The Impartial Yogurt Motel

I've been in a very soupy mood lately.
Either that or chili.
But mainly soup.

Also, I'm so extremely burned out with school right now.
So incredibly burned that I don't even want to get my master's anymore.
I've lost my momentum, my motivation, and even my reason for becoming a CPA.
It's quite a tragedy.

But I'm just really tired of grad school getting in the way of my future.
Which is really ironic, if you think about it.
But it limits me.
Limits us.

And I'm really tired of people being like, "Oh! You're graduating in May? Congratulations!" because they assume, you know, that I'm moving on with my life, when in reality, I'm just going to be doing the same thing I have been for the last 17 years.

Yes, I started Pre-K when I was 4 and have been in school ever since.

The word "graduate" doesn't even hold the connotation it used to.

Concerning this summer:
I want to go to Chicago.
I want to go on a cruise.
I want to live ALONE. Ish. (less than or equal to one roommate)

But more than anything, I just want to sit in my room and sew.

All day erry day.

That would be life.
And it would be grand.

*yesterday at work*
Me: Well, I'm going to go learn about enterprise funds.
Caleb: I'm going to read about air conditioners.

Every haberdashery has a story,
TWS

Hard Boiled Legs

I got an e-mail this afternoon:

Good afternoon, Eagles!
Thursday, November 3rd the Office of Career Services is hosting "Day at the Casino," 11 a.m. until 2 p.m. at the Russell Union common area.
*other information about the event*
We hope to see you there!
-Office of Career Services

And then not ten minutes later:

Good afternoon,
I apologize, but I wanted to send a corrected message for the "Day at the Casino" event. The event will take place Thursday November 3rd, rather than November 3rd. Thank you for your understanding.

????
Either someone is trolling or just being obnoxiously stupid.
I'll probably be getting a third e-mail soon, correcting the correction.

Additionally, I got invited to go to a recognition ceremony because of my "performance" in the "rigorous discipline" of managerial accounting. I'm "really excited" because the letter said I would be honored with a lapel pin. I got one last spring for being recognized for financial accounting, and so now I feel like a boy scout, collecting all my little badges.
Too bad they don't have one for "prettiest eyes".
That was a reference to Parks and Rec.
Which no one- except Mike and I- watches.
*sigh*

*last time I was home*
Brother-In-Law: Hey! Your fly is open.
Me: It's okay. I'm wearing cute panties.

I bought a pack of gum and put it in my purse, and now my keys, phone, pencils, and sunglasses smell like grapes. It's probably the biggest impact a pack of gum has ever had on my life.

*talking about a skirt pattern at dinner*
Me: I like how it's on the bias.
Mum: It's on the bias AND it has gathers.
Me: I like gathers.
Dad: So we gathered.

(he actually got that from this post, about half way down the page)
(or so I think)

And I've been adding the suffix "ish" on a lot of words and sentences lately.
It makes everything that I say open to interpretation, even if I'm completely wrong.
For example, the other day, I apologized to someone on the road by saying, "Sorry, guy...ish" because I drove by and saw that it was, in fact, a girl.

I went to bed at like 11:30 last night and was supposed to wake up at 8:45 this morning, but then my roommate brought a deplorable amount of plastic bags home and proceeded to make a lively morning sun song to the plastic bag gods. I don't actually know if that is what she did with them, but there shouldn't be that many plastic bags allowed that early in the morning.
Ever.
She might as well have been vacuuming.

I really didn't want to wake up and do life today anyway. Especially since I was having a dream about Mike and I being toothpaste salesmen. We were making a profit of $15 on every case we sold, and when your dreams are as fun as mine, you just don't want to leave!
And, no, 9 hours of sleep still wasn't enough.

I just want to sleep the rest of this semester away.

And here's something else:
I got approved for senior privilege a while back (i.e. taking grad classes while finishing undergrad), and I put on the form that I want to take this finance class.
So the Macc coordinator contacts the registrar's office, and they put me in!

But then I get this e-mail a couple days later that's all like (said in the voice of Lumbergh from Office Space), "Um, yeeeeah...we're going to need you to not take this class because we have to reserve the seats for the fat butts of our MBA students. So if you could just sign up for something else, that'd be greeeeat. "

So then basically boyfriend and his band of miscreants get priority over zealous seniors like myself. And I even turned in the form early.

