Sian

Do men ever actually think about what they're thinking about saying before they actually say it?  And why is it that they always seem to say the scariest damn things to me? 

I bumped into a guy while I was shopping the other day.  Literally.  Guy I thought I had never seen before in my life.  Seriously.  Walked around a corner too fast, and bam! 

And then he started being sorta lurkey, weird, so I hurried to get my soda and chips and get the hell out of there, and wound up bumping into him about three other times...

Before he finally decided to open his mouth and talk to me.

At which point I really wished that I had ditched the chips and gotten out.

What he said was, "I saw you a month ago, and...." 

Great.  Just great.  And now, you're talking.  Good for you.  I think I'll spring for the extra four bucks and load my .357  with the long rounds, tonight.

And yes, there was a compliment somewhere in those ellipses, but, ewww!

The moral of this story would be Sian's Helpful Hint:

If you walk up to a woman at random and tell her how you've been watching her for a month, her response is going to be ewww!

Because it just isn't cute if you tell someone that it took you a month to get up the nerve to talk to her.  That's only romantic if you've been married for forty years and she's sure you don't wind up chopping her into little bitty peices at the end of the book.

posted by: SianNorah at 23:10 | link | comments (1)

I took the evil mid term, and sure enough, he gave us about three times as much as we could possibly be expected to get through in an hour and a half.  Then, he spent ten minutes walking around and whispering that we didn't need to worry about the various parts that we hadn't gotten to.  Very efficient.  Not at all disruptive.

I bought my baby cousin a book for Christmas.  No, I'm not that organized, really, but the author was in, so I got the thing signed and personalized.  Now I just have to find something for the other two. 

I do strive for some kind of equality in the way I treat them, but in all honesty, the little boy I just couldn't help buying the book for is my favorite.  I'll admit it, and I'd probably even admit it to them.  (Well, not to the other two.  Not while they're little.)  But maybe just the parents aren't supposed to have favorites.  Maybe not even them.  I'm not really sure.  I happen to think mine is the smartest and the best.  In any event, he's outgoing, and we get along well, and he reminds me of a lot of people I loved when they were his age, so there you have it.  He's my favorite.

The middle one is a crier.  Really.  The kind of kid who gets beaten up every day because the other kids know they're guaranteed a response.  It gets on my nerves.  And the little one has very little personality, to speak of.  Maybe he'll grow into it.  Or turn into an accountant.  One or the other.

Of course, I'm going to buy them all books.  But child #1 gets a book because I wanted to buy him a book.  The other two get books because after I bought the first one a book, it was right to buy the others books, as well.

That's one of the big things that scares me about having kids of my own.

What if I get one that just isn't any good?  What if I don't like him?

What if he's stupid, or ugly, or just sits there like a lump?

What if he doesn't like Monty Python?  Or... gulp....  what if Terry Gilliam is his favorite python, and we don't do anything but stare at eachother until he turns eighteen?

The author warned me that Baby Cousin #1 might "need some help" reading it, when I told him how old BC#1 is, but of course, he won't.  Probably one of the reasons why he's my favorite.

posted by: SianNorah at 19:49 | link | comments

I don't know why the hell I continue to do this.  Maybe I'm just a masochist, or maybe far too much of an idalist for my own good.  So, I'm slowly pedaling closer to graduate school, but the truth is, I'm just not having fun in this class, anymore.  And it isn't the language, or the grammar, or the people I'm taking the class with.  In fact, the only real variables are that instead of doing Catullus, we're doing Juvenal, this semester, and the professor.  Back to Professor Nostrils, I'm afraid, and the results are conclusive.

And I'm really not the only one who feels that way.  In fact, I may have some of the most neutral-leaning tendencies of anyone in the class.

Part of it, of course, is that this is a very young department, and there's nobody in it who has any kind of checking influence on him.  In fact, there's no one in Classics, itself, who has tenure.  That's how young it is.  Nobody notably older than Nostrils.  Nobody who people come to the University to study with.  Which, in and of itself, would not have stopped me from studying here, but still gives you a little bit to think about.  In other places, in other schools, there would be someone to whom the younger professors look up, someone whose high opinions they would desire, and someone to whom the students could turn, when things get out of hand.

You know the prof I'm talking about.  The semi-emeritus genius whose whole life has gone into his research and the university.  The guy who has left us everything in his will, and who really does think of us as his children.

There's no one like that here.

And even though I'm getting closer in the objective end of it--the x number of hours of this, that and the other--I'm certainly no closer than I ever was to the subjective.  I was hoping to be able to use a recommendation or two from this little endevour, and I'm just not going to be able to do that.  And for more reasons than one.  So, I'm thinking about what I should do, and what I can do, and all those things.

posted by: SianNorah at 17:19 | link | comments
quest for graduate school

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