I just agreed to work in another lab, which means for the next year I’ll be doing 20 hours a week as an RA, writing an Honors Thesis, and doing 15 hours a week in a different lab. When I told Michael this it felt like when Jordan from The Challenge (don’t have time to write it out, you can look it up if interested) decided to flip over all the cards and forced himself into the final death match round. I couldn’t find a gif of this (bad on me) but here’s a picture so you have an idea what the next 10 months will look like in my life.
|—||My entire synopsis of the applicant. Because come on lady, there is no way in hell you need two pages to elaborate on your achievements when I go without shaving my legs for longer than you’ve had your BA. Fucking get real.|
Dad took this picture of the car he drove as a teenager (different paint job, his was more guttural). It’s raw power with a windshield.
I’ve been out of the house for 20 minutes and I’ve already had several compliments on my nails from grown women. It’s important because my nail art includes glitter today.
Earlier today I lost my shit a little when the boss suggested we call the military and ask if they want a recruiting booth at our block party.
Two of the people on my team (of four) were down with this. It kind of freaked me out in a way that I wasn’t able to gracefully recover from. The ensuing conversation is a blur but I remember at some point saying, “You think there’s nothing wrong with it?! Tell me: do you want your siblings being sent over and ground up into man meat because they went to a community party?!” I think I scared them.
The fourth coworker was on the phone during my minor meltdown and when she got off (I had a sense she’d be on my side) I dragged her into it. And she agreed with me! (“I don’t like how they scoop up the poor.”) I was so grateful. There was a tense three minutes where I was convinced I was going to lose that discussion. I’m glad I won’t have to wrestle with myself and morals late tonight over the way things went.
Sweating my ass off on the East Coast, just like everyone else who lives here. Missing Seattle’s summer and slow dancing late at night with my dude when it’s cool enough to touch.
It bums me out when I’m going through resumes for a 30k/year secretary job we’re hiring for and the applicant’s work history goes back to the 80’s.
I was standing downtown, looking badass in my sunnies, you know, like I do. And I wished I could listen to this Built To Spill song from my childhood. So I start a Pandora station hoping it will come up, and the first song to play is the one that was stuck in my head. Those algorithms are getting really sophisticated I guess.
How I felt when someone gave us 2k worth of stage, lighting and sound stuff for our block party.
|—||Genuous: when the generous donation is genuine. (it’s actually not that common, you’d be sah-prised.)|
[In response to the question: boyfriend sleepy on couch, help?]
ANDRE L: Because far too many women have the delusion that if a man is doing something that she doesn’t like, that she is entitled to biyatch whine and moan about it.
There’s a proper word for such women: Divorced.