Signs

For those of you who have ever seen the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun" you may well remember the beautiful money pit of a villa that the main character, Francis, purchases on a whim during her vacation. From the first moment, Francis is drawn to this little villa and, upon deciding she can't go home to her divorce-wrecked life in America, decides that she must buy the villa Bramasole. There is just one problem: The little old woman selling the home is unwilling to part with it without anything less than a sign from God that the buyer is the right person for the home. "What kind of sign?" you may ask. Well. . . Apparently it is a very good sign in Italy to have a bird shit on your head. A blessing, if you will.

If this is such a good sign then I am anxiously awaiting my good fortune, for this morning I was blessed with just such a sign. Blessed. . . right. For those of you who have never received such a blessing let me outline the process for you:

It begins with a "wtf was that?", directly followed by a "did something just fall into my hair?" This is of course followed by the uncontrollable laughter of your friends and anyone who happens to be passing by. Then you go into the "omigod I'm so grossed out" phase. Aka - the "I will never be clean again in my life" phase. After a few minutes of the "stand really still so it won't get on anything else" phase you begin to move into the more rational phase of "how am I going to get this shit out of my hair?" Depending on where you are this can be the most difficult stage of the process. The proximity to a bathroom, or better yet a shower, will definitely affect your next move.

The beauty of this process is that even when you have completed it you soon learn that the blessing continues! Not only did you receive the blessing of being shat upon, but you also get to spend the rest of the day hearing about everyone else's shitty blessings too! How wonderful! Being shat upon truly brings people together.

So, I wait. I am confident my good fortune must come soon. Until then, I'm wearing a hat.

Pizza diseases

Apparently I am completely neurotic and didn't even know it. As my dear roommate has decided to point out my germophobia to the world in her blog I guess I can no longer deny my strange idiosyncrasies. I'm sorry, but pizza really shouldn't sit out for more than two hours! That's just the way things are! I will send you flowers when you are in the hospital from some strange left-over-pizza born disease.

Mystery of Mishawaka

Well, apparently I have remembered the card talked about in the last post incorrectly. Evidently it didn't say Happy Mother's Day on the front, though it was bought as a mother's day card. I guess I owe B. an apology, though you are still a freak for getting that as a mother's day card. This is not surprising, however, since we all know you are a freak most of the time anyway. (love ya!)

Okay. . .now that I have taken care of that matter, on to more important and interesting nothingness.

My dear roomate Jen, in her latest blog posting, has demanded the revelation of a long time reader from Mishawaka. What is the fun in this? Many an evening have been spent in our nest (aka, our living room/study space/snack bar) deliberating on who Mishiwaka can be. What is he/she like? Is there a connection to Jen or is this just a random person who understands that Jen is hysterical and a good writer? How much time has Mishawaka spent on her blog? Where the hell is Mishawaka?

Learning the true identity of Mishawaka will ruin all the fun! The mystery of Mishawaka is like the mystery of life. If you discover everything there is to know then life will be very boring indeed. If we finally learn who Mishawaka is, then blogging will be very boring indeed. Since Mishiwaka is now reading my blog too I have my own shout out: I implore you Mishawaka. . . leave Jen hanging! She needs a little mystery in her life.

You sexy what?!?!?!

Last night a friend of mine bought a Mother's Day card for his mother. The card read: (front): Happy Mother's Day!, (inside): You sexy bitch!. Does anyone find this card as disturbing as I do? I know few people in this world who could get away with sending this card to their mothers. Joking or not, one thing I learned early in life is that you never get to call your mother a bitch. I learned this lesson without even trying it.

Besides the fact that you are calling your mom a bitch, there is the fact that you are calling her sexy! This is wrong on so many levels. Seriously, who really wants to go there?

That my friend bought this card is not disturbing in and of itself (you would have to know him to understand). But that a company is actually making money selling hundreds of thousands of these cards is completely ridiculous to me. I'm all about funny cards and made up holidays. I will subscribe to the consumer holidays just as much as anyone, but at least make an effort to stick with the general theme! "Happy Mother's Day, you sexy bitch!" - it doesn't exactly scream "thanks mom, I love you!" now does it?

The first in a series of useless, meaningless rantings. . .

Well, here I am. . . I have finally succumb to the mass hysteria of blogging. I've rationalized this new step in my life by telling myself this blog will be a cathartic, Bridget Jones-like journal of sorts. . .but we all know the reality is that this blog fills my deep rooted narcissism and the need to hear myself talk. (those who know me are, I hope, laughing right now)

As the only rising 3L who was dumb enough to start her summer work without taking any break after the semester ended I am claiming temporary insanity and am therefore not liable for anything that may appear on this posting. It is becoming increasingly obvious to me today that my brain is slowly shutting down. I just spent three hours of my work day writing a three paragraph letter. . .something that should have taken me 30 minutes. I'm fairly sure I used up all of my mental talents yesterday when I performed amazing feats of productivity by reading a 96 page grant and writing detailed action plans outlining the next 8 weeks of my work life. I can only hope that my amazing mental capabilities will return tomorrow.

For now I am here. . . writing about anything and nothing. Stay tuned because the nothingness could get interesting in the future.