Hieumor

If I had the time and the patience, I would design and make my very own truely functional purse. One that had compartments.. real, usable compartments.. not the kind that they put here and there on most purses to make them look "cute" you know.. i'd have a padded compartment for my digital camera, one for my digital leash (cellphone), one or two elastic rings to hold a pen or two in just the right spot so i don't have to fish for them. a little loop for lip gloss, and a pen-drive, a shallow, but large coin pocket, 'cause i hate having to hold open the tiny mouth of the one in my purse and point it towards light to see what's in there.. an outside zip open section for frequently used id's and cards - eliminate the digging and misplacing of my wallet.. and a nice decent section in the middle to carry the occiassional wierdness that girls tend to put in their purses, like a palm pilot, mini pack of kleenex, pictures of their boyfriends, and bills that need to be mailed.. hmm. and i would make it out of denim. waterproofed denim. and the shoulder strap would never slip or bruises in wierd spots.. yeah, that's what i would do if i had the time and patience....

Today was E-Day (Engineering Day) the Science Spectrum! We had a few groups out there puttting together some fun stuff for the kiddies. Pictures posted here

i saw on another blog that i read nearly daily, that the writer wrote about her dad. it made me think of my daddy, and i started to miss him. i miss my daddy a lot. he would stay up late just about every night working. and i felt guilty going to bed before him, so i would stay up too, sometimes until 2 am even if i didn't have anything of my own to work on. daddy could make me stress out over little things like sleeping before midnight during summer vacation, missing a point or two on homework, or watching cartoons. The sound of the garage door opening or him coming down the stairs was enough to make my stomache turn and make me panic. It sounds horrible, but i miss my daddy being like that. Nowadays, he smiles and it's easy to make him laugh. I remind him of his scare tactics and how he made me stress, and he laughs and says it was for my own good.

Good Times.

i believe the weatherman said something about snow......

apparently i'm a bitch. (see previous post)
vivi pee'd on my blanket, but i was able to wash it all out.
i bought undies.
i woke up to a picture of the boy.
i saw the boy today.
the boy smelled nice.

don't you just love it when people try to be nice and tell you something about yourself you might find helpful.. oh like, your tag is sticking out of your shirt, or you have toilet paper stuck to your shoe? i come back to the office after lunch to do hmwk only to be told that i'm very much disliked in the department. because, apparently i'm a bitch. well any girl could be a bitch when she stands her ground when engaged in an argument with a narrowminded red-headed bookworm who has never met a Norelco and his spineless bespectacled garden gnome. these people aren't by any means honorable as their mission statement would have you believe. i now understand the SambaMaster's dislike for their organization. i'm not here to win a popularity contest, so i could care less.

it was 3 am before i went to sleep last night. i told my self over and over: when you hear the alarm, you get out of bed. part of me knew it wasn't going to happen, no matter how hard i tried. i'm used to going to bed at 3 and getting up at 7. i did it all last semester and the semester before, but this morning was going to be different.

this morning, i heard the alarm. i turned over, stared at the picture of boy, moved it aside and made a mental note of the time. i hit the snooze once -just incase- and sat up waiting for my head to not be dizzy. i got up, took my shower, dried my hair got dressed and walked out the door on time. but while i was walking out to my car, i still heard my alarm clock. i forgot to turn it off, it was still on snooze.

for a split second i blinked, and i was staring at the picture of the boy. i moved it aside and it was 9:13. 13 minutes after class had started. i was still in bed, wrapped up in my blanket. craptacular. my mind's playing tricks on me.

i've been feeling seriously lethargic lately and i don't know why. i've also noticed that i'm losing large chunks of hair whenever i brush or shower. large balls of my hair are everywhere, by the sink, by my bed, by my desk....

there is a reason why people do laundry more than three times a semester... for one it cuts down on having to do 4 huge loads at once only to have to put all loads into one jumungous dryer since all the other ones are taken... my jumungous load of clothes, ie. my whole wardobe, now has splotches of mystery pink. ofcourse these mysterious dots only appear on the important expensive pieces of clothing. lovely. i go attack these pink dots with fervor and stain remover. any left over fervor will be applied to differential equations.

i woke up this morning to thumps on my wall as usual. and to be polite, i thumpped back. as i fell back to sleep i heard phone-yip-yap coming through the wall, the kind where the chick talks really loud and very matter-of-factly and you just know she's doing the sha-nay-nay head wiggle and finger swirl. this time it was something about angela and how she told my neighbor to do something that she apparently already did so it was obvious her efforts weren't appreciated. well then. i listened to this for a while, felt better about myself, then got up to put on clothes.