But here's something else about Mike: HE GOT HIS PERM JOB.
So now he gets awesome grown-up things like a SALARY, and HEALTH INSURANCE, and TUITION REIMBURSEMENT and a 401K.
Ish.
He gets the full offer and details from HR next week, but it's still massively exciting.
And I so jealous!!!!

But between winning the iPad and being with this guy, I definitely feel luckier about being with this guy:

*cute pic coming Monday night...ish*

**UPDATED**















No, Windows Explorer, I do not want to "play" my flash drive using Media Player.
Silly Media Player.
It tries so hard.

We are homeward bound and I, I want this more than life,
TWS

Those are lyrics from this song that I like.
Listen to it while you comment! :D

Rod Stewart

I feel like I fight a war against my mirror every day.
It's not what you think, though. I have these enormous mirrors attached to sliding doors in my closet. And when I roll them to one side to get out my guitar, for example, they come off their little tracks and decide to get really heavy all of the sudden.
Hence the war.
And I always win.
I don't know why they even try to fight anymore. I think it's my galoshes that start the problem. They're the equivalent to disgruntled peasants/common-folk, if you know anything about how wars typically get started.

So Mike bought some toothpaste.
"Extra-whitening! I gotta keep 'em white...for your mom. And that wasn't even a mom joke."

Also, we were walking at the park, and the ground got all mushy. I said it felt like I was in a bond sinking fund.
High five if you know what that is.

Anybody want to tell me why I have Britney Spears' "Sometimes" stuck in my head?

I have to do these current articles for my management class, and today I was writing my last one for the semester. After writing about 10+ business concepts, you have to summarize the article and discuss it, which includes detailing why you chose the article that you did.

What I submitted:

I chose this article because it had a lot of interesting economic concepts in it- like luxury goods and demand shifts, as well as marketing concepts- like positioning and market segmentation.

What I actually typed and then deleted:

I chose this article because it looked kind of interesting and so I started reading it, and then before I knew it, it was over, and I didn't want to read anything else, so I just went with it.

HEY! Remember my love affair with cheese that started around this same time last year? Yeah- we're still going steady. It's a healthy relationship brought about by CHEESE WEDGES. And laughing cows, apparently.

I really, REALLY want to go shoe shopping.
Good thing the internet exists.

Funny picture time:


















In the elevator:
Joe: So you're a straight-A student?
Me: Sure?
Joe: That's annoying.

Joe's annoying.
And I get to be in a van with him for 11 hours on the way to Cincinatti in a few weeks.
I'll let you know how that turns out.

Fund balance is almost always the answer,
TWS

(well, either fund balance or South Africa)

Sage

I realized today that I'm not completely opposed to the idea of chamber pots.
I was going to make a blog post about it, but I figure it would disgust the population more than entertain it.
If you would still like to hear my thoughts, leave a comment. I will gladly reciprocate.

Homework. It's what's for dinner.















Gone With the Wind is for reading- not for throwing,
TWS

Argyle Tights

This week everything really hit the fan.
I like that phrase, "hit the fan".
I feel that it really gives an accurate description about how everything has been going this week.

For example, my umbrella broke Monday.
You guys would've laughed.
Seriously- I was coming out of COBA, and I opened up my umbrella, and in the same instance, a breeze on steroids decides to come through with no good intentions and turns it inside out. This, of course, breaks one of the holder-upper-pole-thingies, but I manage to turn it the right way, and everything was almost happy again, when a second hurricane came through and tore 7/8 of the holder-upper-pole-thingies apart, so that I was left with nothing but a flaccid remnant of an umbrella, far beyond repair. I got so mad at it that I jammed the opening/closing apparatus down, which broke the spring (for some reason umbrellas contain springs? Who knew?) and sent a lot of a little metal pieces flying. A girl screamed. And then I threw it away in the trashcan behind the library.

Yes, "holder-upper-pole-thingies" and "pull opening/closing apparatuses". These are technical terms. It's like when I used to call Mike a "boy-man-thing" behind his back.
Because he is...

And then on Tuesday I worked on a project from 10:30 am to 7:00 pm.
That is over 8 consecutive hours, GUYS.
And then did some more homework from 7 to 9.
Was that project the same one that I was doing on my weekend "off"?
Yes. Yes it was.
But now that bizz-nitch is DONE and now I can spend my Sunday afternoons doing something else.
Like watching football with Mike.
Yay?

