Babysitting position

I recently had to drop one of my babysitting jobs for personal reasons. If you're an AU student and looking for a job, please consider picking it up. The ad is posted here. The hours are Monday/Thursday (ignore the typo in the ad that says Wednesdays), from 3:30-7:30, at $10 an hour, and the wage is negotiable. The two boys are great, and the job is simple... occasionally helping the 10-year-old with homework, playing with the 5-year-old, making dinner (usually noodles or something similarly easy to cook). The family's contact information is on the ad, and if you have any questions you can always call me, since all my contact info is on Facebook.

Just in case...

...you ever get the question "What did Kat do in the last week of the first month of the new year?" in a game of Trivial Pursuit, and, yes, that's totally probable, remember these answers.

-Her bike got stolen. By the way, it's a grey Schwinn Skyliner, so be on the look out for it, please?
-She babysat the Friday children, one of whom sprayed himself in the face with red spray paint.
-She babysat the Monday/Thursday children, one of whom peed in the playground to the applause of the other tots.
-She resolved to get her degree so she wouldn't have to babysit for the rest of her life.
-She negotiated her dear friend Crystal's return to DC in the first weekend of February (that's this weekend, kiddies).
-She watched the State of the Union address.
-She fell in love with Depeche Mode.
-She picked out her last class for the semester (which is filled with nothing but freshman).
-She put off this entry until it was actually February, which bodes badly for her "no more procrastinating" resolution.

Peppermint tea and APDA expense forms...

Well, it's that time of year again... time to wrest our annual American Parliamentary Debate Association dues from the grimy hands of Student Activities. Actually, that time of year was back in November, and APDA has smacked us with a very deserved $30 in late fees. What does this mean? This means that I am in my element -- scrambling to set right what procrastination has set so very, very wrong.

Last night I rearranged my room. You can see not only the floor, not only the surface of the desk, but the surface of my vanity -- all of which have been entirely obscured since late December. You don't believe me? Here, I can prove it.

Here you can see my stability ball, or, as I prefer to call it, my enlightened chair. Yes, I did indeed start the craze that is now sweeping AU... and by sweeping, I mean that Ash and Rachel have them too. Their growing popularity is due in part to their variety of advantages over their more ubiquitous wooden cousins; they can be used as A) dorm soccer balls, B) weapons of mass destruction, and C) awesome things to bounce on.

You can also see my bedspread. There's an interesting story behind that bedspread. From the time of, well, birth, until about third grade, instead of sucking my thumb, I sucked on my left index and middle finger. My parents promised that if I stopped, I could have a fish. Around third grade, I fell off my bike and broke my left arm, and after about two weeks of having me lift increasingly heavy objects to "heal that pulled muscle," my mom admitted that there was something serious wrong and took me to a doctor, who put a cast on my arm. The new lack of mobility made it hard for me to engage in my finger-sucking, and I quit out of necessity.

You'd think that my parents would give me my friggin' fish, but no; they made the cunning argument that "the cat would eat it" and conned me into getting a fish bedspread instead. But I'm not bitter anymore, because the bedspread has lasted a lot longer than the fish would have.

As I headed out the door this morning, I glanced at my bag, thought, "Do I want my cell phone?" and countered it with the consideration, "Do I want my cell phone to ring in the middle of class?" Concluding that I did, in fact, not, I left without picking up my phone. Imagine my surprise, then, when -- in the middle of a class I have to blue card into -- I heard the immortal screech of "STEALTH PEOPLE, BA-DA-DA!" which, if you've never heard it, is a voice recording of Crystal and I screaming into my phone, and serves as her ringer. My rabid scrambling to find the phone -- which, by the way, I'd accidentally left in my bag the night before -- probably amused a few students, but I doubt that my Micro professor was a fan.

On a much less humorous note, I owe it to my female friends to link to this article on the correlation between bras and breast cancer. Speaking as a woman who's likely to carry on the family tradition of contracting the disease, it's worth reading.

I always knew big business had it out for me.

As it happens, the north side bus stop is right beside Kogod, the AU business building. Thus, during the particularly cold fifteen minute waits, frozen AU students often take shelter in Kogod and wait until the bus comes into view.

The day before yesterday, Roz and I were headed to Georgetown, but because she had spilled water in her tennis shoes, she was wearing a pair of my sandals and freezing to death. We went into Kogod, where a newspaper was lodged in between the doors, creating a thin opening through which the wind wailed freely. We decided to move the newspaper so the doors would, you know, actually close, as is their function.