i never really know who lives next door. at one point, i had a bonified pimp and accused drug dealer. now i have crazy neigbor girls, on heroin. they have a baby next door, too. i've heard it cry through the walls. they all smoke, and at any given time, i've seen atleast 5 different chicks enter and leave as if they live there. they always slam the door when going in or out. and by slamming the door, i mean the water in my 75 gallon fish tank sloshes around.

no matter how crappy school will get for me. or how many times people will let me down, i will never find myself living like those people next door. thank you God.

Last night, Vivi got his bath in the kitchen sink as opposed to the bathtub like normal. Avoiding backpain was my motivation for the location change. It went rougher than usual, and I figured it was because the basin was smaller than what he was used to. I rewared the little monkey with his own can o' tuna and juice mixed in with regular food.

Today I came home to two poopie sized logs of cat hair. On my pillow. My favorite pillow with the pretty new pillow case. We aren't talking to each other right now.

If I ever had an insecure moment during my relationships and went to a friend for counsel, I would end up walking away feeling more stupid than hurt. The guy would apparently not be worth my time, effort, or tears. I shoulda kicked his shit to the curb a looong time ago, or I needed to back away from guys all together and take up something fun -- like knitting.

When it's my turn to be on the counseling end of the phone, again I end up feeling stupid. In spending "quality time" with a guy, one needs to be preapared to be pushed aside for "the guys that he sees everyday anyway", TigerWoods, the JennaBlowUpDoll, the ex-girlfriend he still talks to/sleeps with, or any combination of the above. Pointing this out gets me in trouble and I become of no help at all. Well hell, what am I suppose to say?!

For some reason, all guys that myself or most girls would consider dating have at least 3 of the 4 aformentioned tags to their character, so you think most girls would be prepared, but they're not.

Oh well. I leave the counseling job to the rest of the girly girls that seem to know better than me. I'm going to stick to the "gee, I don't know what to say" line.

Valentine's evening was spent with other mechies at dinner and then eventually at a bar across from campus. Like the good little lush that I am, I enjoyed my malibu and cokes, guinessess (guini?), and an irish carbomb on our sponsor's tab. And I held them down quite well. At one point during the night I was perched on a barstool and surrounded by six guys, one of which was so bold as to ask me several times to announce which one of them was my favorite. Another one made 'comments' about how I treat men based on his experience with his very own vietnamese girl. One guy kept giving me his hotel room number. Another guy, this one of military affiliation, seemingly lost all depth perception and kept leaning on my back. I eventually excused myself and found my way to a pool table that I cleared off pretty quick. DepthPerceptionDood followed me there and kept grabbing me..well my ass. Being as lady-like as I moved his hands aside and made my way around the bar to avoid him. He kept finding me, and he kept squeezing my ass. He musta spread the word because atleast two more guys came up to squeeze my ass. Aside from the ass squeezing, I kissed a girl (no tounge), drove home a lot of people including a very discombobulated ToSh, and made it home without having to give a fake phone number.

++: I did end up with a bouquet of flowers, thanks to ToSh.

We started to get snow yesterday, we got even more today.. and there's more on it's way tomorrow!!

Congratulations to Matthew and Margret on their first,James Patrick King. *cheers* to more new happy people in the world!

plopped infront of the tv, i picked up my ten lbs weights and started my curls while watching Oprah's 'america's most romantic men' and sat through rediculously fairytale love stories of how thoughtful men shared their affection and were rewarded for doing so. one guy summed up his feelings for his woman and said 'i don't take a breath, without taking one for her'. *sniffle*. later on, i sat through my first viewing of extreme makeovers. these men/women get nipped and tucked to become physically more attractive and to boost their self image and are absolutely gorgeous when they're done.

well i'm not exactly ugly. infact i've been told i'm quite cute. though my quote unquote group date with mr. baylor made me rethink my cuteness, i know that i'm not half bad looking. there's really nothing i'd like to change about myself except maybe a few pounds here and there. nothing that requires lasers and being put under. as for being romantic, i consider myself pretty thoughtful. i don't forget birthdays, special days, or random days. i pick up little 'presents' here and there for the person i'm with to let them know i think about them. i go out of my way to make sure the person i'm with is comfortable and content.

