Annoying stops en route to the biznass

Eight page research paper is due on Tuesday, December 7th and I have successfully done just about everything that I could to avoid this project. I wrote the two recommendations letters that I have been putting off (god, I hope this doesn't fuck up someones life), plucked my eyebrows with a little trim here, and went to the ladies room four times. Said hello to three students in the hall (again, thank god they weren't in the bathroom when I was doing my biznass) and met with three students. A rant on the university restroom facilities: why is there not a faculty bathroom on this damn campus or at least in this building? Nothing is more annoying (well, I take that back. I can think of a few more annoying things) than really needing to use the facilities for disposal and there are three fucking students "doing their goddamn hair, as if we're in high school and they're the cheerleaders prepping for a homecoming rally" in the bathroom when ALL I want to peace. With no one else in the room. It never fails: I'm on a mission (and those that knows me, know how I beeline to the bathroom. Ah, thank you IBS) and a student will stop me either in the hallway OR in the ACTUAL bathroom with a question. Chances are I answered that question 590 times in list-serv email, etc. I honestly want to tell them: "I have IBS. Do you mind choosing a more convenient time for me to ask a question that I've only answered 53 other times in emails that you immediately delete because you can't take my sensational humor?" I think that would shut them up.

And now I'm putting off starting this paper by blogging. I spent three hours in the University Archives yesterday and it was amazing. Seriously. If only I could speak my paper to someone as they type, I'd knock this shit out. Quick. Well, maybe not quick. But quicker than me sitting here staring at pictures of Aaron and I on my desk and the photo of my two grandpas.

Sigh. Graduate School. May 13th, come hither.

Wal Mart rift raft

Oh Manhattan. With it being break season, the students have quietly left the town for their respective homes for their helicopter parents to dot over them and do their laundry, etc. With the extreme population loss over the past week, the rift raft have loudly come from their homes and invaded local establishments. The one I have in mind particularly: Wal-Mart

I'm pretty hit or miss when it comes to Wal-Mart. Either I'm in love with the fact that I can everything from Draino to tampons to granola in one stop and know that I'm paying dirt cheap for it. The added bonus is knowing that someone in China has slaved over packaging these materials and I get to reap the benefits. Kidding.

What I am not kidding over is the amount of curse words I breathed under my breath between 11.46-12.10 today while I ran by there to pick up odds and ends. I seriously swear, the rift raft in this town grows alongside the number of students K-State enrolls. Of course, I went there during lunch when most people are at work, earning professional incomes. These people, god only knows, what these people do for a "living". You could point out those running there during their lunch breaks, based on their attire. And with Hy-Vee in town, the extreme professionals flock there instead of risking their sanity and lowering their IQ by taking on Wal-Mart.

Let me be clear: I am the product of a father who has an associates in construction science from a community college that I would rather have eaten arsenic than attend (it was the same as going to high school, again) and my mother did not complete her four year degree, as she was "this" close to graduating in Physical Therapy school. She realized in the eleventh hour that PT wasn't her gig, so she dropped out from KU PT school and moved back to Wichita to be a secretary. And she's never regretted a day. And you wonder why I push my students to do what THEY want to do with their lives.

Anyways. The point of this was to inform you that my father and mother are not elitist education snobs. They farm. In the dirt.

So take this as a warning if you're deciding to venture to your local low cost box store this week and happen to live in a college town. Becae even though it's isn't Halloween, there are some crazies venturing into the sun.

it's called christmas break

Bitch be back.