A few moments later, the bus rolled past. We opened the door to leave. Or, more accurately, tried to. Yes, dear readers, it seems that the newspaper was there to keep the doors from locking... and that we were trapped in Kogod. We raced to the front of the building, only to find that those doors were locked too.

Welcome to hell, ladies and gentlemen.

Eventually someone informed us that if we held down the red exit button, the door would open. Of course, the bus was gone by then. We opted to wait in the freezing cold rather than risk the wrath of Kogod again.

On another note, people have no idea what "vegan" means (not eating any animal products). It shouldn't surprise me. After all, vegans aren't exactly common. When Roz and I went in search of dessert on the night before last, we had the following conversation with an waiter at Amma's Indian Vegetarian Kitchen, after looking over Indian desserts that left us at a loss:

Kat: Hey. We're vegan (not entirely true -- actually, Roz is vegan and I'm kind of trying it out again). Um, I have no idea what these desserts are... are, um, any of them vegan?
Waiter: Ahhh, yes, yes, all vegan!
Roz: *unable to believe their good luck* No milk or eggs?
Waiter: Yes! All milk!
Kat: Um, there is or isn't milk?
Waiter: All have milk!
Kat: Err... sorry.
*We leave*

We had a similar exchange at the Prince in Georgetown; I finally settled for an Icee and some Sour Path Kids at the theater. But we learned from our mistakes, and last night we picked up a vegan dessert at Whole Foods. It was yummy.

I now have two new cookbooks... *plots cooking goodness*

A Brief Summary of Kat's Winter Break

Mm, Christmas. It was a good time. But the real fun started on the Friday before New Years', when Crystal and I went up to Virginia to go to my very first real "club": Peabody's. I danced. It took a good bit of convincing from Crystal, but finally she was dragged out on the floor by a rather creepy guy, and I had to go make sure she didn't get molested, and that required dancing. According to Crystal, whose word I don't entirely trust, I looked good. However, in my personal estimation, I probably looked like a dying bat trying desperately to flap my way into the air. Or possibly a wounded kangaroo trying to jump.

That said... who's up for Lulu's?

Early on New Years' Eve, Crystal and I drove down to Avon, where we spent a blissfully unsupervised week of debauchery. By debauchery, I of course mean staying up until 4 AM and getting up at about 3 PM. It was glorious. I also made a lot, and I do mean a lot, of hemp. Here's a small fraction of the week's yields:

I'm particularly proud of the shell chokers, because those are shells I picked up at the beach in Avon and I love the way they turned out.

On New Years' day, we went to the beach at sunset, and it was one of the most gorgeous sunsets I've ever seen. There were dolphins playing just beyond the waves. I ran into the water despite the fact that the ocean was about forty degrees. In fact, I did that pretty much every time we went to the beach.

One night around ten, we realized that we had no food in the house and went to Food Lion. We proceeded to get checked out by about five men of Hispanic origin. After they turned corners to ogle us, Crystal started getting angry, while I remained amused. However, after we paid and headed out to our car, the wolf whistles started.

I pulled the car around to drive by, and they waited until we were almost past and whistled loudly. At that point, we decided that we were rebelling against the objectification of women. I threw the car in reverse, rolled down the window, and yelled, in Spanish, "Do you have something to say to us?"

Cue shock. The guy at the front froze, shook his head, and muttered, "No, no, no."

We drove off. And they followed us. We stopped at a gas station; they stopped at the gas station. I drove into the residential area, parked in someone's driveway, and waited until they drove past to go home.

Well, there you have the highlights. Apart from nights spent in the bowling alley/pool hall, there's little else I remember. Now I'm back at AU, hanging out with Roz, and watching more Boy Meets World than you can shake a stick at.

Soon the laziness of winter break is going to be over... but until then, I'm going to glory in it.

"A roll of duct tape, WD-40 / Ain't nothin' too loose or locked too tight for a man like me." -- wisdom from both Dierks Bentley and my childhood

...And we all know that whenever we hear the words "too loose," we think of my roommate... whose first name I will not use at any point during this entry. Don't pretend to understand, unless you read her comment on my last post, in which case I guess you can pretend, but you don't. Hah. Occasionally, I may refer to her as "that girl."

