::alio!::

Good Sheltie needs good home

Isn't she sweet?

Ellie is seven years old and needs a home by June 1. She's even-tempered, good with kids, dogs, and even cats, and loves to spend time with people.

She has a mild thyroid condition, and takes one pill a day for it, wrapped in peanut butter, which she loves.

If you know someone who is interested, please let me know. I would take her myself, but I've already got two elderly shelties of my own.

BAMA

Oh yeah, so I defended my thesis on Thursday.

(successfully)

I still think someone's going to call me back and say they made a mistake. It was too darned easy.

The supposedly three-hour interrogation only took an hour and a half, and they spent the first half hour telling me how much they liked the whole thing, and how well and brilliantly I'd written it.

My biggest fear was that someone would ask the dreaded, "why didn't you use this particular source (that you've never heard of)?" question. And someone did!

BUT

Turns out I actually had read that source. I just couldn't get a hold of it in the library, and then I found out that it was out of print, so I ordered it from a used book place, and finally got the book a month before the thesis was due, and I had already finalized the chapter that the source was related to. I read it, decided it didn't contribute anything new, and so decided not to add it in.

BONUS POINTS.

Also, they asked me, if you were to do the whole thing differently, how would you do it? Have you thought about it?

And of COURSE I had, so I was able to fire back this extensive plan, complete with ethics considerations and demographic particulars.

BONUS POINTS.

And you either fail - which I didn't, or you Pass with Major Revisions (which is bad, because you have to change whole chapters), or you Pass with Minor Revisions (which is good, because you only change a paragraph or two, or add the source you missed), or you Pass with No Revisions.

And that was me. The only changes I have to make are to 6 or 7 typos (that only I noticed), to change the fact that I used Quebecker and Quebecois in the same sentence, and to say, in my bibliography, that Prentice-Hall publishes out of Inglewood Falls, not New Jersey.

TADA.

Too bad it's just a Pass/Fail mark. I would like all those bonus points.

So now my official title is Alison Joanne Bell, B.A. (Hons) (Carleton, 2005), M.A. (Carleton, 2007).

It's very long, n'est-ce pas?

:D

ms. healfast

The new skin is still really thin, and the fingers themselves are still pretty bruised, so it still hurts a lot, but now I can actually use my hand, which is awesome.

monster mash

This would be what zombies' fingers would look like, if there were zombies and if they had fingers . . .

Ugh

I keep getting spam comments all through my site, no matter how many times I block them or delete them. It sucks.

In other news, the Pie is now officially moved back in with his folks. We did the final cleanup today. Last night I had the foresight to fill the sink, toilet, and bathtub with pine-sol, and it saved me about four hours. Boys are truly disgusting.

I also totally ruined my hand today, throwing some stuff in a dumpster. The first three fingers of my right hand got caught between the heavy object I was pitching and the dumpster edge, and so I'm missing a lot of skin right now. It hurts to type (actually, it hurts to do nothing), but I'll be okay.

Anyway, back to the moving thing. Living with your parents kind of puts a damper on a lot of relationship things. Siblings like to interrupt you when you're trying to have a conversation . . . you know the drill.

So (and here's the big announcement)

We're *maybe* going to move in together (with Greg, because they don't call it Livabetes and we'd rather he not starve to death) in September, based on how successful I am at making money with my new job. I should be full time after June, and be making my full salary (as an aside, I get paid every week here, not every month or every two weeks - how weird is that?) by then as well, so I'll know how much money I can set aside for living purposes. It's just that we'll have been together for 3 years in the fall, and we're of the age where we need to consider whether or not we're going to marry each other.

So we'll experiment with that for a year, and then after that we might go back to school again and so we'll see what happens after that.

And that's my story. I must stop now as I've started bleeding again.

LATER!

child abuse?

This is what my cousin does to his poor daughter on a slow day . . . he really needs to go back to work.

it's no fun having hiccups by yourself

*hic!*

A moderately unremarkable day today, although I got to meet Jamie Fitzpatrick (the Fitz in Bark & Fitz). He's really nice. He gave me some food advice for Lacey, and so tomorrow morning I'm going to experiment with meat muffins to see if she'll gain any weight.

*HIC!*

In other news, I put myself out as a drudge on the soc-anth mailing list, offering my body and soul for transcriptions, research, and organizational duties, and I've gotten a few replies already. I also told my Boss Lady that I didn't get into PhD school and so was sticking around for a while, and she seemed pretty happy about that. I only got to play with two tiny Yorkies and a black toy poodle today, though, and the rest of my time at the store was spent humping 30lb-bags of dog food from the store floor to the basement. I get to do that a lot, because co-worker P is pregnant and I don't want her lifting heavy things.

I've also added my work schedule onto the left sidebar of this page. So in addition to seeing my everyday calendar, if you scroll down further you can see the work one - if anyone knows a way to get both of these in the same box, lemme know.

*HIC!*

Fuck.

I hate having the hiccups. They're so violent on me - they hurt my whole chest. And I can't drive while I have them, because I'd go off the road at high speeds.

Alas.