Close your eyes and say your prayers (preferably Catholic prayers). It's been nearly a month since my last post and I wish I could say that I've been out hiking in the mountains of Dubai (cough..Helen) or eating ethnic peanuts (cough..Helen). Alas, the truth is that I have been mentally exhausted with work and school and keeping somewhat of a skeleton of a social life. K-State doesn't have classes this week (some bullshit about "Fall Break", but let's call it what it is: THANKSGIVING BREAK. I still will and always will refer to "Winter Break" as CHRISTMAS BREAK). So therefore, I don't have my graduate classes this week and I refuse to start my 8 page research paper that's due early December. For today and tomorrow, I refuse to do more than half-ass straighten my hair and wear only a third of the MAC eye makeup I usually apply. I am wearing old Pumas that remind me more of drinking on Wednesday nights in the AGR parking lot than I legally should admit to and low-rise boot cut GAP jeans from Holiday 2008 and anyone that knows me, is aware that I hardly keep clothes around for more than two years. It's low maintenance these next two days. It honestly is incredibly exhausting putting on heels, dress trousers, and appropriate blouses daily for work and straightening the hair and putting on the make up. I am well aware that I do not need to go to such lengths that involve wearing pink Crocs from my car to my office, because my feet are abnormally wide (read: fat) and my left foot, I swear, shrunk .5 sizes after the baby was born. I take a certain pride in my appearance. And it's exhausting and today and tomorrow, I do not care.
It also helps that the boss lady, herds of male undergraduates, and Aaron are gone for the next couple days.

Ah, yes. I mentioned the bf and for all of you who were wondering "Are they still together? I'll bet that Monica and her moods scared that poor boy away." Joke is on you. Six months last Saturday. Six months is the equivalent to ten years to Aaron.
So, I think we're sitting pretty damn good.

Enjoy the photo of the roses he had sent to my office Friday. I took them home to enjoy, but brought them back to the office this morning. I am that desperate for attention. You're right.
Oh, but man. It's been a road test. Seriously. I feel as though most relationships, once they hit the six month mark or get close to it. It's make it or break it time. The honeymoon is over, as Aaron observed the past month, and shit is getting real. I've only been in one other relationship that made it past six months and I should have been hit over the head with a shovel at that point. It wasn't a good relationship. We were young and I was drunk half the time (I was 20 years old. Simmer) He did not "maturely" love me and I sure as hell didn't "maturely" love him. We were young and thought that we had it all figured out, when the only thing I really had figured out was how much I could drink and still earn A's and B's in college.

Relationships are scary business. You invest physical, emotional, and financial efforts into the other person. And wish the best end result. Aaron could have said "You know, you're a great looking girl and can dance like an idiot when you've had a few double whiskey diets, but I don't know. You're not worth it. You're totally different than me. You're an emotional girl." And he'd be right. I am a great dancer and I do enjoy a nice whiskey.

And we are totally different people. I know there are people reading this who doubt the relationship because they've either known me for awhile or Aaron for awhile. Hell, you don't' have to have known me for awhile to get the point that I have a strong streak of crazy in me. Just check in with my "Curse Calculate" and draw an assumption. Go ahead. Hell if I care.
But what I do care about is ajl and we're going to plow through, trudge through, curse through, vent through this mess of a life together. We're learning and with love + patience, I think we'll get it figured out.

I take that back.

I know we will.

I'm back and it never felt so good.

back in the saddle part one

I'm victorious in my return to blogging!! Life had consumed me with its graduate class"nes", work"ness", small intestine pain"ness" and figuring out why I've been so moody as of lately. I've successfully defeated all three of these predicaments with two things: running and "West Wing".

It's no real shocker that I am a dramatic person; I have the fluent ability to overreact and dramatize anything. However, there was a period lately where I was extra "passionate" and it was giving nothing but strife to myself and those around me. I feel as though I was able to pinpoint it to my Ambien that I take for sleeping. I was able to fall asleep relatively quickly, but it was making me a crazed farmers daughter between the hours of 6:30 am-9:00 pm. I felt this extreme amount of negatively in everything I did. Long story short, I was a moody bitch. Couldn't shake it. Credit to me for noticing that something was not right. I feel as though I've identified one thing I am able to do to shake it off, that doesn't involve a straight jacket and a twisted Russian psychiatrist. Running.

I had strayed from my usual religious routine of running after work, because I was wanting to spend time with people other than my Asiscs running shoes and circa 2002-Ipod. However, I know that these people would prefer to spend less time with me, if that means that I am not the cranky bitch with is becoming an expert at "finding" things wrong with them.