And then we were going over our test in accounting, and I put "none of the above" for an answer, which was wrong, but then I explained my assumption to the teacher in front of everyone and he could see what I explained, so now he's going to change the answer.
So now I legitimately received an A along with a few high fives from classmates who did the same thing, but didn't want to speak up.
Good, SOLID high-fives.
I was like a hero.

And then today I spent over two hours writing an article summary and doing tax research.
Like ACTUAL TAX RESEARCH, GUYS.
Do you realize I'm not even getting paid for doing this????

AND THEN...
my milk expired.

Have you ever not wanted to shower SO BAD that you just didn't?
That's how I am today.
Too much information? Too bad.
And every so often, I'll smell something weird, and it makes me sad when I realize it's me. I'm not really concerned with other people being offended by me because no one gets all up in my hair like I do, so I'm really just more amused with how gross I look and feel.
I'm not becoming a hobo; it's just for today- I promise.
But now I get to go home and take the most invigorating shower!

Then after that, I have to go over to my friend Chris's house to work on a presentation for Managerial II. At least Chris is cool. And he kind of looks like me, which is also cool, but kind of weird.

And then tomorrow, I have to wake up in the morning and actually be a person when I very much don't feel like being a person.

Life is so much easier said than done.

We're not in Kansas anymore,
TWS

Arson Is Easy

Standing on the edge of my convictions
I'm feeling a new way that I've never before felt.
I've got my hair tied back and my war paint on
And my hands akimbo on my belt

I've got my own voice in my ear
and it just won't quit
'Cause I'm feeling like a pyro, but I want to take the high road
So my decision's split.

Is it weird that I want to tear out all the pages where I wrote about him
and throw them into my fireplace?
Is it weird that I want to light a match and watch it all burned so it's like it never happened and like I never made those mistakes?

I want to rid the world of pen and paper memories
I want to rid my conscience of all the Daniels and Emilys
I want to watch the flames grow higher, and I'll keep all composure
'Cause arson is easier
than closure.

Standing on the edge of morning now
It's the beginning to all of my days
when I see those bridges leading nowhere
and just want to set all of them ablaze

And those roads that remind me of her
Oh, I wish I could
They're just to remind me that I'll never be
as good

So is it weird that I want to burn down the apartments where you two used to live
just so I can clear the image from my mind?
Is it weird that I want to hold your hand as I watch the buildings fall down
so that when the smoke clears we can see that nothing's left behind?

I want to rid the world of brick and mortar memories
I want to rid my conscience of all the Daniels and Emilys
I want to watch the flames grow higher and I'll keep all composure
'Cause arson is easier
than closure

And I know someday you will, yeah
You'll want to set it on fire
'Cause arson is easier
And it makes me not a liar

*take it down*
I want to rid the world of brick and mortar memories
I want to clear it all from my mind
They say forgive and forget; it just hasn't happened yet
I'm gonna give it a try

But arson is easier
Arson is easier
than closure,
than saying goodbye
for the very last time

Sometimes you just gotta let it go

-end-

I don't really condone arson, but there's nothing like a good fire that brings a crackling sound with warmth, light and merriment.

And then ashes.

TWS

The Larynx

It would be such a great title for a book.
But it works for a blog post, too.

So the getting-a-new-and-relevant-and-exciting-and-higher-paying-job thing didn't work out. Turns out they couldn't wait around 4 months for me and already hired someone. They're still keeping my resume on file because they're still impressed with it, but the only way I can get the job now is if something happens to the person that they have.
Like kidnapping, for instance.
Or Crohn's disease.

I've accepted that it was a sign from God. Maybe I'm not meant to be in Savannah right now.
If I could describe this situation in four letters, those letters would be JCMD.
(Yeah, you thought I was going to say something else, dintcha?)
Jesus commands my destiny.
Also, IGSD.
I get stuff done.

I should make decorative buttons that I can wear with these letters on them.
Business Idea #9.

So now that I know I'm going to be working in student accounts for another 10 months, I can just relax and apply for a graduate assistantship before March.
I got advised yesterday, and they're actually letting me do what I want to do, i.e. take two of the hardest graduate classes over the summer. My thought process is that why drag the terribleness through 15 weeks in a normal semester when I can knock it out in five? (and for cheaper!)
Seminar in Financial Accounting *and* Taxation of Corps. and Partnerships.
Bring it.

In other news:
Guys are fascinating.
I hate when they wear muscle shirts, but I love when they do things like this:


















That's from a science test that my Facebook friend, Josh, took. We had a class together freshman year. He was pretty interesting then, and I still think he is.

