"Hello, no one is available to take your call...."

Day one of my major exams are is in less than 24 hours. So what am I doing? Blogging! Actually, I'm just making a short comment and then getting back to the studying I've been at since 10:30 this morning (it only started that late because I went to bed at 3).

And so... as a continuation from my subject line:

Out of my mind. Back after the 27th. Please leave a message, after the tone-

Beep.

Miscellaneous Megafauna, Paper Clip Lock Picks & Impending Doom

My day began fairly normally- not particularly eventful. I blew through another portion of a project I have due very shortly, and the professor and TF for that class took a few of us out to eat dinner. I returned to my office by 11, set on finishing the project in its entirety. Right after making use of the facilities- you see, I'd partaken in a beer or two to personally celebrate my hard work.

The student office has a key pad we use to get in. Every now and then, the thing malfunctions, so we tend to keep a set of keys on us for back up. It'd functioned without any hitch all day, so I took this to mean that I was in the clear.

When I came back, I found myself locked out in the hall. The keys were on my desk. with my cell phone. and ID. and everything else that might be useful. So things progressed from there in an exponential stream of rapidly deteriorating sanity.

1) punching in the code over and over again hoping it would work (you see, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result)
2) trying to remove the key pad to mess with the wires (first with my finger nails, then with thumb tacks I found in a near by message board)
3) pulling out some of the wires through one of the lights (I obviously wasn't the first one to try this, the light was already loose)

When none of these things worked, I weighed my options by wandering around the rest of the floor. See, most of the offices were locked as well, as was the entrance to the main reception area (and the couches). We have a student lounge, but the chairs aren't ideal for stretching out in- even if you push a few together. I did, however, find a croquette set in the student lounge- no, I didn't use the mallets to break through the door. I picked up the wire hoops instead. unfortunately, they weren't skinny enough to be of use to me- but the box of paper clips I found shortly thereafter next to the copy machine looked promising. I'm sure you can see where this is going. While I was fairly certain that I could kick the door open, I was even more certain that the department wouldn't like it- even if the breaking and entering happened at my own office. I settled on trying to pick the lock.

Since my department studies people, I could easily argue that I was doing what humans post Neanderthals are known to do- coming up with innovative new tools. Homo sapiens theoretically out competed Homo neanderthalis in just this way. They came up with new kinds of tools, and were constantly making changes to suit their needs. In so doing, they more efficiently exploited their environment and other environments not previously available for colonization (too cold, etc... but with things like bone tools, aka needles, they could sew together the animal hides that Hominins had worn until then by slinging around themselves to make form fitting clothing that could thus be worn to keep them warm when traveling into cold regions). The more successful Homo sapiens (us, btw) could reproduce more successfully, increasing their populations, and out competing Homo neanderthalis- okay, I'm going to leave it at that. The take home message here is that I was innovatively solving my problems.

Roughly one hour and 8 paper clips later, I decided this wasn't working out and resigned myself to spending the night in the hallway. I resorted to what most slightly sleep deprived students with "free time" on their hands, getting ready for prelims would do- I took a practice exam. Since, as I mentioned, everything I owned that was remotely useful was on the wrong side of the locked door- I lacked pen and paper. So, I took the exam out loud.

When the security guard found me an hour later sitting on the floor next to a pile of destroyed paper clips talking out loud to no one in particular about the extinction of megafauna in North America, he made a point of asking me for my student ID. He was nice enough not to draw attention to the mangled strands of metal, though he clearly saw them given the priceless expression on his face and obvious stare. Did I mention that in addition to my keys, phone and ID, neither were my shoes on my person? That's right, they were in my office, under my desk. I looked and sounded like a legitimately crazy person.

