Weekend Plans

What I Did Today:

• Cleaned the kitchen. (Including the stove! God, I am so awesome.)
• Swept the living room.
• Managed to break and then fix my iPod by first corrupting a system file, and then running chkdsk on it.
• Did all of my laundry. Awwww, yeah.
• Watched four episodes of The O.C.
• Bound off 240 stitches of the 270 stitches in the Flower Basket Shawl - and then ran out of yarn. Yes, life is pain, especially where knitting is concerned. I knit it on a size 7 needle and was using a 10.5 needle to bind off, so I'm going to unknit the bind-off and then try again with a size 9 needle. If that doesn't work, I'm going to gouge my eyes out with my knitting needles.
• Drank champagne with Crowyhead in celebration of her new job, and ordered the yarn so that we can both make this ridiculous capelet.

Things I Plan To Do Tomorrow:

• Grocery shopping.
• Making mix cds.
• Making buttons with my button maker.
• Finish and block the Flower Basket Shawl.

Does it make me sad and old and busted that I am sort of ridiculously excited to have a weekend with no plans, where I can finally get around to all the housework and craftiness I have not had time for in months? If so, I do not care, because you are not dragging me out of this apartment unless it's to go to Trader Joe's. Plus, I am making up for it by going to two concerts, a drag show, and the Maryland Sheep and Wool festival next week.

It's All Good, Dude

Things I Have Been Doing To Prepare For My Return To California:

• Listening to the Minutemen. (They're from my home town, you know.)
• Making sure the word "dude" appears at least once in all my sentences.
• Watching The O.C.
• Reminding my managers at work that I am leaving in three months, and perhaps they should look into hiring someone for me to train to be the new me. Also, they should make sure this person is willing to wear a pink wig.

Things I Have Not Been Doing:

• Actually obtaining housing.

The Night's Travels

How the cat and I go to sleep:

How the cat and I wake up:

I would like to know what exactly she is planning to do with all of that space.

Got a License to Confuse

Someone I know once told me that if liberal protesters wanted to be taken seriously, they would shave off the dreads and wear suits and ties to marches. In many ways, I agree. I think that protests might be more effective if we subverted the conservative signifiers of power. Hippies are cute and all, but it's pretty easy to dismiss the bearded guy wearing a patchwork skirt as a nut job. When I went to the anti-war protest wearing fairy wings, every reporter there wanted to talk to me, and then was shocked when I actually had something interesting to say. If we want the conservatives to take us seriously, maybe we should try speaking their language.

All of which is to say, if I'd know I was going to the pro-filibuster rally today, I might not have worn my "Licensed Bikini Inspector" t-shirt.

More Adventures in Blogging Without Irony

(Blogging without Irony: Like Doctors Without Borders, except possibly actually better for humanity. I swear.)

Look, people, it is more of the pictures of cute animals.

It is ferrets in the shape of a heart.

It is tiny, fluffy kittens.

I think my heart just grew three sizes, y'all.

(link found via the excellent Heaneyland!)

Reasons My Cat Bites Things

• She hates them.
• She likes them.
• She thinks they might be food.
• She is angry at them.
• She is angry at something that is not them.
• She is curious about them.
• She would like to kill them.
• She is possessed by the devil.
• She is awake.

My Crappy Mattress Stitch

I wore my Under The Hoodie today. Of the sweaters I've made, it's my favorite. It fits me the best; it's my favorite colors; it's a style I like. It's made of Rowan Kid Classic, which, while expensive, is amazing. Wearing it is like wearing a soft, fluffy cloud. It's got an amazing fuzzy mohair aura.

This is not what I think about when I wear this sweater. When I wear this sweater, I mostly think about this:

This is a part at the wrist where I didn't pull my mattress stitch quite tight enough, and it kind of shows at the seam. It bothers me. No one else but me (and now you all) is ever going to notice it, but man does it bug me. I've considered ripping it out and doing it over, but that would mean having to reknit the end of the yarn I used to seam it up, and that would be a huge pain in the ass and might even be more noticeable than the slightly warped seam.

I love my handmade sweaters. I know how much work they are, I know that I made them stitch by stitch, and it makes me happy to wear them. But I notice these things that I would never notice on something I hadn't made. I notice the way the Blue Hoodie is pilling, I know every single slightly messed up stitch where my gauge was a little messed up.

I'm not a perfectionist. It's just not in my nature. I'm good at figuring out how things work, at getting them done and leaving the details to other people. But I am totally obsessive enough to notice every single flaw I leave behind me.

