Stercoraceous Advice

September 28, 2007 at 3:22 pm (Uncategorized)

Cary Tennis is one of my heros.


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September 25, 2007 at 1:24 pm (Family)

Granny died this morning in her sleep.  She was 93 years old.  It was peaceful.

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Random Scribblings

September 22, 2007 at 12:03 pm (Uncategorized)

From three slips of paper found in the bottom of a box containing ink, nibs, and styluses:

(Page 1) A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 So, have you nothing more interesting to write?  What about your botanical buddy?  This pen makes your handwriting spiky–we like it.  (On reverse) You stink! [Doodles of a flower, an eye, and a spiral shell].  I see you, Stinkadoo. 

(Page 2) [In elaborate italics] I had such a strange dream.  Let me explain.  I am unconsumable.  Take your clothes off!  He stole his idee.  [In normal hand] Candy Perfume Girl.  Snakes–snake bracket.  What’s going on?  I can’t believe you. (Reverse) One dip lasts a long time.  Diane Keaton is getting herself in BIG trouble.  What would you do?  I’d leave the prisoners alone and get back to my life.  No good messing everything for the children.  You owe them more than you owe yourself.  Esp. selfish stuff, like loving a criminal.  Jesse, are you not coming into work today? No, I’ll see you tomorrow.  [Doodle of a heart with legs and two downward drooping arrows].

(Page 3) You stink.  Strike the concertina’s melancholy strain.  Then you’ll be desolee.  You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl.  And you know what happens to naughty girls, don’t you?  Helen’s a toad.  You and I are on the same stupidity wavelength!  Steal money this month.  (Along the left margin)  Be normal.  So how long can one dip last?  I was afraid this would be too dark.

Please note, all of the above was written by me, although I have absolutely no recollection of it, probably about 7 or 8 years ago.  Clearly, I need help.

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September 21, 2007 at 10:13 am (Uncategorized)

I have no hobbies. 

I have some obsessions, yes, but I don’t have any hobbies–at least none that can be shared.  I showed TragicCrusade (yes, you’re part of this blogiverse now) my Sims2 notebook (which contains 33 detailed geneaologies of the Simpleton family, meticulous house plans, occupation charts, and lists of each Simpleteon and his/her spouse over 8 generations), and he said, “Because you’re an anthropologist, I find this very cool.  If you were not an anthropologist, I would run screaming from your apartment.”

So, friends of mine, help me find some hobbies.  What of what I already do can be turned into a hobby?  What new hobbies can you recommend, based on what you know of my temperament (mercurial) and personality (borderline)?  Please note, I have no artistic talent, am very impatient, and do not appreciate animals in the home.

Thanks in advance for your help.

ETA: I think I might actually like orienteering.  Anyone of you out there do that?

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How Not to Woo a Woman

September 19, 2007 at 11:25 am (Dating)

Some of my readers may remember a man from the early days of this dating experiment who turned my head, opened my nose, and generally drove me crazy, to the point where a good friend (yes, this means you, ThinMan) had to figuratively slap me in the face and tell me I was being stupid.  I was reluctant to post about this fellow, because I try not to post about the ones I like, in case they do wander over here (yes, this means you TragicCrusade).  But, I don’t like this guy anymore and so, as my coworker, Crusty, declared this morning, he is hereby Fodder for the Blog.

Honestly, I’m beginning to feel contempt for this man, whom TenFeet and I now call The Cad.  Where did he go wrong?  Well, let’s see….

  1. He stopped responding to my emails and phone calls.
  2. When he did respond, it was to offer an mp3 or a one-liner apropos of nothing that had been communicated before.
  3. He supposedly got someone pregnant during the time he was sort of courting me.
  4. He disappeared (I thought for good) for 2 weeks, during which time I met and began relationships with fantastic men who, though themselves flawed, are infinitely better than the Cad.
  5. He told me his name was Seamus Worth when it really was Seamus Vermin.*
  6. He started to woo me from a different site under the name Seamus Vermin.
  7. When I confronted him on the similarity between Seamus Worth and Seamus Vermin, he changed his name to Matthew Vermin.
  8. As Matthew Vermin, he sent me sexually charged emails demanding that I meet with him because he was horny, then he called me a coward, accused me of playing games, and told me to “Go smoke a cock.”
  9. He called me, and when I told him I was involved with someone else, he asked me to set him up with my hot Asian friend (yes, this means you, TenFeet).
  10. During that conversation it became clear to me that he was masturbating while he was on the phone with me.
  11. He accused me of ignoring him
  12. Finally, he emailed me to tell me he was bored of my games.

Earlier today I felt like I’d dodged a bullet on this one, but now I’ve come to see it’s something more like a cannonball.

*These are not his real name and real pseudonym, but they sufficiently approximate the originals.

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No Post Today

September 17, 2007 at 5:37 pm (Uncategorized)

My life is in a blissful sort of turmoil.  I can’t write about it yet.

My work is in a downward spiral of suck.  I can’t write anymore about it without having a seizure.

Everything else is suffering from neglect, including my diet, my dissertation, and my venus flytrap.  That’s all I have to write about that.

Oh, and I ate a pie.

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The First Assignment

September 10, 2007 at 7:55 pm (Uncategorized)

I had the class write one page about that old Nacirema con from the ’50s. I have yet to read the essays, because there’s no whiskey in my house.

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September 7, 2007 at 3:34 pm (Dating)

I can never think of Joseph Campbell or the question, “Where does the 4 train go?” in the same way again.

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Hot Non-Date Tonight

September 6, 2007 at 2:10 pm (Dating)

As part of my hottness outreach program, which is designed to bring joy to the farthest corners of the tri-state area, I am having a hot non-date with another man I have met on the internets.  There is no question that this will go well.  I have already briefed Iron Man on his predecessor’s failures, and he has promised to finish chewing before he speaks at the table.

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BITCHEZ, or The Honeymoon is Over

September 3, 2007 at 6:27 pm (Work)

My bosses are being complete bitches about my teaching gig.  The new one called me into her office and told me that I should have asked her permission to take the adjuncting job.  And then she berated me for spending too much time away from the desk.  The gist of the conversation was that her predecessor had given me too much power, and she was now here to cut me down to size.    She’ll review my work in six weeks, and if it’s not up to snuff, she won’t let me take anymore teaching gigs. 

And then she asked me if I had anything to say to her.

Well, “Fuck you,” was appropriate, but not professional.  But we New Yorkers know how to say “Thank you” so that it means “Fuck you” and that’s what I did.

This boss is new, and I know she has some insecurities.  One, she was up for this position years before and was passed over, which is such a source of bitterness that she brought it up in a meeting with new students.  Two, she’s insecure about her lack of a doctorate, which most of the higher ups here have.  Three, she has two years before they officially open a search, and she might not know that it was strongly hinted by the administration that I could be a contender, if I get myself together and graduate.

So I can see how anything that furthers my degree and professional development would be a threat to her.  What really angers me is the lack of support from the assistant boss, who has known me and worked with me for a year, and knows that this office cannot run without me.  Mind you, I dream of becoming dispensible.  I am sorely tired of being the only person around here who knows what’s going on.   Those bitches need to take responsibility for their own program, and learn a fucking thing or two about its day-to-day running.

La Belle Helene says I should walk out.  I won’t cut off my nose to spite my face.  I have an apartment, a car, and a shoe collection to pay for.  And having health insurance is nice.  But as soon as I get the okay from HR that I can transfer to another dept., I’m gonna start looking.  The head of a rival dept. is awaiting budget approval for an assistant coordinator.  It would serve those bitchez right if I went to work for their enemy (whose office is in the same building).

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