So while I had every intention of actually going home tonight, I'm back on my friend's couch as she is ever so kind as to lend me its use (as I may or may not have mentioned, I've taken up residence for the past week on my friend's couch, as she is much closer to school than I am). Once the security guard nervously let me back in the lab, I sent my friend a message bringing her up to date on this crap, and she sympathetically invited me to come back over and crash on her couch. However, when I got there, her cell phone wasn't getting reception, and since she resides in a dorm, my key card wasn't having any of it- so I had to find a way to get in touch with her so I could stop standing out in the 14 degree weather. The logical choice: snowballs. I assailed her window with them. Luckily, I picked the ones that belonged to her. Because throwing snowballs at the wrong window, unlike everything else that happened with my night, would have been awkward.

Oh well, by this time, all my visions of being even more productive this evening had turned into delusions, so I've put the project on the back burner- until tomorrow.

Lyric of the Day: "So wait, for the stone, on your window, your window. Wait, by the car, and we'll go, we'll go- Valencia..."

Surprise Rats, Epiphanies, & Underwear

I've come to a realization.

That whole episode following my break up was upsetting, as those kinds of things sometimes will be. I had a very understanding professor tell me that loss of that kind can often be likened with the death of a loved one. That is very true- I was reminded of the traumatic death of the rat I kept in high school through to college. As ridiculous as this sounds, and as trivial as you might think it makes my former relationship seem, I should probably explain that this rat was sort of like a member of the family.

When I was a kid, I had a habit I picked up from my mom, that was particularly irritating to my dad- which entailed bringing home the various animals I encountered and installing them in our house. By the time I turned 17, I got my license. This made things infinitely worse, because access to a car dramatically increased the number chance of encounters I had with random fauna, facilitated them, even. It also made it extremely easy for me to transport them home.

There was a small petshop in my hometown, and on one particular occasion I decided it would be a phenomenal idea to stop in and look at the rodents. I'd always wanted a mouse, there was this romantic notion in my head of keeping one in my pocket. Instead, I noticed a tank of ugly hairless looking things in a corner.

Darla was a rex, or half hairless rat, and the only girl in a litter of boys. She was so ugly, that when the girl working there told me the litter would be turned into snake food soon if nobody took them, I decided that she was better off with me.

The first 3 weeks of her life were spent residing nightly in the bottom drawer of my dresser, or daily in a shoe box that traveled EVERYWHERE with me. Within the week, my sister knew about her. In two weeks, so did the entire neighborhood. Everybody knew. Except my mother. After awhile, she started trying to fake me out. "I looked in that shoebox today." She would say carefully. "...No you didn't." "...How do you KNOW?!" How? Because if she had, I wouldn't have been alive to answer the question.

She eventually did find out, and immediately wished that she hadn't. She was rather frustrated with me, now that my sister and all her little friends knew what it was that I was carrying around everywhere in addition to the neighbors, while she still did not know. Having spent the last 3 weeks bringing the rat to and from school, and trying to keep the cat out of the room, I was a little weary of the secrecy, and thought that the entertainment value was depreciating- so maybe dropping the charade would be better. Besides, the week prior, Darla had realized that she could migrate throughout the dresser, and as a result I was now severely lacking in underwear and socks. Explaining why I needed to go shopping to replace all of these would be difficult without coming clean. I waited until she brought up the shoe box. Mom was angry, insisted that now she didn't want to know, and started dealing with dinner in the kitchen. My method of dealing with this, now that the underwear situation was getting dire, was to put the contents on my shoulder, and wander around the house (I would later use this similar technique to disclose my new tattoo- and it would be met with even less success).

"Here mom."
"What?"
"Shoe box."
"Wha- OH MY GOD-"

Apparently, the night before she'd stayed up watching a PBS thing on the bubonic plague, and the fact that there was a patchy looking rat in her house wasn't optimal.

Either way, cut a long story short, the rat became a regular member of the family, usually sat on me for meals, and got her own made for her by my mother when I was away at college. My sister complained.

"Mom made eggs this morning."
"Oh?"
"-For the rat."

When she passed away, there was much heartbreak, and I didn't get out of bed for about 3 days.

Quotes at Random: 1

"Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live."

-Oscar Wilde

Cats, Rats & a Brief Animated Interlude

You may have noticed the slowly accumulating cat iconography all over my page. And the frequent references to cats. This is actually inexplicable because 24 years of experience tells me that I don't mix well with cats. At all.