No, Really, STAY AWAY

Dear Work,

I know that you're unnaturally attracted to me, but this is getting ridiculous. I was willing to play along when you made me work eight hours of over time last week. I thought you were stretching it a little with the whole "this is a crazy emergency thing," but yes, there were genuine problems. However, when you claim there are problems and make me come in on a Saturday? And then when I get there, there isn't any actual problem? NOT SO MUCH.

Are you having separation anxiety because you know I'm leaving? Cause baby, this is so not the way to win me back.

It's not me, it's you.

Luv,
Cyn

iPody Goodness

The one tangent I didn't go on in the last post: Today I found this free software that lets you take music from your ipod to your computer. It makes me happy. If it were tangible, and not just in the computer, I might not just pet it, but also lick it.

Do You Sense A Theme? And that Theme Is Sleep

I'm sure you will all be relieved that I actually got some sleep last night. This sleep occurred between the hours of 3 am and 12 noon, because while I have finally succeeded in sleeping for more than 2 hours without waking up and being all disgruntled and cranky, I have not yet managed to do it within three hours of going to bed.

I used to be really good at sleep. I'd go to bed, and within a half hour, tops I would be sound asleep. I've also, weirdly enough, always dated insomniacs. I've gone out with - I don't know - five, six insomniacs. Off the top of my head, I can't think of anyone I've dated who I know for sure didn't have trouble sleeping. I might have to make some calls and find out.

Dating insomniacs has it's pluses and minuses. It came in handy when I couldn't sleep, or I was working night shifts, because I never worried that I would be waking someone up when I called them. The downside is that when you want to sleep, they're all tossing and turning and wandering around and trying to sex you up (Not always bad, but sometimes I am just too tired, people. Like, say, when I am actually asleep) and watching you sleep with envious eyes.

And, seriously, I know most people think it's cute and all, but it creeps me the fuck out when people watch me sleep. I don't know what I do in my sleep. I might drool or make weird noises or who the hell knows. I definitely don't want someone watching me. I may be a little touchy about this because I once had a boyfriend be like, "Were you having a sex dream last night?" when I had been having a sex dream, one that totally did not feature him at all. Which, awkward.

So, away from my psychological scars, and back to the point. The point is that while I was sympathetic to the insomniacs in my life, back when I could sleep reliably (two or three years ago), I did not really understand how much not being able to sleep sucks. And I was also sort of like, "What do you mean, you can't sleep? It's totally easy. You just lie down and close your eyes."

So now I go through cycles, where sometimes I can sleep and sometimes I can't, and sometimes I can only go to sleep after 3 am and then I sleep in too late, and it totally fucks up my morning plans. Today my morning plans were to clean my kitchen, and I totally didn't have time, and now my kitchen is only half clean. Which, side note, just shows you what a totally boring grown up I've become, because I'm fairly sure that when I was in college, I wasn't all, "Oh, my kitchen, it is so dirty, I have brought shame upon my family!" Partly because I don't talk like that, and partly because if my housemates and I had come home to a non-filthy kitchen, our first reaction would probably have been to assume that whatever pharmaceuticals we were on were very, very good quality shit.

So, insomniacs, I have gained a greater understanding of your life. Sucks to be you.

Meh

Sorry kids. I was going to write you a blog post, honest, a really great one about how I've recently lost my ability to sleep, with references to how I date people with insomnia and I think it's creepy when they watch me sleep, but then I sat down with the laptop and realized that I was way too exhausted to put coherent sentences together. (Witness: That last sentence.) Maybe tomorrow.

I Miss Sleep

Hey, remember how in yesterday's post I was all, "Dudes, I am totally all about the sleep now!" Yeah, that was total hubris on my part. What happened instead was that my bad brain came back with a vengeance, and I was up until around 2:30 am panicking that my programs would break and I would never get to leave work again. Thanks, Bad Brain, you're the awesomest!

I'm sure y'all can just bet how productive I was today after three days of no sleep. Yeah, I was kicking some code ass.

Then after work, I decided the best things for girls with no sleep to consume were beer, ice cream, and coffee. Then I descended into giddy squeaking and frightened my friends.

PS. If you're in Philly, you totally need to go to Capogiro Gelato and get some Rosemary, Goat's Milk & Honey Gelato. You will thank me later.