FINALLY I HAVE MY GRADES BACK. I did in fact pull off an A- in Spanish, which brings the WORST SEMESTER EVER to a pretty good close. But enough about happiness; I'd like to take this opportunity to rant about the evils of credit cards and lying saleswomen.

Maurice's is one of the few stores in our mall. I really do mean "few"; the only clothing stores in the Southgate Mall are JCPenney's, Belk's, Style Setter (the display window usually sports torn-up shirts with a Playboy logo), and this one. Over Thanksgiving, I was approved for a Maurice's credit card, and since I'm all about A) building my credit and B) Maurice's jeans, I spent about $175.

The woman who worked there (who is Satan, by the way) told me that I would not receive a bill for two billing cycles "because of Christmas"; she further clarified that two billing cycles translated into sixty days. I figured that I would pay it back after Christmas since I'd have a couple paychecks from my transcription, as well as Christmas money, as well as the money left over from my crazy semester of work.

At some point during exams, I called my parents, and they informed me that an envelope had arrived from Maurice's (a local clothing store). Keep in mind that it hasn't even been a MONTH since my shopping spree, let alone TWO. I figure that it's just my card arriving and tell my parents not to worry about it.

On the twenty-first, I finally got down to going through my mail... to discover that the envelope contained a BILL informing me that the twenty-second (i.e. the next day) was my last opportunity to pay the first installment.

Don't get credit cards, kids. Just don't.

A half an hour later I'd paid the whole thing off, and, much calmer, came back to check the rest of my mail... and found a bill from the only other store where I have a credit card, telling me that I owed about $10, which is crap, because the last time I was in the store I made a purchase, checked my balance, and paid everything off.

Conclusions: Credit cards spend themselves and salespeople are incompetent. If they explicity tell you that you have no balance, they're lying. Your card has gone to the store behind your back and bought itself a lovely pair of earrings.

Far be it from me, however, to leave you with the impression that my break has been sullied by these events; everything's paid off and my payments were on time, so it's all good. More to the point, I'm heading to Avon in a matter of days and going clubbing in Virginia on Friday night. Life is good.

My great-grandfather ran a general store in Avon for years. It's been closed since he went out of business. I'm thinking seriously about reopening it. Since Avon is, fortunately or unfortunately, a tourist town, most businesses are only open for the summer -- perfect for a college student's schedule. Crystal and I would split the work (and the profits) between us, and since we know a multitude of talented people who would be interested in selling their goods (everything from wicker chairs to paintings to jewelry to clothes), we have a variety of stock we could sell. And it's an excuse to live in Avon for a summer, working days and surfing mornings and, hell, probably working nights at the pizza joint just to stay afloat and living -- living a dream and knowing you're satisfied.

Spring in DC, summer in Avon, fall in Germany... it might shape up to be an interesting year.

Finally, because it deserves to be said: Secondhand Lions is one of the best movies I've ever seen.

(Okay, fine... The Roommate/That Girl is pretty cool. This may not be an entry "dedicated" to establishing her quantity of awesome, but it does in fact mention it, and you have to take what you get. So there.)

Kenny Chesney understands.

^ Words I never thought I'd write. If you have any love for the beach in your soul, go pick up "Be As You Are," his second most recent CD. I, meanwhile, am going to indulge said love on Saturday with a week long vacation-within-a-vacation in Avon, when the town is blissfully free of tourists, somewhat desolate in the grip of winter, and incredibly cold, the kind of cold where the wind cuts you open and splashes salt water in your gaping wound while cackling, "Just HAD to come to the beach in January, didn't you? Sucker!"

The only remaining tie to the hell that was last semester is the insensitive little dash where my Spanish grade should be. Damn you, My American Dot EDU. You know that no matter how much I try I can't shut off the voices in my brain arguing about whether I still have a shot at an A in that class. You want me to torment myself. That's cool. After all, if our positions were reversed, I'd gladly gore you with a stake.

Speaking of gore, my Christmas present to Crystal was the Brothers Grimm DVD. It was surprisingly disturbing. A kitten got kicked into a machine made of blades and got sliced and diced. It was not Christmassy at all. The only way I've remained a functional, nontraumatized human being is convincing myself that it was a robotic kitten, with fake, Jell-O blood. The movie was good, though; I recommend it highly.