As the least of my worries, I'm fairly allergic. So it makes not a lick of sense that I frequently browse petfinder, look for them, or ask other people to give me one. I like my friends' cats. And they like me for a pin cushion.

I slept over a dear friend's house last year and spent some quality time cuddling her newly acquired (spoiled) kitten. This cat had more toys than a Toys R Us. AND they were technologically fun for humans. There was a thing called a "panic mouse" that I got to be present for the christening of, and it was fascinating. It even kept the cat entertained for like an afternoon. You attach a feather to the end of this thing and it whips it around at whatever speed you want.

Anyway, I slept over and kitten had been pretty calm all day. Right after I fell asleep I woke up in a perceived warzone. The "kitten" had spent his day sleeping, so he was full of energy for the rest of the night and catapulted (hardy har har) at my face and landed paws down, nails out. Alarm clocks are effective, but if you could put a timer on this thing that didn't go off at 3 am, I'd say you'd never have problems with wanting to hit the snooze button ever again. Here's a mild re-enactment, with most of the violence cut out:



Come to think of it, I've had a lot of fairly unfortunate run ins with cats. The first was when I was 8. I had a cat named Holly (We found her around Christmas, and being 8 I thought I was pretty clever matching her name with her "birthday"... I'd shown similar genius a couple years later that when unrecognized by my mom when I suggested we name the dog Petunia. Since it was spring and all.). So we had this cat that was actually pretty friendly. Nice. Aesthetic enough. Incapable of recognizing the litter box but hey, everybody's got something. She disappeared in the middle of winter, and showed up several weeks later in a blizzard. I was decked out in all kinds of dress up clothes (again, I was 8) in multiple layers because it was cold. So I scooped up the cat and brought her to the basement. We hoped that putting her on the same floor as the litter box might jog her memory as to "this is a litter box, use it". A few weeks away, she was more likely to have forgotten than usual but we were optimistic. Whatever the idea was, it concluded with me stuffed into a concrete wall at the bottom of the stairs. One broken arm, two ambulances (the first one got stuck in the snow), a newly discovered (ridiculously uncomfortable) allergy to morphine and 3 pins later, I came home to discover that that cat was no longer taking residence at our house, but with a nice farmer some towns over.

The other incident happened a few years later when I tried sleeping at a neighbor's house. I ended up in the top bunk that night, which was pretty neat, I liked heights back then. By morning, however, the cat decided that there wasn't room up there for the both of us and after a rude, multiple clawed wake up call, I found myself evicted and relocated (rather abruptly) to the floor. Her parents came in because I shook the foundation.

Therefore, there is actually no logical reason that I should have a cat. It's been proven fairly well that I can't handle cats (and in previous posts, children, dogs or even fish). And yet, I still find some appeal in having a fuzzy thing around. Maybe I'll get a rat.

Rent, Renting, & Exploding dishwashers.

I've been tidying my room in an effort to increase my productivity. It's "wintry mix"-ing (www.weather.com, 2009) right now outside so I decided that I would avoid going to the office and just work from here. The only problem is that the room is a mess and full of distractions. I would have braved the icy sidewalks, and saved myself from this, but when I tried that earlier this week I slid across and then off the sidewalk not 100 meters from my house and yanked something out of alignment in my lower back. Somehow, going to yoga sounded like a good idea after that. I now have a numb left hand. Don't ask, I don't know and the doctors don't either. The back, however, is pretty much fine now! Wow, yanked my back out of alignment? I just actually read that statement and had to take a moment to drink in the idiocy of it. Talk about getting old. Before you know it, I'll be getting a walker.

So I'm picking up glasses. I have 3 glasses, 4 mugs, a Powerade bottle, a bowl, assorted cutlery, and a Sam Adams cranberry lambic. Oh, and something that looks like one of those fancy flowery tall glasses they bring you sundaes in at Friendly's. The problem is that I don't want to have to wash them all right now. And I can't leave them in our sink. And our dishwasher exploded a few days ago so I really don't have a way out. I'm just going to end up putting them in a corner.

