Aiiight, I pinned the PhDude advisor into the corner this morning and asked him what the PhD application pool had been whittled down to. It went from 75 to 24 people, and I’m one of them. “Very competitive this year,” he kept saying. In addition to the toob top I bought yesterday, I also invested in some nice trousers for the PhDude interviews in early February. I will not be wearing both articles at the same time, so save it.

They might take twelve perps. Now I know how many people I need to kneecap. Where, oh where, is my Jeff Gillooly?

Okay, I’ve posted WAY too much today, so I will give you the Reader’s Digest Version, with motherfucking bullet points and everything. I am deleting those earlier flailings because they simply DISGUST me at this point. I am having a raging case of drama today.

-First I was whining about how I am all disillusioned about the underhanded dealings of the university world. There was a lame attempt at a humorous tangent involving the words “seamy” and “tasty.” It failed!
-At the end I posted a link to my new audioblog. Because textual I, Asshole is NOT enough.
-Then I flipped out because I got an email saying that I passed the first round of the PhD applications. I would tell you this is kind of ironic because I was just cranking on about the bureaucratic shenanigans I have been privy to lately, and I’m all, do I want to deal with this for the next four years, and then I get this acceptance email and I’m all “SQUEEEE!” but you guys are too smart to have this stuff explained to you.
-And now you are asking yourself if someone who writes things like, “I was all, etc,” should be admitted to a PhD program. The answer is: probably not.
-There is also new, disturbing news since this morning: I had a very civil conversation with my little girl’s father today. He informed me that he blames me for his choice to get a vasectomy, even though I was all, “hey, I’ll get my tubes tied after we have Frannie.” And, I swear, he was all, “No no no, you are going through the pain of childbirth. The least I can do is get a vasectomy.” And now he is upset with me, because I have thwarted him.
-Also, he is going to get a Pell grant this fall and save his tax return so he can get his vasectomy reversed. Presumably to have children with the woman he’s been dating for a month who is “very interested in having children.” Discuss!
-Conclusion: no more civil conversations with my baby’s daddy, at least not until there are better boundaries.
-Oh, yeah, I totally lost my mind and bought a tube top today. A tube top, I tells ya. It is salmon-colored. Intervention, please!

This poem was used against me in divorce court in June of 2004 as proof that I am an alcoholic. I am leaving this poem up, because I love Supa and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.

A tribute in poorly-executed couplets

Supa is supa!
A real trooper!

When I first met her, I feared for the worst
We hung out for a while, and then her appendix almost burst

She raises some little chickens
We play beautyshop in the kitchen

She can drink me under the table
Together we are very unstable

Supa’s totally the bomb
I love my friend, the other punk-rock mom.

[picture lost to the sands of server time.]

Here are Supa and I on the �Cocktail Cruise for Moms� that I went on at the end of last summer. I have to goggle at my giant rack in this picture. I have lost thirty pounds since this picture was taken, and it shows in more recent photos. Also, you can see the wedding ring on my finger, the horror! And this is the party I was macking on that German girl at. I am such a dick.

I wish my hair was still pink and orange…spring is coming, don’t tell me it’s not.

Breaking News: Interviews for the thesis begin tomorrow. The consultant is here and had lunch with the Mayor of Assholeport today.

Rather than assisting me with data collection as was expected, the consultant will instead watch the me do interviews and then tell me what I did wrong. Then, on Friday, the consultant will be feted at a United Way luncheon while the data collector sits under the table, begging for scraps.

Following an informal survey conducted by this station earlier this afternoon, four out of ten residents of Assholeport believe the Mayor is doing a “good job.” Two out of ten declared the Mayor “totally incompetent.” One respondent claimed that the Mayor is a “sexy bitch.” The final three made an obscene gesture and walked off.

Weather: Mostly sunny. A 60% chance of cross-town stalking with a 30% chance of laying on hardwood floors and being pathetic and crying in the afternoon. A 100% chance of feeling better about being given a second chance at something worthwhile.

Human Interest Segment: A recent study has revealed that three-year-old girls really like Mylar balloons with Barbie’s terrified visage printed on them. Said the lead scientist of this study, Frannie’s Mom: “Dude. If you hit me with that balloon again I am going to pop that motherfucker.” The study also revealed that it is possible that my mother is trying to intentionally irritate me. No, seriously, you spend an hour-and-a-half, two-bus extravaganza with a Mylar balloon that is larger than your child. You would be paranoid too.

Sports: No worthwhile sports were engaged in in Assholeport today, unless you count some vigorous jumping up and down in the dressing room of Super Jock-n-Jill as the Mayor selected a new jog bra. It is projected that the Mayor will go running tomorrow morning, engaging in her usual practice of imagining that she is running on the face of every person who is irritating her.

I have had boys in my life for a long time, and I have discovered one thing: I like them, despite the fact that most of them have special boy brain damage. This is the variety of brain damage where they love you, and you love them, but every now and then the filter slips, or gets all clotted up, or was never there to begin with. Especially if they get comfortable with you, God forbid.

Exhibit “A”

High School Boyfriend: “I think you’re beautiful.”
Me: “Thanks!”
HSB: “I have to admit, though, I thought you were kind of weird-looking at first. You have that kind of face that has to grow on a person.”
Me: “Overshare!”

Exhibit “B”

I remember getting ready for a friend’s wedding–I must’ve been about nineteen. I was doing my usual careful but clumsy job with the eyeliner, and it took me about twenty minutes or so to quit futzing with my face. I was pleased with the results, my hair, and my dress, which was pretty rare for me.

My ex-husband saw me come out of the bathroom and took a hard look at me.

“I really like how it looks like you don’t spend too much time worrying about how your makeup looks. You just do it fast and then you’re done,” he said.

