::alio!::

and that's the end of that

I sit here at my console and I toast myself with a fine pint of Grolsch. I'm backing up my PC tonight, because I AM DONE MY EXAMS. For good. Forever (at least, as far as undergrad is concerned). I promise you that I won't spill it on my keyboard this time.

For those of you who are interested, my mother is fine, but they're not letting her leave the hospital yet. She'll be out by Saturday or Sunday, probably. Just in time for her birthday on Sunday, I guess.

Did I mention I'm done my exams?

a bad day

My day has been a series of unfortunate events.

Either something I ate this weekend didn't agree with me, or it's a result of this weird cold that Christopher has given me (which happens on occasion), and I had to get up about four times to go to the bathroom last night. And most of today. I'm still all grumbly and am rather hesitant to eat anything, as the toast soldiers and weak tea I had this afternoon are not sitting well at all.

I went to the chiropractor this morning, and, despite the ungodliness of the early hour, it was fine. My chiro is getting married in a month, so he's a little crazy right now. It's very amusing to see someone who's 6'6" jump up and down in excitement.

Anyway, got home and felt wretched, so back to the bathroom I went. Talked to my mother for a bit. Poor thing has a staph infection on her foot, and the antibiotics she's taking have rendered her legs useless today. She's not happy.

I made an attempt at my 25-pager, which, on further consultation, doesn't appear to be AS brutal as I'd thought. I wrote three lines and had to stop. I went into my room, intending to read a chapter or so of Vanity Fair, which was approaching its bitter end, and then I woke up two hours later. And finished the book.

So, at five this afternoon, I make another attempt at the paper, and get a page written, which about answers the first question. However, all this time, my dad keeps standing behind me and talking to me, as he discusses things with Andrew over a lagging MSN voice conversation. That's rather distracting when they're talking about your cousin's wedding and you're trying to write about colonial administration in Zambia. Nevertheless, a page has been written, so that's a start. I was almost in a groove when I had to go to work.

I'm slightly grumpy at this point. Whenever I start anything today, people have been interrupting me to get me to do something for them, and this has been on the phone, over the internet, and across the house. Plus, I feel like ass and I've just woken up and am groggy and overheated.

I head out to my car, get in, scowl at my evil next door neighbour, put on my seatbelt, click on the radio, and turn the key.

*CLICK*

And that is the only noise that will come out of my car, ladies and gentlemen. It worked FINE last night, but today, it won't even turn over. I thought it might have been out of gear, but it wasn't. The battery's not dead, as the radio was working fine, and the car turns on okay, but it will not start. I need this car to last me another two years folks. Pray for Baby for me, will ya?

Taking the beastmonster of an SUV, I arrive at the office to discover that the Wayner is still here, and hanging over my desk doing real estate, whilst talking to himself about it. He then starts on another diatribe about this set of clients of ours. I make the mistake of asking a legal question. The diatribe continues.

He is gone now, however, and I am alone with my work and my grumbly tummy. Wish me luck.

11:54 PM

If you thought it couldn't get worse . . .

The doctor told my mother this afternoon that if the infection didn't go down by about 6 tonight, she was to go to the hospital. The fact that she can't move her legs at all complicates things. We got her downstairs and into a wheelchair and out of the house and she went to the hospital around 9-ish. My dad just called to say that they're keeping her there for a few days.

So now I'm worrying. I keep thinking the worst kind of stuff, as is my insomniac wont to do when it gets late and things aren't going well. I'm a pessimist at heart.

It's just that stuff keeps getting worse for her. She has good days on occasion, but she's not getting any better. I mean, I've never really had a normal mother, not since I was very little, so it's kind of ingrained in me that this stuff will happen, and I can remain calm and helpful during these sorts of situations. But in the past couple of years it's gotten pretty serious, more so in the past year than any other time. And I can't help but worry.

Right, I'm just being morose here. I'll go to sleep and be better in the morning. I promise.

self-indulgence

Sorry I didn't write again. Nothing exciting happened. We drank beers with Stef, smoked a bowl of raspy weed that had me goobering all over the place (I should really practice my spitting technique, even though I think it's disgusting), then went to bed. And that was all.

