Tag Archives: On Life and Love

Dearest Deer:

You will not have my sympathy…

…when I am falsely called into lab with a few hours’ notice.

…when I am called into lab at 08:00 on a Sunday with only two days notice to clear my schedule. I warned you about this. My schedule is not a flexible one, and I am no longer being paid to do this.

…when I arrive in lab to find you have made no attempts to prepare. Why are you sitting there looking at me like a time portal is opening behind me when your samples are still in the ‘fridge? And did you delibrately look at that clock when I came in? Hell naw.

… when I find you have not made the correct solutions to do the work. That should have been done the day I was falsely called into lab. This stuff doesn’t magically appear at the machine, waiting for you like a dollar from the Tooth Fairy when you run a kinetics experiment.

… when I find you have not attempted to secure access/keys to any of the labs you will need access to. I hope Mae filets you for calling her room at 08:20 if her roommate was still asleep.

…when I’m expected to hold your hand politely, but you can’t be bothered to remember the advice and directions I give. Thinking: it’s a useful tool for many, many people and can help you go far.

What was the sign? Was it the set look on my face when I walked in? Was it the grimace of annoyance when I asked where your samples were and you looked so confused? How about the look when I told you I’d meet you in the graduate building, but had to backtrack when you said you had no keys?

Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t ask you a single question in reply to yours about how I was doing or how I spent my evening. Yup. When The Questioner stops questioning, it’s probably a good idea to watch your back.

Making deer-in-headlights eyes at me with your gorgeous baby blues will only increase the pressure of my size-10 retired Saucony Grid Auras on your face, baby boy. I ain’t lettin’ up ’till I see tears, either.

Bet you didn’t think I could be so cold. It’s no reflection on the situation that I only had three hours of sleep, but it sure as shit isn’t helping you.

I am not your mommy, or if I am, I’m the sternest you’ll ever have. Get a clue, get organized. One more try.

Peace, love, and pineapple upside-down cake,
Lissa

I need to work. And sleep. But I feel better now.

Back in the Dirty Dirty

Not much to say about the New Year’s party I attended. What I’d call the “good folks” from my mother’s family showed up, drank and danced, then all drove home. Grr. Couldn’t convince a single one of them to let me or Mother-dear play DD, the sons of bitches.

Mother-dear and I knew it was going to be prime-time to get in some pictures, though. The T family, tipsy and relaxed and not fighting? Gotta have it, particularly since I haven’t seen these folks in at least seven years, and more like ten in some cases. Our camera (an old too-expensive Kodak from before the “megapixel” days; I think my father paid an excessive $700 or $800 for this thing) did surprisingly well in the near-darkness once I upped the exposure time (I thought I’d read that somewhere, but I don’t know shit about cameras). Couldn’t see shit when you took the pictures, but if you knew how to aim blind (which I do, but Mother does not—there are at least three “boob shots” of me where she didn’t aim high enough to include my head), the pictures came out wonderfully.

But Mother-dear and I (and cousin V—who I have a wonderful picture of) chair-danced and held up the walls until about 03:00. Good fun.

Of course, my dumb-ass hadn’t packed, so I was back up at 07:30 Saturday morning to do that.

Mother-dear and I arrived in the Dirty Haute yesterday afternoon shortly after 13:00; I unloaded my shit in my room and the Thorn office and took Mother-dear out to show her the joys of Italian fast-food: Fazoli’s. She looked tired—she drove up on account of me being sleepy—but headed back after lunch anyway.

I killed time doing more homework until I hobbled over on a not-confirmed-multiply-stress-fracturedmetatarsals-ridden foot to dinner with Miss Amelia Mae. She cooked up latkes for me to try that were yummy. Then we sat and talked for about three hours. Family, friends, life. Gotta get caught up, right?

(What I “gotta” do is find out what kind of workout I can do that doesn’t involve putting more stress on my foot or donning a bathing suit.)