We all have that breaking point with issues in our life. Everything starts to pill up and no matter how hard we tread the water, we feel the general pull downwards. Luckily for me, I've figured out what I need to do to combat the negative energy (running). I had tried walking to work, which was great and really helped clear my head before going to work and afterwards. But, I feel as though I'm going back to my old routine of driving to work and then running when I get home. Hell with humanity and the environment.

I drive a Honda.

That's good enough.

Kind hearted sibling teasing

I grew up teasing my sisters so much.

I'm almost shocked I'm not receiving bills from my siblings for ongoing therapy that is probably needed for them to function normally in the free world. Poor Mel. Mel got the worst of the teasing from me. To be honest, majority of it came from my insecurity and jealousy over her. Mel was/is taller than myself and thinner. She'll deny it to the grave. It's true. We're the same size, but she appears thinner than me, because her legs are so damn long. As in 37 inch inseam on her pants.

She had/has good hair. It's not poof that requires an expensive (well, that's my decision to have spent $120 bucks on my blow dryer) and pricey straightener (again, my decision). Her temperament is softer than mine and some would venture to say she's more mature than I am. Eh, whatever. She's great. She's marrying one of the greatest and coolest guys I know in March and as much as it hurts to see her move on to her new chapter, I am absolutely excited for her and Mason. But that's not the purpose of this blog: worshiping Mel.

The purpose is that I know that I'm not the only sibling who horribly teased their siblings, to the point that their devout Catholic mother would walk around outside praying the rosary. No joke. I know with the amount of rosaries my mother has said in her lief, I could go on a mass murdering spree and STILL make it to heaven. No joke. It's ridiculous. In a good way. Entirely good way.

One time, Mel and I were in a massive fight. Probably started with me being pissed off about something not related at ALL to Melanie and lashed out on her (I'm AMAZING at this). She probably made some smart ass comment about me being too gorgeous for my own good and hence a fight ensued. This particular time, it got really nasty. I was chasing Mel around our house into our room and she slipped on the rug on the wood floors. BAM goes her mouth on the side of a cabinet in our room. Split went her tooth. Total crack on one of them. It wasn't like a "white trash" ohmygodwheresyourtrailerandliveincousinboyfriend split, but it was obvious none the less. With time, we had the tooth fixed (irony enough that she's now a dental hygienist. Maybe that incident was what motivated her to become one.... Hmmmmm). Anyways.

Mom was SO disappointed in us. And probably it was one of those days that Daddy was in the field and had 590234 break downs, which resulted in HIM lashing out at my Mom (that's where I get it from). So, I can only assume she was in one hella great mood. (sidenote: Mom's role model is Mother Teresa and I swear, she has the patience of Blessed Mother Teresa. She's amazing. Anyway). I still can see her walking around outside checking her flowers with her rosary beads in her hand.

I know I teased Alayna and Jacinta, but since the age difference is so big between us, it wasn't the mean and vile teasing that I did with Mel. It was more of the "big annoying sister" kind of teasing with those two. One of these days, I am quite sure, my kids will force me to go outside and pray rosaries because of their actions to each other.

However, I have always been more aggressive than my Mom.

So, I'll be relying on my friends Jack and Jose. But mainly, Jack.

I love my memories of being a bitch.

there are things that matter and things that don't

"there are things that matter and things that don't".

I have that written on a post it taped to the shelf that holds my computer screen. That's from a Craig Morgan song, that basically tells the story of an older man whose home was destroyed by a tornado and a reporter, of course hot on the scene, throws a microphone into his face. I have this posted on my desk to remind me that there are things in life (work) that really don't matter. At.all. I find that the riffraff students (those who are unmotivated for life, in general) are the ones who bring negative energy into my office and my life. It may be easy for you reading this to assume that artists are going nowhere in life. However, I am not talking in terms of "going somewhere" as in making a shit ton of money. I mean "going somewhere" as in if they need to take a shitty retail job to make money, they will. And they'll be happy to be employed, damn it.

Those are the kids that allow me to fully enjoy my job, because I'm actually doing what my job is with them: guiding.