I Should Have Called Out

Dear The Seven People Whose Voicemails I Ignored, As Well As Everyone Who Sent Me Email,

I am sorry if you thought that I was dead. What actually happened was that I woke up Sunday morning, discovered I had scattered my fairy wing collection all over my bedroom floor, and thought to myself, "Self, you had far too much to drink last night. Let's keep to under one bottle of wine per person from now on. Also, once everyone at the party has consumed at least one bottle of wine, it might be best not to switch to Jack Daniels."

Surprisingly enough, I did not even manage to keep that resolution for even one day, and at midnight Monica and I were rummaging through my cupboards in search of more wine after exhausting the supplies at her house. I don't know what time I got home, but I do know that Jill walked me the two and a half blocks from Monica's house to mine, that I yelled a lot about something before I left, and that Monica told her neighbors to bring her stray cats.

I woke up Monday at 11 am, and was like, "Oh crap, I was supposed to be at work three hours ago! And, also, why am I wearing half my clothing? And why do I remember yelling a lot last night?" When I got to work, I was hungover not so much in the "Oh god my head hurts" sense, but more in the, "I am still kind of drunk and can't remember the alphabet sense."

After I hydrated enough that the screen of my computer no longer seemed to be sort of threatening and overly aggressive in terms of light and humming, I assumed my day had nowhere to go but up.

I was so, so wrong.

Around 5:30 pm (Fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave! And lo, those fifteen minutes, how they wronged me.) it was discovered that every single program that my company uses on a daily basis was mysteriously broken.

Hey, awesome.

Let us just say that there was a lot of mystery, a lot of cussing, programs being installed mere minutes before their use, and I think several of us had some sort of life crisis. Also, I was there until 1:15 am. This was why I was not answering the phone, you seven of the voicemails.

I woke up at 9 am, got up, and hauled my ass to work. While I was on the subway, at 9:45 am, my manager left a message being all, "Hey, I know you were here until 1 am, but we really need you here now."

I was dealing with this sort of insanity until 6 pm tonight. This is why I have not answered your emails.

Now I am going to sleep.

Luv,
Cyn

Why Is Septa Creepy?

Last night, at 12:45 am, I'm on the bus, talking on my cell phone with Phil. (Yes, I have become one of those bus talkers, you want to make something of it?) It being Phil and me, our conversation is totally inappropriate, and includes talk of both orgies and making out with girls.

Other than the driver, there is only one other person on the bus, a black guy who looks to be in his late forties and is wearing a Muslim skull cap. I'm sitting in one of the seats that face towards the front of the bus, and the other passenger is sitting in one of the seats that face sideways, which means that he is naturally in my line of site, but he has to turn his head to look at me.

However, this does not deter him from staring at me and sucking his thumb for the duration of my phone call, while I try desperately to look anywhere but at him.

After I got off the phone, he briefly tried to engage me in conversation. (I think he said something like, "Hey, young lady.") At that point, I more or less dove for my iPod headphones.

Tiny Kitten!

I keep forgetting to tell y'all that I got to hang out with Naomi's Tiny Kitten last weekend. Naomi has a new kitten, and he is tiny and fuzzy and adorable.

You know what's cute when a tiny kitten does it? Everything. I kept being like, "Awww, look, he's biting me with his tiny kitten teeth! Wuzza wuzza!"

He also was fond of riding around on my shoulder, which made me feel like I was a Kitten Pirate. (I was wearing Skully, so it was quite appropriate.) He also liked to hang out in back of my neck, transforming me into Hunchback Cynthia. (You can see a picture of me with hunch in Naomi's post.)

So, yes. Go look at tiny kitten photos. They are super cute.

More On Pants!

So I went to the store today, to buy new pants. I was all, "This time, I will buy pants that fit! I will!"

After discovering that I fit (and misfit) into three different sizes of clothing, all in the same store, by the same manufacturer, I was like, "Whoa. This explains everything."

Dear Clothing Makers: Can't we just adopt a sizing policy where you just put up the relevant measurement, like chest size, waist size, hip size, etc, and then I decide what amount of ease I want in the garment and choose accordingly? Women aren't stupid, we'd be able to do the math, I promise. It would definitely be easier than the current byzantine sizing system.

I was shopping at the Gap, which I do because I am lazy and will shop where ever I can find clothes that will reliably fit me. But I feel guilty about it, because the Gap is evil. So I'm trying to justify this in my head, as I walk Gapwards, and I find myself thinking, "Well, I just need some basic separates, and the Gap is so good for that." And then I was like, "Whoa, I just thought the words 'basic separates'. Where did that come from?" I was like Consumertron, Girlbot version. The thing is, I don't consume what I think of as Boring Straight Girl Culture. I don't read fashion magazines or celebrity magazines, I don't listen to the radio or watch TV, I see very little advertising, relatively speaking. But there were these weird consumer fashion words, in my head. Where did they come from?