My room is a complete mess. I know I won't be here long enough to unpack my clothes, but it's kind of ridiculous to keep them crammed in a suitcase, so I compromised and scattered them all over the floor. The last three or four times I've been to North Carolina, I've promised my parents that I'll clean up before I leave... it never happens. I always rush off in a hurry, leaving a more-than-partially-concealed hardwood floor. I would say that it won't happen this time, but there would be no point.

My country music binge has continued, earning me such friends as Dierks Bentley and renewing my appreciation of Toby Keith. I pity my roommate.

...or season's greetings, or happy holidays...

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

"No need to rush, folks; we're home now."

Hear ye the wisdom of the train conductor as we pulled into Newport News, Virginia; he spoke the truth.

I slept about ten hours last night and the night before... I don't even know what to do with that. It feels illegally good. On the down side, my nightmares are back... but that's cool because I'm sleeping when I have them.

Driving downtown with the windows down and the radio up is STILL the best form of therapy ever; I am already more human. My car's engine alternately purrs like a kitten and roars like Aslan in the new Narnia movie, and if you've seen that movie, you know exactly how awesome that is.

One of the families I sit for in DC has a Mercedes that I got to drive on my first day, due to a slight mix-up with the other cars. Compared to my Lumina, that car was possibly the least fun vehicle ever. I tapped the brakes and it practically skidded to a halt; I tapped the gas and it accelerated without a murmur. I understand that these bland cars are fashionable, but I want a car with an engine that roars at thirty-five but can hit a hundred without a problem.

I just want ONE more bypass joy ride and then I'll be happy.

I still haven't done all (read: any) of my Christmas shopping. *cringe* I'm just not sure what to get everyone; I know what I'm getting my two grandmothers and my mom, but I'm drawing a blank on almost everyone else.

I am slowly falling in love with the South. There's a very genteel Southern accent that some of the older women here have; I wish I could perfect it. I've also redeveloped my taste for country -- hurrah!

I'm entering a pool tournament on Monday night. *crosses her fingers* It's $12 to enter, but the pot's decent... I don't think I'll win it this time, but I'll be entering a few more times before I leave. Wish me luck.

And now you CAN wish me luck, because I turned the comments back on (just for people with blog accounts, though), at least until the spam starts up again.

Just twiddling my thumbs...

I'm here to take my exam, which I thought was at 10:00... I was certain the professor had forgotten, but apparently he had said 10:30, so now I have twenty minutes to sit in Clark going "GAH! VIETNAMIZATION!", which would be incredibly counterproductive, so I'm just going to play Reversi.

Anxiety. So much anxiety. I want it to be 1:00 already. I know my material, but I'm worried that I'll blank or something. Honestly? I'm just worried I'll miss my train. I want to be gone. I want to be out of here. Anxiety.

I may be freaking out a bit excessively, but as long as I'm calm enough to take the exam, I'm okay with that.

I want to be home.

One more dance, and I'm like yeah...

I hate Usher with a passion, but I still can't get this song out of my head.

I'm getting over a crushing illness that has sporadically involved fever, chills, loss of voice, coughing-to-the-point-of-near-death-experience, and a cold.

I have a Spanish exam tomorrow (today?) at 8:30 and a Justice exam at 11:20. I have an Analysis of US Foreign Policy exam on Tuesday at 10:00. I have a train to catch at 2:30 and then I will be gone.

I have an A- in my Theories of Democracy class (which I'm furious about because supposedly I got an 83% on the final after a solid semester of nothing-but-A work and I KNEW my crap, rahr, I want some justification for that grade but then again an A- isn't so bad). I am checking the online posting compulsively to find out what I got in Macro, but so far, no word.

I have a fantastic idea for a novel and I can't wait to sketch it out.

One way or another, by 2:00 tomorrow, I'll be nearly-almost-sort-of free.

Hiatus

Due to the mounting stress and/or hysteria of exams, I'm going to be staying off AIM except when necessary for academic reasons (i.e. communicating with a study group, etc.). I will also be checking only email that appears related to my classes and absolutely necessitates reading. I'll still be available by phone, but if I ignore your call, it's only because I'm dying, not because I don't like you.

Macro exam in an hour. Less than three hours of sleep last night. The first line of this post was originally "due to the mounting stress and/or hysteria of demand," which probably means I've spent too much time thinking about markets and the individual hand... wait, the invisible hand...

AAAAGH!

The Continuing Saga of RepairKat!

...as opposed to "Repairwoman," which is too politically correct for me.