The backhand, it is painful.

Exhibit “C”

My companion and I were talking a couple of days ago about the types of people we tend to date.

“I used to date a lot of hippie-type girls,” he said. Not surprising, as this is a man who considers moisturizer to be a luxury item, the same way many of us consider a full day at the spa to be a luxury.

I was putting on eyeliner again (I never give up), and replied, “I think I tend to date people who are the opposite of me.”

He thought about this for a minute.

“So, you date people who aren’t overly concerned about their personal appearance?”

It gets better…yesterday morning we were talking about his archiving job. He works with old photos and I said was surprised to learn that he gets to throw out duplicates at his discretion.

“Well,” he said. “Imagine if I took eight pictures of you, standing here right now. How many would you really want to keep?”

“None!” I said. “My face is breaking out.”

“Again?” he said.

I have taken this minor, unthinking abuse from all of them for years, and I say to myself, “At least he puts out.” And then I remember: they all put out. I heart boys!

For the Interested Reader’s Elucidation, A Field Guide to Typical Species present at the Modern Library School.

Introduction.

What follows being an account of a field researcher’s immersion in the Library School environment for 1 year and 3 months. The English name of the species is followed by the Latin one.

The Librarian: (Librarius) In the simplest terms, the Librarian species may be classified by where they want to work, such as a public, private, or academic library. However, this species may be further divided into several subspecies, not all of which are listed here: “The Freedom Fighter,” “The Children’s Librarian,” and “The I-Would-Like-to-Sit-and-Read-Books-All-Day.”

The Freedom Fighter: (Librarius Gravitas) This subspecies of librarian is a huge opponent of the Patriot Act and believes that freely disseminating information is the world’s highest and noblest calling. Temperament ranges from dour and self-righteous to entertaining to consume alcoholic beverages with. This subspecies may be recognized by their obsession with the activities of Congress and their call: “We’ll see what the ACLU has to say about that.”

The Children’s Librarian: (Librarius Exaspero) It is difficult to miss this frequently insufferable subspecies, whose calling cards are sensible shoes, ever-present knitting needles click-click-clicking away, and an irritatingly sunny and nurturing disposition.

The outsider should be warned, however, that this species may turn vicious if the unwary inquirer dares to ask, “So you’re going to read stories to children for a living? Don’t you want to do something interesting with your life?” Additionally, this intrepid field researcher has discovered that under no circumstances should any person say in the presence of The Children’s Librarian, “I like children…with barbecue sauce.”

The Children’s Librarian can be recognized from afar by its high-pitched, whiny response to any debate, no matter the topic: “But what about the children?” It is unseemly to speculate about the mating habits of this subspecies.

The I-Would-Like-To-Sit-and-Read-Books-All-Day: (Librarius Miseratio) The saddest moment in the early part of this species’ lifecycle arrives when The IWLTSaRBAD realizes its parents are attempting to push their progeny out of the nest. What to do now?

Distinctive call: “I like books!”

“Information Professionals”: (Librarius Disassociatata) Slightly snappier dressers than the Librarian species. They frequently migrate in from the business world, and may be easily spotted by their unmistakable call: “I am here to develop a broad base of technology and information skills.”

Often spotted reading JASIST and gloating over the fact that “Information Professionals” make on average ten grand a year more than the Librarian species. Not much information is known about this species’ mating habits; it is supposed that this type is too practical to choose a mate from within the available mating pool of the Library School Environment.

The Archivist: (Librarius Obsessivus Packratus) This species is usually spotted in basements, rooting through boxes of old crap that someone forgot about. The Archivist will then make extensive hierarchies and indexes of what the old crap is and feel very satisfied with itself.

Occasionally, The Archivist species may be spotted out of a basement, squinting uncomfortably at the sun’s glaring rays. When this is the case, they would be difficult to recognize if not for their cry, “I am heading to an Archivist’s meeting/convention/conference.”

If The Archivist species was honest with itself, its signature call would sound something like, “Objects are more important that information!”

The Information Scientist: (Librarius Boredomus Psychosa) This species is recognizable by its over-inflated sense of self-importance and delusions that it will change the world through minor research of little consequence. If trapped in an elevator or at a party with The Information Scientist, one should not make eye contact unless one is interested in overly-dramatized tales of woe regarding human subjects and grant funding. Remember, certain forms of stress are contagious. Put a drink in The Information Scientist’s hand and back away slowly.

The Information Scientist’s call is: “Qualitative research has more inherent value than quantitative research…hey, where’s everyone going?”

It should be noted that the Information Scientist species is the natural enemy of The Archivist and The Children’s Librarian, and should not be kept captive with either type for any length of time. The mating habits of The Information Scientist are disturbing.

So…I finished my PhD application today for the information science program, and almost everyone around school knows about it. I think I was talking about it with everyone to keep myself motivated, and to finish it on time. This means that if I get in, there will be mass reveling in the streets and the consumption of many lemondrops. If I get rejected…then it stings really badly. Hitting that final “submit” button and watching my life story get absorbed into the graduate school machine was a little nerve-wracking, I must say.

To paraphrase what Frannie’s little friend said in her mom’s car last night, I need “to chill the fuck out” right now. No more work today. I think the plan for tonight is to make some awesome lamb and get some hot librarian action. That’s right, I said HOT LIBRARIAN ACTION. I never thought I would hook up with a future card-carrying librarian. I have disdain for most of them, just like I did when I was an art history student and I would watch all those idiot art students take up space in our building, for I am a jackass.

We are headed over to his apartment, where they conveniently run circular saws next door at 11 at night and there are never “awkward” run-ins with neighbors…who can sleep through circular saws, anyhow?