involves using a screwdriver
and that is all I know at present...
Perfection.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
This is the company that I keep
In response to an inquiry about a friend's weekend plans, I received the following email...
Perfection.
Perfection.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Don't judge me. This is my weekend.
Spring break is upon us! What does this mean for me? Grading! And lots of it! And working too. However, it does mean that I don't have class tomorrow, which means I have two days off in a row! This is something that hasn't happened to me since mid-January when I took on the teaching assistant position.
How do I celebrate this? Uh, duh.
I should be grading. But honestly, before I can do that I should really actually do the assignment so I have the answers in front of me. So I will pretend to do that this evening! It's nerdy and delightful. And Radiohead will be the soundtrack. More on that and the FSU packet you can see in the background of the photo in other posts that may or may not happen.
How do I celebrate this? Uh, duh.
I should be grading. But honestly, before I can do that I should really actually do the assignment so I have the answers in front of me. So I will pretend to do that this evening! It's nerdy and delightful. And Radiohead will be the soundtrack. More on that and the FSU packet you can see in the background of the photo in other posts that may or may not happen.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
And then I fell down
Or, this could also be called "How I am the least graceful ballerina ever". It's also yet another one of those stories where I fell down while I was drunk, not necessarily because I was drunk. The fact that I have multiple stories like this kind of proves my point made in the title and the first sentence.
Friday night we went out bowling to celebrate the birthday of a friend. It was a splendid evening of me bowling one of my worst games yet, amazing bar food, and open bar. Oh, and great friends. They were important too. Much fun was had by all, but sadly the night could not go on forever (read: the open bar ended). A trio of us wanted just one more drink (and couldn't convince our friends to join us at a bar where we knew the bartender), so we ventured off on our own.
We set off walking the, I don't know, three blocks to the next bar. It was at an intersection, where I twisted the shit out of my ankle and fell into a puddle. Know what else fell into said puddle? My phone. Don't worry it's fine. My ankle? Not so much. The benefit to being intoxicated when you do something fantastically awful to your ankle, you don't really notice it so much. However, when I got home and removed my boots, I saw that my right ankle was swollen like woah. That, or someone implanted a tennis ball under my skin. Yeah, that swollen. The dancer that will always live inside me took over. I found my bandage, wrapped it up, and went to sleep.
In the morning, I found I couldn't put any weight on it. None. I started thinking about how I had to work and whether or not the boss deserved a heads-up text. No sense in making him panic (or start his morning on the wrong foot), so I opted for no text and instead spent my morning going through the "so you sprained your ankle" routine. After a warm shower, I could move my foot around more freely than when I first woke up. Progress. Hopped into the kitchen to make an ice pack, then got comfy on the couch for an episode of How I Met Your Mother while my elevated foot took in the sweet, sweet relief of the ice. After the appropriate twenty minutes (thank you, Netflix, for making TV into the perfect twenty-minute segment so I don't have to remember to keep an eye on the time), I wrapped the ankle up and put on my big clunky sneakers. I could walk! With a limp and not very quickly, I could walk! Success!
After a weekend of my usual work schedule featuring me, the bartender with a slight limp, I was happy to be home Sunday night to relax and watch a bit of TV. And, you know, document my injury.
Step one is to ice and elevate the foot simultaneously.
The plastic wrap holds it in place. I really waited all day to be able to relax with it like that. I mean, it's pretty banged up. Look at all the bruising!
Gross, right!?
The worst part was my inability to walk without support. For example, I wanted to make some pasta. Here's the thing. I hate wearing shoes, especially big sneakers and the like. And I really hate wearing shoes in my own apartment (or really, anyone's domicile for that matter). So, I compromised.
Pasta was a success. Foot was elevated. Netflix was had.
And that was my evening and much of my day today. However, today, I can walk around sans support and it makes me far happier than it should. Maybe someday I will learn to be less clumsy. Until then, people will be treated to more stories and situations like this.
Friday night we went out bowling to celebrate the birthday of a friend. It was a splendid evening of me bowling one of my worst games yet, amazing bar food, and open bar. Oh, and great friends. They were important too. Much fun was had by all, but sadly the night could not go on forever (read: the open bar ended). A trio of us wanted just one more drink (and couldn't convince our friends to join us at a bar where we knew the bartender), so we ventured off on our own.
We set off walking the, I don't know, three blocks to the next bar. It was at an intersection, where I twisted the shit out of my ankle and fell into a puddle. Know what else fell into said puddle? My phone. Don't worry it's fine. My ankle? Not so much. The benefit to being intoxicated when you do something fantastically awful to your ankle, you don't really notice it so much. However, when I got home and removed my boots, I saw that my right ankle was swollen like woah. That, or someone implanted a tennis ball under my skin. Yeah, that swollen. The dancer that will always live inside me took over. I found my bandage, wrapped it up, and went to sleep.
In the morning, I found I couldn't put any weight on it. None. I started thinking about how I had to work and whether or not the boss deserved a heads-up text. No sense in making him panic (or start his morning on the wrong foot), so I opted for no text and instead spent my morning going through the "so you sprained your ankle" routine. After a warm shower, I could move my foot around more freely than when I first woke up. Progress. Hopped into the kitchen to make an ice pack, then got comfy on the couch for an episode of How I Met Your Mother while my elevated foot took in the sweet, sweet relief of the ice. After the appropriate twenty minutes (thank you, Netflix, for making TV into the perfect twenty-minute segment so I don't have to remember to keep an eye on the time), I wrapped the ankle up and put on my big clunky sneakers. I could walk! With a limp and not very quickly, I could walk! Success!
After a weekend of my usual work schedule featuring me, the bartender with a slight limp, I was happy to be home Sunday night to relax and watch a bit of TV. And, you know, document my injury.