and yet, for some reason... i don't have anyone to be 'america's most romantic' around me. maybe i haven't found the right person yet, people tell me. i thought i found him. i subsequently lost him. and i don't even know how. so maybe he wasn't right. watching tv reminded me that there was nothing i could do to my body to look or feel better about myself. that i've been blessed with a pretty face and an ass and a set of thighs. watching tv gave me faith that there *are* romantic men out there who would give as much of themselves as i've given in the past. watching tv also reminded me that all those men are taken.

back home my friends would tell me that i was fun to be around. that i was sunshine and brightened up any room when i walked in. they tell me they see something special in me. here in lubbock, people have gone blind with cheep beer and i'm plain chubby little me. the only thing people here see in me are solution cd's, homework, or my dremel. this year there won't be a rose on my winshield with a note saying what a great friend i've been. there won't be a fancy dinner in a quiet restaurant. no one will be home when i get home to give me a hug and ask me how i've been.

it'll be okay. there's always homework or a meeting to attend or friends to talk to on the phone. there's always something to keep me away from the tv and ugly reminders.

Nothing could be cooler than saying "I live on Monkeyfist".

In 4 days, Hallmark-America will celebrate this 4 letter word with colored confetti in shades of red and fluffy teddy bears strangled in red bow-ties and metric ass tons of chocolate covered anythings. All the "pretty people" will be surprised with dying flowers sustained in tubes filled with sugar water or infant creatures separated from their mothers, asphyxiate in red bow-ties, and stuffed in a cardboard box with holes.

Everyone else gets to sigh and say "oh how sweet" while inside they're really saying "go shove it up your ***" I've gotten my fair share of freshly severed flowers and stuffed bears, but they didn't have anything to do with that 4 letter word. Not that I wasn't grateful, oh I was. But it turned out that 4 letter word amounted to crap. Otherwise, I'd be giddy-giggly with the rest of Hallmark-America 4 days from now.

That 4 letter word, is hardly appreciated by the people who get to have it spoken to them. Even worse, many times the people who say it, really shouldn't be saying it.

This year, call up the people who raised you and made you the person you are today or send them a freshly potted plant. These are the people that told you that 4 letter word and meant it. Find that person who put up with your sorry-butt and listened to you whine day and night about the trivial goings on in your life and give them a hug. And that person who always found a way to come through and get you what you needed when you needed it, let them know you appreciate them. These are the people who share this 4 letter word with you, and they are the ones that deserve the goodies/chocolate/pretty plants. Stop doting over beeatches who complain everytime you'd rather hang out with your friends or those insensitive asses who make up excuses for not calling you back. For one, you deserve better and two, the people who are always there for you deserve better than to be ignored by you.

There is a magic number for the hours of sleep one should have to function efficiently the next day. I haven't quite figured it out, but I believe it's between 3 and 8. Somewhere in there is this magical number of good wrapped-up-like-a-burrito kind of sleep that makes any day go by so much better than any other day. I thought it might have been 6, but I noticed 6.5 was just a little bit better. hmm. Must continue this study....

I go to a school where we make national headlines for losing the Black Plague and for hiring an intolerable masochist as a basketball coach. We made headlines again thanks to this coach who had a shouting match with our Chancellor in a public market which evidently poured out into the street shortly there after. Much to my chagrin, I didn't know it was national until I found myself in the middle of a discussion regarding this coach during breakfast at the conference I attended this weekend.

In any other part of the world, a person who would be so white-trash-red-necky enough to mouth off at a person far his superior deserves to be fired. But in a place as red-necky-all-american as this, the "General" as this coach is referred to, mearly gets a slap on the hand. Because the school wants to have him make us win more games. Because that's important.

More important than funding a Department that is severly underfunded.

The engineering students at Texas Tech are being taught out of books that no longer exist for them to purchase. Engineering classes are taught clear across campus in business buildings because we have no room for them here. In rare but oh so trying instances, we're "taught" by people we can't understand -- because we can't afford faculty that speak a comprehendible language. Engineering Alumni's donations are rerouted to other parts of campus other than engineering and students' fees are raised to force us to pay for sports events we don't have time to participate in because we're walking 3 miles between classes and translating our notes into english. I could go on, but it would depress me.