It's the bullshit kids who constantly miss appointments, constantly are bitching about a professor who's "too hard" on them, blaming about someone else and how it's THEIR fault that they're clinging to a 2.1 GPA. Fuck off. Seriously. Who are you kidding?! You're expecting everyone to believe that it's honestly is someone else's fault that you can't get your shit together? Honestly?!
I respect the student who owns up to their fuck ups and honestly are trying. They're not blaming a professor for not excusing their absence from the final due to being called in to work. Hell, you make the decision to work full time AND go to school full time? Props to you. But damn you if you think that gives you a "free pass". And it seems that there aer more and more of these kids: the riffraff who are going nowhere with their lives and are so incredibly needy and blamy. If my kids were to cut the bullshit, I'd be able to cut the bullshit whining that I do. I promise.

When it comes to actually doing my job, I absolutely love it. I love my kids who are pro active and take my advice and honestly consider it. I could care less if they follow through with it, that's their deal. If I am able to focus on these kids, the ones who pull their own personal weight, I'd be a beautifully mannered young adviser.

I started advising yesterday for spring 2011 courses with my students who are graduating spring 2011. These are the students who I've had since they were baby freshman; they're my first class. They're awesome. I know I'm being extremely partial, because I've had them since K-State birth. Advising them for the final time has been bittersweet, because these guys have seen be go through it all: name change, body change, hair color change, and outlook on life change. It's a beautiful process seeing them through from freshman to graduating seniors. It all comes full circle.Then I feel like an idiot, because I've been in this position and in MHK that long (four years since graduation).

But, as the title says "there are things that matter and things that don't" and all in all, I wouldn't have traded these past eight years in MHK for anything. But I would sell my soul to be on "jersey shore".

harvest memories with parades of lights

It is OCTOBER!!!!! I LOVE OCTOBER! Why? Probably because I know that it's getting cooler out and that means I won't look like a swamp monster when I get to work from walking from my house (I sweat a lot, if you're new to my world). October makes me think of crisp fall cardigans, which makes me think of how much I love that I have great style, which makes me think of "Wow, how did I get such great style when my Daddy wears rain boots and ten year old Kmart cloth shorts with a Goodwill short sleeve button up that HAS to have a pocket on Sunday afternoons?!". Then I think of Daddy and the farm...........................................

Ah, how much do I miss the farm during fall? So much. On Highway 24 on the way to ajl's, there's a random corn field that was cut about a couple weeks ago (must have been cut for feed). The night they had the combine and grain cart out there, I was heading out to ajls and it was so bittersweet.

I had the deju feeling of Kenny Pauls' custom cutting team parked on the prairie in front of the home place and droooooooooling over the adorable hired help (even though 79% of them were Mennonite as in legit Mennonite with no radio in their cars, etc). I remember during harvest when Mel and I were in elementary school, we'd sit up waiting for the combines, grain carts, semis, etc to pull into our driveway @ night, while we were in bed. My parents have a long driveway that leads up to our home place and we'd call it "The Parade" when they all started pulling up the drive way. When Daddy would get in from the field with them, he'd always come back to the Girls' Room (our room) and we'd play opossum (he knew we weren't asleep).

He'd stomp to the foot of our bed (yes, we shared a bed. Hell, I shared a bed until high school. You see now why all my kids are sharing rooms) and put cross his arms and stand there, until Mel and I pulled him down into the bed. Those are the memories I remember from growing up. Daddy never acted short tempered with us if he had a break down in the field that put them behind a half day. We were his girls and he was so happy to be home with us. I'm not saying he doesn't love a less now, but times are different. We farm more now than back then (Daddy probably has to because he has four girls=over 16 years of college educations=four weddings=a jillion prom dresses). Times are more stress now, because of the market being so incredibly shitty and family farms going bankrupt right and left, you have to big to stay afloat now. That's just how it is and that means that he's gone so much more than when Mel and I were growing up.

I just hope that someday my kids have the amazingly beautiful memories that my sisters and I have when it comes to harvest and the parades of lights. But, if your kids turn out worse than you, my kids will probably shoot paint balls at their father.