Step one is to ice and elevate the foot simultaneously.
The plastic wrap holds it in place. I really waited all day to be able to relax with it like that. I mean, it's pretty banged up. Look at all the bruising!
Gross, right!?
The worst part was my inability to walk without support. For example, I wanted to make some pasta. Here's the thing. I hate wearing shoes, especially big sneakers and the like. And I really hate wearing shoes in my own apartment (or really, anyone's domicile for that matter). So, I compromised.
Pasta was a success. Foot was elevated. Netflix was had.
And that was my evening and much of my day today. However, today, I can walk around sans support and it makes me far happier than it should. Maybe someday I will learn to be less clumsy. Until then, people will be treated to more stories and situations like this.
Monday, March 5, 2012
A quick post that will answer a question I am repeatedly asked
I finished my law school applications. All of them. And this happened twice.
The first day that I finished all of them was two weeks ago. I wrote all of the personal statements. I filled out all of the applications. I made my resume even more awesome. And then I dropped close to five hundred dollars to apply to all of them. I was done and happy and celebrated by going to work for eight hours. Fabulous.
Then, this past Thursday I received an email from Tulane. They had waived my fee to apply so I figured that I might as well. It had made the short list originally but was removed in favor of other schools and because I had already spent $500 on applications. But! If all I had to pay was the LSAC fee, I could manage that. Spent the day fixing up the personal statement and filling out the application. Added it to the shopping cart on the site, and that's when I noticed that Pace had decided they didn't want me to have to pay to apply either! I had already finished that application, but didn't want to spend the money, so added it too! This, my friends, brings the total number of schools applied to up to eleven. It is a lovely number because it's prime and people like to turn things up to it. Seems like a good sign to me.
So. You want the list? In no particular order, I give you my schools!
NYU
Georgetown
George Washington
Florida State
University of Oregon
Lewis and Clark
University of Maryland
Vermont Law School
Fordham
Tulane
Pace
Now, whenever someone asks where I have applied, I can just link them here. Win!
The first day that I finished all of them was two weeks ago. I wrote all of the personal statements. I filled out all of the applications. I made my resume even more awesome. And then I dropped close to five hundred dollars to apply to all of them. I was done and happy and celebrated by going to work for eight hours. Fabulous.
Then, this past Thursday I received an email from Tulane. They had waived my fee to apply so I figured that I might as well. It had made the short list originally but was removed in favor of other schools and because I had already spent $500 on applications. But! If all I had to pay was the LSAC fee, I could manage that. Spent the day fixing up the personal statement and filling out the application. Added it to the shopping cart on the site, and that's when I noticed that Pace had decided they didn't want me to have to pay to apply either! I had already finished that application, but didn't want to spend the money, so added it too! This, my friends, brings the total number of schools applied to up to eleven. It is a lovely number because it's prime and people like to turn things up to it. Seems like a good sign to me.
So. You want the list? In no particular order, I give you my schools!
NYU
Georgetown
George Washington
Florida State
University of Oregon
Lewis and Clark
University of Maryland
Vermont Law School
Fordham
Tulane
Pace
Now, whenever someone asks where I have applied, I can just link them here. Win!
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Personal Statement! Fuck Yeah!
Let's get this straight. I love writing. Adore it. For fuck's sake, I started a blog because I enjoy putting thoughts into words and getting them out into the ether. I think I really enjoy writing because it is an outlet by which I can express myself. Now, with that being said, I absolutely detest writing about myself. When speaking about my goals and aspirations, I compose coherent thoughts and it sounds wonderful (probably), at least for the most part. Yet, when I am presented with the task to write about my strengths in order to impress some board of people deciding my academic fate, I clam up. I panic. I have constant nagging thoughts of not being good enough and am usually overwhelmed by the fear that I will never be accepted anywhere for anything (school or a job) and I will just waste away into nothingness. It gets pretty bleak. My apologies for all of my friends whoever have to witness it. And I know, you're thinking that everyone struggles with this, but really, there isn't any other way for admissions committees to get to know more about the students than from just resume alone. So I get it. I know it has to exist. It's just hard to write.
I've been dreading putting it all into a cohesive document for weeks now. I have been constantly thinking about it, jotting down notes here and there, and started an official document on my computer last week sometime. Today is the day my first application was due, and the deadline has put me into overdrive. That is awesome, by the way. I'm okay with this feeling. Mostly because the rapidly approaching submission hour causes me to be efficient and dedicated with my time. All I have to do is put it together, edit it, have friends edit it, panic about it, and then send it in. Then try my best not to re-read it ever again so as not to find typos and feel bad about myself for forever.
I might write a funny version of a personal statement. Maybe. Or maybe "funny" isn't the word, maybe just "slightly more honest because it isn't shrouded in big words that are used for no reason other than to prove I can". Oh, and I'd probably swear. More later. After I get this done (or until I take another break).
I've been dreading putting it all into a cohesive document for weeks now. I have been constantly thinking about it, jotting down notes here and there, and started an official document on my computer last week sometime. Today is the day my first application was due, and the deadline has put me into overdrive. That is awesome, by the way. I'm okay with this feeling. Mostly because the rapidly approaching submission hour causes me to be efficient and dedicated with my time. All I have to do is put it together, edit it, have friends edit it, panic about it, and then send it in. Then try my best not to re-read it ever again so as not to find typos and feel bad about myself for forever.
I might write a funny version of a personal statement. Maybe. Or maybe "funny" isn't the word, maybe just "slightly more honest because it isn't shrouded in big words that are used for no reason other than to prove I can". Oh, and I'd probably swear. More later. After I get this done (or until I take another break).
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