A good bit of the money I spend in tuition is going to the Center for Stupid Athletes, the new Stadium, and to pay a salary for the Crazy Coach to buy his highly fashionable camo-hunting jumpsuit he wears everywhere. This place doesn't realize that without it's paying students, it wouldn't exist. It's all about sports. And it's wrong. Many shades of wrong. I go to a school run by monkeys. Monkeys.

I spent the weekend attending a conference and board meeting in H-town. More importantly, I got to meet up with peeps I hadn't seen in years!! Sonia My Boo Queen of the Giggles and Judy 'n' Allen. Sonia, I learned, has been blessed with Olympic SpeedWalking feet -- she bolted through the Galleria for hours to help me find a dress appropriate for dinner. And I DO mean bolted. If she hadn't, it woulda taken us days - but besides the point. So I got to meet her huny-boo (giggle!). They both were setting me up with one of his friends - hence the need for a dress and not my usual camo pants and boots. Had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory with them and JnA which was excellent of course! Must make mental note of the Raspberry Lemonade. Sunday I spent w/ JnA at their house and their two kitties. Making mental note of Judy's Lemonade. JnA spoiled me with DimSum and some REAL Sushi... it's good to be w/ family again. Oh soo good!!

side note: As for that setup date thing. Yeah. Well, apparently, either I'm butt ugly, too fat, or too odd to catch the eyes of a Baylor grad - or hell anybody for that matter. Eh. I lost nothing. He didn't even make it past numero 1 in my own version of "The List". Which by the way is: 1) must be 100% not asian.

1) The shirt I saw on a chick at Subway. It read "Everybody is somebody in Lubbock".

2) The "oo" sound in the word "Butte"

3) People who think I will chauffer because I like to drive.

4) The words "coup d'état".

5) My sister calling to tell me she split her pants dancing her big booty dance.

6) Seeing Dr. D all excited and worked up about something.

7) Dr. C saying I'm not at all like a Tiger

8) My friend who gonna let some skinny size 2-treadmill running-cotton ball eating-dexatrim poppin-nutjob tell her she's obese.

9) The telemundo commercial with two people having sex and a child frozen in the path of a moving semi.

The first published victim of my new camera: Flip, aka PimpJooceJr.
Flip has got to be the most adoRable puppy eVeR!! And he has this yummy smell all over, especially on his itty bitty head. I've never ever smelled puppy smell before, and I must say it's one of the bestest smellages ever! See the rest of my Flip snaps here.

Super Bowl News - SuperBowl.com - Official website of Super Bowl XXXVIII: "Statement by NFL Executive Vice President Joe Browne regarding the Super Bowl halftime show:
'We were extremely disappointed by elements of the MTV-produced Halftime show. They were totally inconsistent with assurances our office was given about the show. It's unlikely that MTV will produce another Super Bowl halftime.' " I wonder if he was refering to this:



JT did say he was gonna have her nekkid by the end of this song.

He tells reporters: "I am sorry that anyone was offended by the wardrobe malfunction during the halftime performance of the Super Bowl," Timberlake said in a statement. "It was not intentional and is regrettable." Really? I don't think so.

I find it unnerving when I turn on my tv and start flipping channels and I run into the local Hispanic television station to find one of 3 things: 1) a chick in a binkini and high heels prancing around a whiteboard trying to be serious with a group of older greasy haired gentlemen siting on couches 2) a naked chick with huge boobies and running mascara obviously being forced to have sex with her on screen partner as he pulls her hair and mumbles something, but all i can really pay attention to is his horrid 5 o'clock shadow or 3) a chick crying in the doorway hoping to win her man back, and as he stands there hurt and upset, she starts pulling off her clothes in desparation. This is what's on the hispanic channel. And I wonder why when I navigate my way through Wal-Mart at 1:20 in the morning, i'm having to dodge 15 kids yelling "maMAAAAA!".

Some how after a comment on handwritting, a nice discussion on the 'coolness' of the handwritten 'g' when written with the bubble stuff on the bottom instead of the traditional curly hook like the bottoms of y's and j's, etc turned into "I wanna call my self google". Yep, I believe I heard that right, 'cause when I looked over, SM was nodding his head to his "I wanna call myself google" statement. The soccerist formally known as SM is now OldSkoolG. This is his official Gradschool-now-you-have-a-name-like-Mooga-that-people-will-raise-eyebrows-at name. And the G stands for Google. This is what happens to people at 3am when surrounded by a large concentration of mathematic related texts.