Many Small, Unimportant Items Put Into a List

• Monday night I made baked tofu with mole and refried beans, and ate it with tortillas and cheddar cheese. It turned out super delicious.
• Substitute "yarn store" and this cartoon is how my friends feel all the time.
• After drinking at the Copa in West Philly tonight, I can definitively tell you that an overabundance of UPenn undergrads ruins everything.
• I took an internet quiz to tell me what kind of hipster I am, and it told me I was an "indie guru." Then Kirsten came over and I played her obscure Belle & Sebastian songs. I was all, "Wait, wait, you have to hear this one, it's off the Four Boys In Our Corduroys EP!" It turns out everything the internet says is true, after all.
• I would like this t-shirt, please.
• I have decided I should get a tattoo before I leave Philly, but I'm not sure what it should be. I'm thinking possibly knitting related. I'm also sort of considering getting some sort of drawing of my stuffed pig with complicated sentimental origins. The problem with the pig is that people always ask me about the meaning of my current tattoos, and it's always sort of weird and awkward, because they do relate to things that mean a lot to me, but whenever I try to explain, it comes out sort of confused and cheesy-sounding. Also, for a while people kept asking me if the rabbit was my "spirit animal" when they saw my bunny tattoo, and I was like, "No. Step off, crazy hippies." I'd also really like a tattoo that said, "The art of losing isn't hard to master," from One Art by Elizabeth Bishop, but it sounds crazy depressing out of context.
• Wow, that last item really sort of took over, didn't it? This blogging thing is much harder when you've got three drinks in you. Sorry, guys.

Not Even Bad Pants Can Keep Me Down

This morning I woke up late, had to make coffee with the crappy coffee filters because we're out of the good kind, and discovered that the pants I had put on were large enough to require constant pulling up while I was walking to the bus stop.

Pants Related Aside: I have some sort of mental problem that prevents me from buying pants that fit me. I think it's because I can't manage to grasp that pants stretch when you wear them, so I buy pants that fit right in the store, and then after I've been wearing them for two hours they're falling off me. I really need to just buy pants a size smaller than the size I think fits, but I'm not ready to take that kind of leap of faith.

I also blame the fact that they're now putting spandex in all pants ever. I would prefer my pants not to be all clingy and stretchy and sausage-casing-like, thanks. This stupid stretch fad means that there are no pants out there that are too big and too small for me at the same time. Bad pants! Bad! I think that is what happened with this particular pants. They're sort of stretchy, so I think I bought a bigger pair so they would fit like normal pants instead of Bad Pants, and now they can't stay on my ass.

Anyway, I usually wear belts, but my belt was already in another pair of pants, and I was running late, and I was all, "Eh, it won't be that bad." And then I was all, "World, meet my underwear."

Man, pants is a funny word. Pants pants pants. Once, in college, Emily and I lay on our friend's bed for twenty minutes saying, "Pants, plants. Pants, plants. Pants, plants," over and over again in a funny voice and giggling. It was hilarious at the time. Maybe you had to be there. And also be on drugs.

Back To The Point: Despite all of that, I was sort of absurdly chipper today. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, I was just happy. Jill was also really happy for no reason, so we think that it's either the weather, or they've been putting Prozac in the water cooler at work.

Half Squirrel Remains

Half Squirrel is still there, y'all. (And yes, I did take my camera with me to the El station specifically to photograph a dead squirrel.) He's shrinking, and he seems to be sort of seeping a little, but he still doesn't have any bugs. For a squirrel that's been lying dead on the train tracks for about a month, he's doing remarkably well.

I check for Half Squirrel every morning, and every morning he's still there. My friends who use the same El stop I do check now, too. In this uncertain world, it's sort of nice to have something as reliable as Half Squirrel.

To My Dog on Wheels I'll Tell My Pleasures and Woes

My mom recently sent me a link to a website where you can dress a parapeligic dog in little outfits and it is awesome. His name is Wheely Willy, and my mom got to meet Willy and pet him (!) while she was substitute teaching.

I repeat: Dog with wheelchair. Funny outfits. Awesome.

Cobweb

This is the cobweb shawl, from magknits, knit in Kidsilk Haze in a color called Jelly.

(Yes, I do have an unnatural addiction to kidsilk haze. Let's not talk about it.)