I had a really indulgent weekend, folks. I was with the Pie from 4:00 PM Friday until about 1:00 PM today, and we did pretty much nothing, vascillating between our two houses, watching various TV shows and movies, talking to various people, and EATING, EATING, EATING. Bloog.

When he left today, I decided to be productive. No, I didn't start the 25-page take-home exam that's due this Friday afternoon. But I did some work for the future, namely continuing with Operation: Exploit Contacts (see me for further details if I haven't explained this to you and you actually want to know). It's working out well, so far. I'll keep you posted.

Then I did some research on scholarships I'm eligible for from Carleton and elsewhere. I emailed the external places, but the contacts are so old none of them worked. And the Carleton ones are all ones to which an application is not necessary. So I just wait. But then I found this neat thing for graduate students at the Hockey Canada website, and I'm following up on that. I'll keep you posted.

Just because I want to say it again, I'll keep you posted.

Out.

p.s. I'll keep you posted. Now back to work!

not much going on

Putty, putty, putty. Puttyputtyputtyputtyputty . . .

Andy keeps checking this site. But as I've been with him for the past forty-eight hours, it's understandable that I haven't updated. Yet he checks.

Beer and stuff with the peeps tonight. Actually, looks like it will just be the Pie, myself, and the Red. So not really, but still.

Have I more to say? Perhaps. Later, when I'm drunk.

Until then? -- PEACHES.

Out.

the incredible shrinking woman

MY FEET ARE SHRINKING.

Pish, Ally, you say. Your feet are supposed to expand as you get older and your body's weight flattens them out. Pish.

Ah, but it's true.

At first, I thought I was crazy. Feet don't shrink. They're not like boobs or waistlines. They can swell, but they don't shrink below their normal size.

Perhaps, I thought, following the American obesity trend of increasing clothing sizes to make fat people feel better, they've increased shoe sizes, and the reason why I have gone from an 8 1/2 to a 7 is because some marketing executive didn't want some tall clomper like myself to feel bad about her big feet.

Okay, that's reasonable. But it wouldn't explain why every single one of my over forty pairs of shoes is now fitting looser than before. My snug sneaks, which they had only had in the size smaller when I bought them, are now no longer snug. The slip on sneaks that Cait gave me because they were too big for her are now too big for me.

My mother suggested that perhaps I had stretched said shoes through constant wear.

That's fine, except most of my sneaks are plastic or some such variant, and I don't think they stretch much; however, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, and conclude that these two possibilities had colluded in my closet at once.

Then I went to Buffalo and went shoe shopping. Some of the shoes that fit me were 6 1/2. Interesting, but could still be chalked up to weird American sizing.

Then,

Today, whilst determining an outfit suitable for work and going out afterwards, one which would exude professionalism and a desire for spring (given that it is currently twenty-three degrees celsius outside), I happened upon a cute pair of heels that I had bought to wear to AfterGrad, some four years previous, and which, I might add, I have worn precisely three times: once, to Spring Fling, in April of my graduating year; once, in a performance of "Summertime" for the benefit of my high school audience, in June of that auspicious year; and once, for the AfterGrad celebration itself.

Thus, in no way conceivable could I have stretched these shoes, a European size 37, through constant wear.

And yet, four years later, I find my feet rattling around inside the shoes I had previously found tight enough to cause blisters, from some of which I still bear scars!

So this is my conundrum: do feet shrink when people lose weight? Ponder that.

On an unrelated note, my dear brother is lately returned from Paris, from whence he has brought me -- get this -- A DRESS. And -- wonder upon wonders -- it fits! Designed to be a night dress, this cute peach-coloured little number can nevertheless be worn outside as a summer shift. However, it is a rather brief sort of dress, and so I cannot with any modesty bend over too far whilst wearing it.

Ergo, here is my second conundrum: it has been so long since I have purchased them, that I have no idea where one might be kitted out with "girl boxers." Can anyone help me out on this?