Oh, right, dishwasher explosions. So watching Rent took me two attempts to get all the way through it because on the first evening, the dishwasher interrupted the viewing. My roommate went into the kitchen at 10:30 to get something, I was on the couch being a weepy girl, when: "Um... you should see this."
"What is it?"
"Dishwasher is... leaking."
"Oh, we'll just clean it up after the movie."
"Um... no I think you should really see this."

Turns out that if we'd had koi, we could have had a reflecting pool. In our kitchen. There was standing water almost all the way to the living room. She sent me downstairs for a bucket. When I got into the basement, I realized that we also now had a waterfall.

"There's... water down here too."
"Is it a lot?"
"...Well.........."

Yes, and it was cascading down onto the appliances. We called my third roommate to tell her "Welcome back from vacation, I'm sure you're on your way... um... the dishwasher exploded everywhere just so you know the situation.... Happy New Year!"

Our landlord came over shortly after (around midnight) to find me bailing out the constantly filling dishwasher with a cup. We'd been closing the kitchen door to conserve energy but he informed us that doing so froze the pipes in the dishwasher. The water wouldn't stop though, so he shut it off (and the heat) to the entire house. our upstairs neighbors were PISSED.

So now, we're dishwasher less, and I'm slowly hoarding dishes.

More Yoga, Racism, & Retrievers

On my way to yoga- which I frequently am, because it's one of the only things that keeps me sane in this lovely holiday period of academically induced stress, I had an interesting run in with ignorance.

These are things that I tend to find hugely entertaining.

Anyway, to get to yoga, we cross from the parking lot through an organic market, a coffee shop, and then to the street on the other side. In the market, there were two women with seeing eye dogs that just so happened to be golden retrievers. Most people who have spent extended periods of time with me or joined me on a walk can tell you that I have an obnoxious/ridiculous habit of talking AT the animals that I see- particularly dogs. And I used to have a golden retriever so this was one of those times. "Aw...!!" (suspend judgment please, it's the only severely 'girly' thing that I do).

A random passerby took this as a cue to approach me.

"Yes, they're cute, aren't they?"
"Yeah, they really ar-"
"It's too bad that in China, they just eat them. Here, they help people."

I was a little confused as to why she'd chosen to tell me about her not-so-PC views on Chinese people. Until I remembered something. I look incredibly Asian. Actually, I am Asian. Just not Chinese- and based on my upbringing with American parents, I'm a New Englander.
I suppose she thought she was educating me by pointing out the usefulness of adorable animals, and in so doing, showing me the light- so I could see the error of my ways and repent... Saving one Chinese girl's soul at a time and by proxy, Chinese dogs.

I couldn't really form words because my jaw was on the floor, so I left rather than attempt a dialogue. But I guess it's appropriate. Her reaction, that is. I mean I talk at dogs in stupid voices like an idiot, so I guess she's allowed to talk at the Asians and be an idiot. In retrospect, the correct response should have been something along the lines of "Yes, it is a shame- that they're fabulous with ketchup."

I recalled afterwards an incident in grammar school when a girl on my bus turned to me one day to tell me about her Chinese take out experience which included cat hairs. She was certain that Chinese people were putting cats in her lo mein, and that I was in on it... There was a lot of intense, accusatory staring- I think she felt that if she stared me down long enough, I would admit to poaching the neighborhood strays. "They eat those in China. Which is where YOU'RE from." "I'm not Chinese, I'm American." "No you're not. You look Chinese to me. You're from there." Since your outward appearance obviously dictates everything about you, I decided she wouldn't appreciate my prepared spiel on adoption. "I don't eat cats. I'm not Chinese. But where I come from, we eat dogs. So if you're missing them in your neighborhood, now you know why." She mostly avoided eye contact after that incident. It seems that any time somebody finds dietary injustice at the expense of an animal, they blame the Chinese.

Somehow, the disciplinarians rarely really found my sense of humor very amusing.

Showtune Lyric: "At the end of the day you're another day older."