Then I went over to Luke’s, where we hid out and talked for five-plus hours until I was stupid-tired and couldn’t even count cards well enough to play Euchre. There are only twenty four cards in a Euchre deck, so this shouldn’t have been a difficult task. But I did learn to play Euchre. I think… my knowledge should probably be tested now that I’m capable of focusing. Really, though, it’s just like Spades, but with fewer cards, a simpler scoring system, and “tricks” (haha, I turned tricks) instead of books. And that whole weird trump-picking thing.

(As an aside, this is what happens when I don’t get to catch up with friends terribly often. One to two thousand-word e-mails or three-, four-, and five-hour chats. I’m a glutton for human contact; I’m just picky about who I have it with.)

There are really only about three classes of cards games, in my mind. There are those like Spades: Euchre, Hearts. Luck and a bit of strategy to place decent bets. There are those like poker: poker’s varieties, blackjack. Luck and a smooth face. Then there are the “others”: tonk, Uno (color me cheesy for counting Uno), gin rummy or 500 rum. If there’s real strategy to these, I didn’t pick it up when learning from Mother-dear; these are also the Mommy-Lissa games, where the others were usually taught by my father.

Break is over, alas, and I’m (sadly) not ready to be back. I want to be a lazy bum and study/program all day and spend all night talking with friends. That’s what comes after graduation, though, right? Ha. (Yeah, gotta hold out that hope…)

So what’s in Paris, Kentucky?

Not much other than some of my extended family, although the view along the way is spectacular—beautiful ice sculptures along I-75, and horses gallore on the (too short) stretch from Lexington to Paris.

I went to visit my auntie Lisa today.

Theoretically, I went to fix her two computers—which are now home with me, as they were both infected with the LSASS Sasser Worm. (Ah, the good M. D. goes to work…) She must have been infected in the spring, because she hasn’t used her computers in several months, according to GoBack logs, and the threat of that worm tapered off in May, it seems. Both computers, though. We’re looking to blame cousin Jordy, because we know what boys do when given Internet connections, yes?

During my little five-hour stay—which was entirely too short—I attempted to coax my auntie into selling (or at least renting) me her second car, a cute little manual transmission Suzuki truck/car thing that they don’t seem to make anymore; I conversed with (read: giggled at) Nana, who just learned that she’s 30 to 40% deaf in both ears (something everyone but her knew), but refuses to get hearing aids out of stubborn pride; and, best of all, spent quality time with the auntie: we chatted about running and school and work and life and drinking (?!?) and computers and family and Deliverance and so many of our common interests but in so not enough depth.

I realized today that if I had a car, I’d be more likely to spend my stressed-out-must-get-away-from-school weekends at her place than with my parents. (In fact, if I had a car, I would begin to have these “stressed-out-must-get-away-from-school weekends”, which I currently do not have and do not plan to let myself have with my current options.) We have this rapport that is very comfortable and comforting, despite our differences in views on social and political matters. That’s not a slam on my parents, because my time home has been enjoyable, but Aunt Lisa and I can talk adult-to-adult—the way I talk with my friends and equals.

I also realized today just how damn country my father’s family is. They were drawing those vowels out like nothing else. I wanted a digital voice-recorder so that I could commit my auntie and my grandmother’s voices and intonations and accents and words to digital medium and be able to point and say, “Look, look! Listen to all the elements of the story she’s telling.”

But the women in my family are notoriously camera and recorder-shy, so all there is is my memory.

I learned that cousin Jordy is doing passably well. He still limps, and may yet lose his leg. Apparently, serious damage was done to the hip socket, and his leg was left out of the socket for some length of time (transit to the hospital plus check-in, maybe?), so there continues to be some fear that additional problems may develop. Unfortunately, auntie Lisa didn’t seem to remember all the good medical words in her overall mother’s concern for her son’s health, but I can hardly blame her. “Son.getCar() == wrappedAroundTree() && Son == hurt()” and later, “Son > dead()” (if that makes any kind of semantic sense) is probably all she cared about.