The family whose computer I fixed last week got me to come over today to fix another one. It took me three and a half hours to get it working again; the operating system had been so corrupt that originally I couldn't even turn it on, and after that I couldn't open Explorer. However, I taught it to respect the Kuhls by smacking it with my iron fist, and now it's running like a dream.

I have a bunch of work due tomorrow in Spanish, including a presentation. Eeeeh. Oh well; soon it'll be over. More to the point, I am terrified of the debate happening tomorrow night.

For those at AU: 8:15 tomorrow, in the McDowell formal lounge, Prof. Brenner and I will be debating Prof. Quainton and Zak about whether the US should leave the Venezuelan government alone. There will be free pizza. Join us!

I'm bubbling with energy. I'm seriously scaring myself, so I pity everyone who's talked to me in the last half hour.

Solstice

And just like that, winter's here.

She's full of addictions with a cannonball smile
That whispers snow spells 'til midnight
I pray I'm there when they come true
I've got some dreaming of my own to do

So guess how much work I got done last night?

That's right. Zero. I could look at this as a negative thing, or I could look at it as a blessing; one day, when I have some kind of high-power job and my boss dumps two extra projects on me a few days before the deadline, I'll know what to do.

And just what is that? Well, I'd love to go into it, but I'm not sure who reads my journal.

On a similar note, I'd also love to go into something that's annoying the hell out of me, but I went through enough drama last year not to write specifics.

Sadly, this is actually reminding me of a theory from Theories of Democracy class: we do sort of have free will, but there are so many outside considerations, so many societal pressures, etc., that our behaviors are regulated nonetheless. This is perfectly exemplified by the fact that even though it's my blog, insert "no one can tell me what to write!" rant here, there would be so many bad consequences that I'm essentially prevented from writing what I want anyway.

So, if anyone takes Peach's class next year, there's an example you can use in the class discussion.

My Justice prof emailed me back and told me that I couldn't move the date of my exam; in other words, even though every other exam falls during "study week" and I could be home by Friday, I have to stay for the entire weekend just to take a freshman-level exam, and my parents can't pick me up on their way back from NH. Eh, it could be worse, I guess. I'll have some extra study time, and I'll be able to study with Ash instead of working on my own.

I'm expecting finals week to be a very creative time, because I have a tendency to have tons of plot ideas when I should be doing something else. When I was writing my US Foreign Policy paper on Wednesday night, I also wrote an excerpt that has become one of my two favorite sections of Guardian. So, although finals week will no doubt be filled with horrible angst and insomnia, at least I'll get something important done...

...And speaking of getting something done, I need to get to that Macro reading, and then to that Macro paper writing, and then to that Theories of Democracy reading, and then to that Theories of Democracy paper writing, and then to that Spanish presentation writing/practicing...

You know what gets me through this? The promise that, very soon, I will be in Avon.

I dig my toes into the sand
The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds
Strewn across a blue blanket
I lean against the wind
Pretend that I am weightless
And in this moment I am happy...happy

I wish you were here

I lay my head onto the sand
The sky resembles a backlit canopy
With holes punched in it
I'm counting UFOs
I signal them with my lighter
And in this moment I am happy...happy

I wish you were here

"Yeah, these die are totally weighted. Clearly you're part of an underground gambling ring. Your game is up and I'm gonna tell your parents."

Tonight I babysat the coolest kid EVER. For those who read Animorphs, he was mini-Marco: hilarious and sardonic. As soon as I got there he looked at me, went up, got the DC version of Monopoly, and started laying out money. Now, despite my intense heartage of Monopoly, I haven't played in years. AND I GOT TO BUY UNION STATION. DANCE DANCE. He informed me that I was not like other babysitters at all, but he seemed to like that, so... yay?

More for my benefit than yours... I present a to-do list.
-Narc work every night until this Sunday, and possibly a little more afterward
-Monday: Spanish presentation, Macro paper, & Theories of Democracy paper #1 on reading that will be absorbing my life tomorrow; meeting w/US Foreign Policy professor for the on-campus debate
-Tuesday: Babysitting from 12:30-5:30
-Thursday: Spanish debate, Theories of Democracy paper #2
-Friday: Babysitting from 12-6
-Saturday: Babysitting from 7-12
-Monday: Theories of Democracy final
-Tuesday: Babysitting from 12:30-5:30
-Wednesday: Intro to Justice final, if he lets me move it
-Thursday: US Foreign Policy & Macro finals
-Friday: Spanish final & HOME!!