Guys are also fascinating when they’re watching football.
I’ve been observing the behavior of boyfriend and his roommate for few weeks now, and here are my observations littered with some quotes from some sit-coms:

First, boyfriend has to change clothes to watch football. It’s like football’s a religion, and jerseys are Sunday dress.

Whitney Cummings: “I don’t understand why guys wear jerseys while they watch sports games. You’re not on the team! That’s like me watching SVU dressed as a dead hooker.”

I think they wear jerseys so that when their team doesn’t do well, they have something to barbarically rip off their chest and throw on the floor. It’s like dramatic lighting, but with clothes.

Next, they proceed to praise and deride people they don’t even know. It’s amazing how vocal and excited they get about certain people crossing certain lines. They even stand up and point at the TV and sometimes yell vague directions to certain players such as, “TAKE IT HOME!!!” or “PICK THAT!”

My favorite is when boyfriend's fantasy team doesn’t do well. *sarcasm*
I never hear the end of it, but I’m like: YOU get to pick YOUR players. Granted, you don’t know how well they’ll do and a stroke of bad luck can defenestrate your whole draft, but you really have no one to blame but yourself for your team compilation.

ADD moment: I've always thought it was interesting how the words "throw something out of a window" got its own verb. Defenestrate. It must happen a lot.

Back to story: So not only does your team not win in reality, but you can’t even win in your fantasies?

Dwight: Welcome to the Hotel Hell. Check-in time is now, checkout time is never.
Jim: Does my room have cable?
Dwight: No. And the sheets are made of fire.
Jim: Can I change rooms?
Dwight: I’ll have to talk to the manager.
Jim: You’re not the manager, even in your own fantasy?
Dwight: I’m the owner…the co-owner. With Satan!
Jim: Okay- just so I understand it. In your wildest fantasy, you are in hell and you are co-running a bed and breakfast with the devil.
Dwight: But I haven’t told you my salary yet.
Jim: Go.
Dwight: Eighty thousand dollars.

I may not even have a boyfriend after this post.
(But seriously- why are the guys that I date always fans of the worst teams in the NFL?)

So after some "massive sadness" and “ridiculous garbage” happens on the TV, the game goes to a commercial break for Subway.

*Five dollar! Five dollar foot looooong: any any any*

The guys are suddenly transfixed in a silent, captivating rapture, as pictures of sandwiches flash across the screen. Then after the commercial, they start talking about how wonderful Philly steak and cheese subs are.

Boy logic ≠ girl logic.

I was trying to take a nap in the adjacent room among this raucous ruckus and ended up writing this blog post.

And here’s a true story that gives more supporting evidence to the mystic thought processes of men:
I was riding my bike home from work last Friday, and I was stopped at the big intersection where the dorms meet the bars. Being a late Friday afternoon, there wasn’t much traffic, and so when the cars were clear, I biked across the road.
And then this guy in a truck ca-caws at me like I’m some kind of bird that will be receptive to such a noise. I was wearing sunglasses, so he didn’t see my glare, and I’ve found that it’s better to ignore them, so I quickly biked away.

But WHY do guys seem to think this is such an effective method of communication? It’s embarrassing for everyone involved, and nothing good is going to come of it. This time, it wasn’t even a whistle or a “hey guh!” It was a straight up mating call.
I may be a chick, but I am not a bird. I’m a PERSON, and I have things like a FAVORITE COLOR and a GRANDMOTHER and even a PANCREAS!
So do I deserve to be ca-cawed at?
No.
No, I do not.
It’s nice to know I’m still hot, but let me know some other way, geez.

I guess this is the bad karma for whining about not being called cute the other day.
Which reminds me: I have a picture to share!
This is me right before my Intermediate II test:




















Tom Haverford: "Oh, am I wearing an ascot? I didn't notice."

I didn't have a picture of myself after the test, but I would've been GLOWING, if the test went as well as I think it did.
Which I think it did.

So I just finished proofreading, and I apologize if this blog post was a little all over the place. All I can say is that it's the result of blogging and drinking Mello Yello simultaneously.

AEIOU and sometimes Y,
TWS

Disclaimer: Birds actually do have pancreases (and grandmothers, I guess), but in my research trying to find something that humans have that birds don't, I found that birds are inherently are more awesome than humans. They have backwards knees for goodness sake.
And here's the real kicker: THEY CAN FLY.
True story.