I actually started this shawl in December. Then I got all distracted, mainly because I had a lot of gift knitting to do, despite claiming that I wasn't doing Christmas knitting.

Then I took it out and started working on it again sometime in February. And then I got to the part where there were 275 stitches in a row, and I would take it out and do one or two rows and then switch to working on a sock or something, because I just couldn't take that many freaking stitches.

But then I realized that I was very, very close to being done with it, and I buckled down and started to actually work on it. It actually went pretty fast when I was willing to do more than one row at a sitting, because it's mostly yarn-overs and on size 9 needles.

Then I got the the edging, and I felt kind of like I would just keep knitting edging forever and there would just be more and more and more shawl and I would never get it off the needles. But eventually, the edging was done.

Then there was the icord edging on the other side, which took two days.

The lace itself is actually very simple, and the pattern is very well written. I'd recommend this pattern strongly for anyone who wanted to get into lacework. I promise it will not take you four months if you're not insanely lazy and easily distracted.

And now it is done. For spring!

Here it is blocking.

Here it is all artistically draped.

Hurry Up Spring! (Armwarmers)

This is one of the Hurry Up Spring Armwarmers, from Stitch n' Bitch nation. It's made with Noro in a very pink colorway.

Here you can see both of them. Note that they are symmetrical, because I took the time to draw out a reverse of the chart in the book, and that the stripes match. It's this sort of attention to detail which is completely and utterly unlike me.

These were a quick knit, and the cable pattern made them fun and interesting. I knit them on four dpns, instead of three, which involved some math and moving stitches around a little bit, but it wasn't a big deal. If you're going to make them, be sure to check out the errata.

I felt I was knitting these at a very apt time, because I was sick of winter and wanted it to be spring, and it appears to have worked, as it is much more spring-like now than it was when I began.

CYN SMASH

I'm sure you'll all be relieved to hear I was accepted by Temple's MS program.

Oh, wait, no one cares about that, not even me.

I have been absurdly cranky for the last two days, to the point where, when Sarcasmo asked me how I was yesterday, I ranted about how much I hated the world for like, twenty minutes, and was like, "I'll try not to be mean to you, but I apologize in advance if it happens. So, how was your day?" and she was all, "Okay, crazy lady." Sarcasmo, I am little less crazy now, and I realize now that I did not respond to the "How are you?" question like a polite, normal human. I apologize, and I thank you for handling it with grace and dignity and not just turning around and running away from me.

While randomly wandering around yesterday, I found myself wishing that I was some sort of largish carnivore (possibly a pit bull), so I could pick up some sort of smaller mammal (such as a squirrel) in my teeth, and shake it until it was dead. I'm a pacifist and a vegetarian. These are not my normal, "Gosh, aren't kittens cute? Maybe I should put on some more glitter," thoughts.

My random overwhelming hatred of everything has also stopped me from blogging, because every time I sit down in front of the little movable type box, I end up filling it with shit that sounds like it was stolen from a fifteen-year-old goth's livejournal, except less coherent. It's all, "Grrrr, argh, CYN SMASH NOW."

So, here are some random things I hate: Being broke for no discernible reason, my job, my uterus, my upcoming cross-country move, everything in the world.

Virus Email = Bad

Has anyone else been getting tons of virus emails lately? I am currently getting like, fifty a day, and it's making me nervous. I think it's mainly because I get all of the email that goes to the pinkhairedgirl domain, because lots of them are to (randomname) at pinkhairedgirl.com. Still, I sort of feel as though someone out there is plotting against me.

I don't think I have a virus on my computer, since my virus scan is turning up nothing. Also, I use thunderbird for my email, which should cut down on my chances of picking up something.

Does anyone know how to make the emails go away?

Nerds! Movies!

Blogging.la has been following this really fantastic story about nerds who are lined up in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater for the premier of the new Star Wars movie in six weeks, despite the fact that the movie will not be playing at Grauman's. Ahhh, nerds.

This is unrelated, except that:
1. It is also about movies and
2. It is a quote from my friend Little Sam, who is a Star Wars nerd,
but this is what my friend Little Sam has to say about the movie Sin City: "Watching Sin City was like eating cotton candy. Violent disgusting amoral cotton candy that's been rolled around in dirt piss blood shit and semen."

I only wish I had thought of that first. Except, I would mean it as a compliment.