The list doesn't look that bad written out, which is exciting. And soon... it shall be done.

Lately I have been on an Eve6 binge... mainly because they have lyrics like this:

Lay off the coffee and the Kafka and the coughing
Lay off the means to an end
And mean what you say more often
-"Still Here Waiting," Eve6

I'm officially procrastinating now, so off to work...

I have marketable job skills!

Oh, the exciting life of the babysitter. No, I didn't get to watch the kids enact any more scenes from horror flicks; however, I did star in a special flick I will be calling The Engineer's Daughter.

When I showed up at the family's house (my Tuesday job, so not the family that owns the Amazing Locker Boy), the father hadn't left yet. On his way out, he asked me if I knew anything about windows; I thought he was going to ask me to wash them, and contemplated the idea of running away before realizing he meant the computer platform.

Apparently his internet had been down for quite a while, and he'd been working over the last few days to get it fixed. He had the option to get someone from his office to come by, but he'd get charged about $150. I gamely agreed to take a look, so he gave me instructions to call if I made any progress and left.

The boys were at school and the girl was asleep, so my options were A) SIS reading or B) working on the internet connection. I chose B and started tinkering around. Within about a half an hour I had the computer online and called to tell him as much.

He called back a few minutes later with a proposal. The computer that had been hooked up belonged to his office; he'd been trying to use that one because his home computer ran Windows 98 and he could make no headway getting it set up. So, he told me, if I could fix the Windows 98 computer, I would receive monetary compensation.

I <3 fixing computers. I also <3 money. I hooked up the other computer. After about two hours (interspersed with, you know, actually watching the kids I was babysitting), I got it online. This was quite an accomplishment, because setting up a LAN on Windows 98 is a bit of a challenge and this computer was as old as a fine wine. So I did a little happy dance. In my head.

Today I made an extra $50 for doing something I love.

Da-da-da, can't touch this!

[/geek]

In conclusion, apparently my gothy "I only live in my computer..." stage was good for something. And so was growing up with an engineer daddy.

When I was about 13, my Dad installed NetTimer -- a program that gave each family member a username and password. Dad and Mom could be on the internet as long as they wanted, but when I was logged in, NetTimer would cut off the dial-up connection after two hours.

Now, I absolutely lived on MSN Messenger and fanfiction.net at this point in time, so this new policy didn't sit well with me. However, I was helpless before the awesome power of NetTimer, which could not be shut down without Dad's password.

After a day or so, I realized that Ctrl+Alt+Del would override this need for his password, and gleefully exploited my loophole for a couple days. This led to one of the most fantastic conversations of my childhood.

[MiniKat is surfing the web. EngineerDaddy enters.]
MiniKat: Oh, hey, Dad. You want the computer?
EngineerDaddy: Yep.
MiniKat: Kay. Hold on, just let me shut off NetTimer so it won't bug you.
EngineerDaddy: *smugly* You can't do that without the password.
[MiniKat, who is also a rather smug individual, Ctrl+Alt+Del's the program. It asks for the password.]
EngineerDaddy: See?
[A box pops up saying that NetTimer's not responding and asks if MiniKat would like to terminate it. She does so.]
EngineerDaddy: ...
[MiniKat grins.]
EngineerDaddy: ...
MiniKat: Muahaha!
EngineerDaddy: ...Give me that.
[MiniKat runs off full of glee.]

He uninstalled NetTimer shortly thereafter. Six years later, I'm STILL gloating.

"Who is it, Katie? I mean... Rusty?"

Yes, folks, my dad actually called the dog by my name. It was not my proudest moment. But apparently...

...I just can't compete with that.

I just cranked out the quickest BS of my life: "reading" 30 pages for Theories of Democracy and writing a 2-page "reading response" paper in under an hour. Yeah, that's right. And I didn't even have caffeine.

When I ask my friends how Thanksgiving break went, they usually say "Eh, not much... I slept a lot." This makes me outrageously jealous. People, don't take sleeping for granted. One day you could be like me. And trust me, it sucks to never sleep. I have the worst sleep deficit ever owning my life right now, and I missed the golden opportunity Thanksgiving offered to catch up with it, because I was hanging out with the Crystal person who was at my house... somehow, we got through Thanksgiving break without mocking a SINGLE Lifetime movie. I feel cheated.