*hic.*

post-script: It also occurs to me that I'm going to have to develop nicknames for these people with whom I work, so that I don't produce libellous information on the internet that could get me in trouble. I'll have to think about that one. You can't top Expectorating Goobermonster.

*hi-

pome 2

I found this ridiculous entry when cleaning out my papers this afternoon. It's from OAC. Ignore the errors in rhythm and punctuation, and try to piece together the story:

Alison Bell
EWCOA2
Mr. Hodgson
17 October 2000
Hookers and Oysters
 
Oftentimes, in tales of wonder,
	Bad fights Good and Good prevails.
But I must tell you, now or never,
	That this is not that kind of tale.
A little girl lived with her mother
	And her sister, in the wood.
Mum was mean, and so was sister;
	They did not lead lives of good.
The little girl (we’ll call her Sally)
	Did not approve of their lifestyle.
She often wished (and we can’t blame her)
	That she had kin well worth her while.
To tell the truth, they worked the streets;
	Many “boyfriends” did they please.
And though the suitors begged her nicely
	Sally would have none of these.
Every day her wanton mother
	Sent poor Sally to the store.
Seven miles she had to wander
(For this shop was not next door).
One day sent to fetch some oysters
	For Sister’s current “rampant stag,”
She rested by a quiet river.
	Thus she met the poor old hag.
This old woman was exhausted.
Fourteen days she’d travelled west.
She did not wish to talk or eat there.
	All she yearnèd for was rest.
But as she sank upon the clover,
	Across the bank, what did she see?
Sally, sitting by the water,
	Underneath a big oak tree.
“Dear child, pray tell me,” she did ask her
	(Knowing all the while the way)
“Where the sun doth set in evening?
	That is where my goal doth lay.”
“I think, Madame, it’s to the West Side.
	You see that city over there?
I watch the sun set often from here
	‘Tis yon the sun hangs in the air.”
“Thank you, dear, for your direction.
	Now I know where I must go.
Before I do, though, I must tell you
	Something that you have to know.
“To a convention, my dear urchin,
	That is what I’m headed for:
Where fairies come from, well, all over
	To protect Love against the Whore.
“Yes, my dear, I am a fairy
	Sent from far off to the east
To combat all those dirty trollops
	Until they are – ahem – deceased.
“For, you see, those sluts are evil:
	Making Lust a form of Love
They must be stopped or mark my words,
	Those cats will give Virtue the shove.”
The girl kept quiet through this tirade,
	For she knew her mother’s craft.
She wasn’t mean enough to risk it.
	That Sally girl, she wasn’t daft.
“So anyway,” the hag continued,
	Knowing not of Sally’s folk,
“For your kindness I will give you
	A gift that I will soon invoke.
Saying this, the lady reached and
	Dipped her fingers in the stream.
She flicked the water on to Sally,
	Saying, “This is not a dream.”
“Every time you speak a word, dear,
	Jewels will issue from your lips.
But when you’re rich, don’t eat too much or
	It will go straight to your hips.”
Sally said, “I promise, Ma’am,”
	And RUBIES fell out of her maw!
She jumped up joyously to thank her,
	But she was all alone, she saw.
So she ran home to tell her mother
	All that happened there that day.
Unmoved by gems her mother asked her,
	“And the oysters?  What did I pay?”
When she confessed she had no oysters,
	Mother Dear tore out her hair.
“WHAT?  No OYSTERS?” she screeched loudly
	“Is your big head just stuffed with air?”
“Back you go,” she then commanded,
	Getting out her “riding” whip.
“And I will make sure that you get there,”
	Tying a rope to her hip.
So off they marched, all seven miles,
	Into the town so far away,
Mama’s ridin’ whip a-crackin’,
	Keeping little Sal at bay.
When they reached the town of oysters
	They went past the meeting hall,
Inside which were all the fairies,
	Discussing answering “the call.”
At this point, poor Sal did stumble.
	Down she fell upon the ground.
But although she scraped her elbow,
	Our dear girl made not a sound.
“Get up, you oafish, simple girl!”
	Mother cried, tugging the rope.
“Get up, or I will cast you out!”
	At this, the girl gained her some hope.
“No, you silly prostitute,
	You dirty excuse for a whore.
I will not obey your wishes.
	I’ll be glad to see your door!”
Inside the mentioned meeting hall,
	The fairies heard all that transpired
They raced, en masse, into the street
	Their ire was sparked, their rage was fired.
“Death to the hooker!” they screamed out,
	As they approached and mobbed the tart.
In their grasps were clubs and switchblades
	For beating and tearing apart.
Alas!  It is a tragedy
	When horrid things like this occur.
For not only did they kill the hooker,
	But  Sal was gaffed by a sharp spur.
Oh yes, it was an accident,
	Or so the fairies said that day.
But honestly, how could you live with all
	Those stones falling all about that way?
Yes, it was Providence that saved her
	By taking away her life.
For with that gift of jewels for speaking,
	Her existence would be full of strife.
For who can have a conversation
	With a girl who spews out gems?
And in flu season, then, would you want
	Emeralds floating ‘round in phlegm?
It was a gift to be exploited,
	Really milked for all it’s worth.
It’s for the best Sal didn’t make it
	She’ll keep it with her in the earth.