No One Understands My Jokes (Or: This Is Why I'm Going To Grad School)

At the Software Process Improvement meeting at work (the topic is SQL):

DBA: Avoid using goto statements.
Me: (in small, funny voice) Goto found harmful!
(blank looks)
Head Programmer: Wasn't Goto Found Harmful a paper published in the seventies?
Me: Yes, that's why me saying it was a funny joke.
HP: Or maybe it was published in the sixties.
Me: It revolutionized the industry!
HP: It's thirty years later, and people are still using Goto statements.
Me: But we know they're bad.

(For the record, the name of the paper was actually "Go To Statement Considered Harmful", and it was published by Dijkstra is 1968. I didn't actually realize it was by Dijkstra until I just looked it up. That Dijkstra: Smart guy. With a funny name.)

Candyfreak

I totally stayed up past my bedtime last night in order to finish reading Candyfreak by Steve Almond.

It's been a long time since I stayed up late reading a book. I used to read almost constantly, but since I started knitting hardcore, that's kind of taken over. I still read every day, but it's mainly just the New Yorker during my commute. (And the internet, of course.) I used to read in bed every night, too, but I broke my glasses a year ago and never got around to getting them fixed, and so I don't do that anymore. I wear contacts during the day, so it's not a big deal, but the glasses were necessary for reading in bed. (I'm nearsighted, so technically I can read without my glasses, but it involves holding the book about three inches from my face and closing one of my eyes so I can focus on the print.)

I finished Candyfreak in two days. I picked it up on a whim while I was in Borders buying Yarn Harlot's book. I had read Mac's review of it, and she liked it, and I read some of the stuff that Steve Almond wrote for Nerve. So it generally looked good, and I have some sort of brain disease where I can't leave a bookstore with just one item.

This book is totally the perfect book for me. Steve Almond is sort of a neurotic freak, but in an endearing way, and there's really nothing I like better in an author. The small time candy manufacturers are also all really interesting. And the candy descriptions . . . I don't really have a sweet tooth in general, but I am totally craving some weird candy after reading this book.

In some ways, this book reminded of the similarly named and also excellent Word Freak, by Stefan Fatsis. They're both about subjects that are sort of marginally interesting by themselves, but make really fantastic books because the authors are both completely (and sort of unhealthily) obsessed with their subjects. Almond starts off obsessed with candy, while Fatsis becomes more and more drawn into the world of professional scrabble over the course of Word Freak, but they're non-fiction books where the narration is made more interesting by the authors' weird compulsions about the subject matter. I think this may be sort of a trend in modern non-fiction, and I like it. (See also: Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, and Alain de Botton's non-fiction.)

Someone out there could totally write a thesis about this.

"I Know Eating People Is Wrong"

I saw Sin City today. I liked it. Not necessarily a deep or great movie, but a fun one. Well, at least if you like movies that are highly stylized, noire, and ultra violent. There was a gang of vigilante prostitutes. One of them was a ninja. One of them was Rory from Gilmore Girls, which caused some cognitive dissonance for me. I was all, "Man, Rory, Lorelai is going to be so pissed when she finds out what you're doing. Shouldn't you be at Yale?"

Also, I think the movie taught us all a valuable lesson, namely: You should not kill and eat hookers, because it will not end well for anyone involved.

I bought my ticket ahead of time, over the phone, because I was worried it would be sold out because it was opening weekend. (Plus, Jill was all, "Buy your tickets ahead of time! Buy your tickets ahead of time!") And I say, god bless the usa, because I love any country where I can sit on my couch and order a movie ticket in my underwear.

It's Official

I've accepted UCSD's offer.

I'm going to grad school! And moving across the country! And leaving all of my friends to go somewhere I don't know anyone! And it's quite possible that everyone will be way smarter than me and I'll totally flunk out of grad school and have to live in a cardboard box and sell my hemoglobin!

Does anyone have advice on getting housing in San Diego? Because so far it all appears to be insanely expensive.

Rejected!

Well, I emailed UPenn and was all, "What's up with my application, bitches?" and they emailed me back and were like, "What's up is that you didn't get in, loser."

So I'm moving to San Diego.

On the one hand, it's kind of a relief that I don't have to make a decision between UPenn and UCSD, because it would be really hard.

On the other hand, I don't take academic rejection very well. Why did you reject me, UPenn? Aren't I good enough for you? I got a 3.75 GPA, what more do you want from me? Is this about that 760 Math on my GREs? I realize that it's only 82nd percentile, but I only missed 40 points, okay. God, I'm totally the village idiot.

If anyone wants to make it up to me, they could buy me this super rad clock.