The rest of this semester will be a whirlwind of papers, presentations, and intense sadness. However, I can't wait for break. If all goes as planned, Roz will visit me at some point; also, Crystal and I will fly out to Portland to visit her family and stay there from December 28 until January 9. It will be my first time on the West coast. I'm excited! And I'm going to find a way to get to the beach if it kills me, which it shouldn't, because I believe we're visiting San Diego anyway.

Squee.

However, I've gotta say... what I'm looking forward to most about break is definitely the sleep. At this point I would sell my soul for a good sixteen hours.

As a side note, I represented you all today during a brief chat with the IT help desk:

"Hi, I'm calling about my wireless connection. My computer is connecting, but Cisco, which, by the way, is the MOST USELESS PROGRAM EVER WRITTEN, isn't."

(In case you're wondering, although my computer is obviously letting me online, Cisco still isn't working. I hate that program with the fire of a thousand suns.)

Finally, tasering an 11-year-old is wrong? Man. There go my babysitting jobs.

Resolutions for the Rest of the 2005 Calendar Year, or Ways to Avoid Dropping Out

1. Spend less time with friends.
2. Spend more time downtown and less in Tenley/Friendship; also, spend more time off-campus.
3. Attend concerts. Go clubbing. Have fun.
4. Cook more, i.e., refuse to sacrifice myself on the Tavern/TDR Altars of Convenience.
5. Spend at least two hours a week working on actual assignments... why does the voice in my head think this is unrealistic? That's NORMAL.
6. Make non-free time more productive in order to enjoy the actual free time.
7. Keep a tighter reign on the finances.
8. Fix my relationship with my family as much as possible.
9. Learn not only to prioritize, but also to do the resulting priorities.
10. Paint. Draw. Write. Make earrings. Make purses. Take photos.

And, my only resolution for the coming year --
* Take riding lessons.

I've gotta say, watching the kid I was babysitting involuntarily reenact a scene from Saw was not a good experience.

The family in question shall be referred to as the Fridays, because A) that's the day I sit for them and B) I doubt they want to be connected with the following story.

After a long walk, by which I mean a bus ride because I left the dorm way too late, and a nasty Starbucks sandwich, I arrived at the Fridays' house. I was informed that I had a list of errands to run, including but not limited to taking the youngest, whom I'll call Bob, to a birthday party for one of his friends. Let me note here that these friends, much like the Fridays, are rather wealthy, and that this party was being held the bowling alley of a country club.

I drove there in heavy DC traffic, happily weaving through the cars that would have liked to pass me, if they were cooler, and ignoring Bob's cries that I should use the map because otherwise I'd get us lost. Naturally, I got to the country club early, because I know my way around cities I've never even been to (kudos to those who get the reference), and we made our way into the bowling alley, which was in a basement...

FILLED WITH TWENTY SCREAMING SIX-YEAR-OLDS.

I'm not exaggerating. I COUNTED.

AAAAAAAAAARRRRGHHH!!!

I kept a pretty close eye on Bob during the hour and a half we were there because he's allergic to wheat and therefore couldn't have any cake (don't feel too bad - he practically OD'ed on frosting). However, when he and his friend Nicholas, the birthday boy himself, wanted to play in the men's room, I decided to give them their space. I called my mom and chatted for about ten minutes, really beginning to wonder what they were up to...

...When Nicholas ran out crying.

Assuming that Bob had caused some mayhem, I arrested Nicholas and demanded to know what was going on. Would you like to know what he said?

"Bob shut himself in a locker... and he can't get out... WAAAAAH!!!"

Kay.

I bolted into the men's room. Desperate screams and sobs echoed off the tile walls, guiding me to the lockers at the back of the room... AND THE BLOODY ARM POKING OUT OF ONE OF THEM.

I'm not into gory films, but I know that scene has been in at least a few of them. Picture it... splotches of blood dotting a pale arm trying to claw its way out of its grey-green prison... the terrified eyes of the captive... the hellish screams rattling the walls...

Did I freak? Well, relatively speaking, no. I tried to open the door, failed miserably, tried to crack it enough to free his hand, failed again, ran outside and located a janitor, who accomplished the above in short order.

I took Bob back downstairs and practically covered his arm in ice. As it turned out, what I had thought was blood had actually been red marker from fooling around earlier at school... but you must understand, the red marker was very realistic. Don't judge me!

Although no worse for the wear, Bob refused to believe that this story would ever be funny to him. Interestingly, it was funny to everyone else.