Sunshine, peaches, and well-fitting undergarments,

Out.

I deserve a raise!

Sitting here at the office, I got to thinking about a conversation I had with my boys last night over half-apps at East Side's.

Very shortly, I will have completed all the requirements to receive my Bachelor's degree. In June, I will receive a piece of paper which tells me so. And this is not just a pass degree, folks. This is a B.A. (Hons).

It was suggested by my illustrious comrades that this degree would entitle me to a higher wage than the $12/h I make now. It occurred to me that this was so. It also occasioned across my mind that I made a full five dollars more an hour working for Carleton.

This thought recurred to me as I sat at my desk, pumping out mindless and useless words for a man who can't spell most of them.

I then checked my paybook, and it appears that I have not received a raise since December 2003. That's a while back, I might point out.

Now, if you've noticed, I've been using my odd, slightly stilted, contemplative vocabulary and tone of voice in the above paragraphs. This means I am planning . . . I think, when I return to full time at the end of May, give or take a month, wherein I prove myself overly worthy, I'm going to sit the Goobermonster down and negotiate myself a raise. Administrative Assistants, it seems, make anywhere between $11/h and $21/h. I'm thinking at least $15 or $16 would be reasonable.

Thoughts? Data to back up my argument? Statistics? allythebell@gmail.com

the aftermath

Well, I'm broke. I went shopping in Buffalo and it was lovely. But now I owe VISA a pantload of cash. So it looks like I'm always going to be broke. Appparently, Carleton didn't want to give me any money next year, so I'll have to stay in the job that is slowly killing me, and I can't move out of my parents' house.

But I have new shoes.

the FUTURE

I got a BUNCH accomplished today. I won't bore you with the unnecessary details, but it involved finishing off about three things for GOOD, and that's GOOD.

I have a lot of work ahead of me, especially if I want to hand this essay in before I go to Buffalo, but I was pretty pleased with myself. Incidentally, folks, I'm going to be out of the country from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening, so if you want to reach me for some emergency reason, my parents know how to do it.

I also met with the chair of my department, who has been assigned as my temporary advisor for my MA, and we talked for about an hour and a half about all sorts of things, namely strategy for me approaching the team, which, apparently, I have to start now, if I'm going to have them trusting me enough to talk to me in a year. So it'll be a busy summer.

When I got home, about fifteen minutes ago, I sat down at this computer, and I opened a new folder. I labelled it "Future."

Stay tuned.

Out.

vocabularium

FUCK!

It's fucking freezing in here. I've been freezing my fucking ass off all fucking day. And my shitty-ass desk is piled out the ass with fucking work that I have to do (shit). So I'm going to be here until fucking nine o'clock or later, goddamn it.

Handed in my bloody HRP today, and an essay that sucks soooo much shit it's not even fucking funny. I have the stupidest fucking presentation tomorrow, and then another fucking 20-pager due Friday.

Fuck.

bye bye karol

Holy shit, the Pope just died. 18:37 Italy time, whatever that is. That was about forty minutes ago. Weird.

Now, those of you who know me know I have many issues with organized religion, and I'm probably as far away from Catholic as one could get. But this signifies the end of an era. John Paul II was Pope for twenty years, and during that time, he did a lot for the world: for one, apologizing for the horror of the holocaust; for another, acknowledging that there was a lot of corruption in the RCC; and for another, speaking out against the capitalist greed of so many powerful nations. He was still stuck on the contraception issue, even in consideration of the AIDS epidemic in Africa, but you gotta give him some credit.

I remember reading a National Geographic many years ago, and there was an article about the Pope, celebrating his early years. He spent a lot of time being a bohemian in the mountains of Poland, and I'll never forget this picture I saw of him, beret on his head, joint in his mouth, writing in his diary. That's stuck with me over the years, and told me that, despite the dictates of this ancient institution, that has changed more in the past fifty years than it did in the previous thousand, but which still has a long way to go, the Pope was a really cool guy at heart.

As his bishops announced, he has gone home. Bless him.