I didn’t see him, but I did see one of his older brothers, who was looking well-dressed, albeit platinum-mouthed. My response: a hug and a face that clearly expressed, “?!?!”. I don’t quite get the appeal of metal-in-mouth as anything other than a status symbol; when I had a mouth full of metal and couldn’t eat popcorn or lemons, I wanted that shit out, tout de suite.

Aunt Lisa had taken steps to ensure my complete and inevitable downfall, however. She made peanut butter rolls.

These things are basically powdered sugar, butter, and crunchy peanut butter in a roll—a heart-attack and love-handles in log form. But holy hell…

She made one for the immediate family. She made two for me to take back to Rose. They are currently freezing and waiting for their turn to be defrosted and eaten by however many college folks I can foist them on. Good stuff, but holy crap they’re sweet and rich and just too much.

So I shall share the peanut butter lovin’.

I’ve also taken steps to ensure her complete and utter downfall—I still have her computers, and if I am allowed to converse with her for five minutes, we shall converse for hours. Bru-ha-ha!

Merr’ Chrimmus, indeed.

I wrapped most of my Christmas gifts this morning around 03:00 before I went to bed, and set those for the immediate family outside my door so they wouldn’t have to wait for me to wake up to open them. There was no way in hell I was getting up before 09:00.

I got my mother Isabel Allende’s The House of the Spirits, Michael Crichton’s Prey, and The Very Best of Sting & the Police (of which I am mos def going to have to make a copy; I love me some Sting).

My father is as difficult to shop for as Dr. 7, but I got him a gift certificate to iTunes that should keep him satiated for quite some time.

And I ain’t shoveling that damn driveway anymore until I need to go somewhere—like back to Rose. Which may be happening entirely too early (like Wednesday) on account of the weather.

My mother is currently pissed because her Amazon shipment for me hasn’t come in yet; to top it off, it looks like it won’t be coming until around January 3—long after I’ll be settled in at Rose again.

She did, however, get me some clothing: two knitted turtleneck ponchos (one tan, one black; can’t find a picture of the brand she got) with accompanying appropriate shirts. Interesting; I hope I can pull the style off.

Now I just need to be able to leave the house (without chipping at the ice in the driveway) so I can have an excuse to wear them…

Oh! And I got the awesomest book from Dulin: Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life. When he asked me what I wanted for Chrimmus, my response was:

Hmm… Find me a fascinating biography or autobiography—no shadow-written political books, although political figures are fine (particularly those in Latin American countries or Soviet bloc[-esque] countries).

😀 Have fun…

I’d say he did wonderfully…

My auntie Peaches didn’t make it over for dinner (we are getting damned frustrated dealing with this woman…), but we made good food anyway. I whipped up homemade garlic mashed potatoes and made auntie Peaches’ cornbread stuffing (recipe below, in the extension of the entry). Mother-dear made auntie Lisa’s sweet potato casserole (recipe also below), broccoli, and macaroni and cheese from scratch. The Old Man was typically annoying by eating all the yummy topping off the sweet potato casserole and leaving just the potatoes, the dirty bum.

Because my family is one of television-watchers, dinner was accompanied with the mandatory viewing of—of all movies—Kingdom Come. For all of the childhood jokes my friends made about my mother reminding them of Whoopi Goldberg (?!?), that movie is the one where the similarities in personality are apparent even to me. Weird.

Ah, well. Christmas is good. Particularly after a call from Mae, a chat yesterday with Dr. 7 (in which he pointed out a game that would be perfect for the likes of me), e-mails abound from friends, and my first-ever comment from Dr. 7. Now, whether this occurred because Luke isn’t around to pass along his commentary or because of some change in opinion about my blog, I don’t know.

Continue reading Merr’ Chrimmus, indeed.