"I got to where I am by sleeping with Catherine..."

...said Shizuka Arakawa, as she carefully dusted her gold medal for incriminating fingerprints, certain that Irina Slutskaya had been trying steal it during the night. She was absolutely sure that she had heard the Russian skater eyeing it, muttering "It's ours, my precious, and we wants it," under her breath.

Now there's a fic for you. The ladies' gold medal is forged from the One Ring. Let the free-for-all begin.

In other news, the week has been kind of bleh. Been sickish through most of it and then didn't really get any sleep last night. The apartment is fantabulous, now that the downstairs bathroom has a curtain and we are no longer mooning/sunning the neighbors. The upstairs bathroom, though, is a different story. Ask Sheldon, who wound up waving to the family across the street as he was taking a piss, or the family across the street, who saw me in my birthday suit when I went to take a shower one morning. I have since realized that the trick is to climb into the shower, close the curtain, and then take your clothes off. By the time you get out of the shower, the windows are all fogged up. Everybody wins.

Quinn has given me the gift of RENT. I am counting down the hours until I get to torture him by making him watch it with me. He will learn it all, dammit. Then we can make beautiful music by having an apartment-wide-and-also-Woody RENT singalong. It will be lovely, and very La Vie Boheme-ish.

School is alright. I feel like I'm not in school at all because I don't have any study-intensive classes. Creative writing, poetry, history, French, and watercolors, for god's sake. I've become adept at making myself go to class, though. At least they're fun classes; however, I feel that if I'm not taking harder classes that require some angst and elbow grease on my part, that it's almost not worth it. Bah.

My creative writing professor recommended me for a scholarship at the New York State Summer Writers Institute at Skidmore College. I just got the information today, and it's kind of overwhelming. I'd like to try for it, but I don't really think I've got a shot in hell and since money is kind of tight, I'd rather not waste the $35 application fee. Just looking up the school was kind of intimidating, if only from a financial standpoint- the place totals to $41,000 per year, although room and board is included in that. But still. Forty grand is a whole degree at SU.

It's kind of got me depressed. I'm starting to realize that I've got to make a descision about what to do with my life. I think I'm closer to jumping over the CRJ fence as opposed to sitting on it, now. The odd thing is that when I talked it over with my parents, they were relieved by my descision not to do it. Quinn doesn't really voice an opinion on the matter other than the standard, "You should write. You're really good at writing." I, however, am interested in making a living, and doing exciting things. Ultimately winding up an English teacher doesn't really appeal to me.

So, here's what I'm looking at. Figuring that I can do writing on the side, if and when the mood strikes me, and let that go where it will without counting on it.

Plan A: Major in Egyptology/Biological Anthropology. Because I've always wanted to be an Egyptologist, working in a museum appeals to me, Egypt is warm, I'd get to hang around with dead people and their skeletons, and it would be fairly easy to switch to forenseic anthropolgy and work in law enforcement if I so chose.

Plan B: Major in European History/Art History, specialize in Medieval Art and the Crusades, get a Master's in reconstruction of textiles from NYU and carry on with my plan to take over the directorship of The Cloisters or [insert random art museum in a major city here.]

Plan C: Say fuck it and become a librarian. Then be proud of it.

Plan D: Give up on academia entirely and get my scuba diving certifications. Somehow get a job at Weeki Wachee Springs in Florida working as a mermaid. Seduce and marry some rich old guy and spend the remainder of my years getting too tan and wearing gaudy jewelry. Towards the end of my life become an eccentric recluse, kind of a crossover between that lady in Great Expectations and Grissom. Die. Leave all my money to my pet kittens Isildur and Dim Sum.

Either way, I've got to start applying to places soon. I've got about a semester left after this one before I graduate. After that, I might take a semester off so I can start the following fall. Or not. Maybe I'll just bite the bullet and start in the spring, but that really puts a crunch on the time. Goddamn it. *bangs head into table*

Maybe Dad will lend me $35? And I'd better write something. Oh, shit, this is pointless. Hope is a cruel, cruel disease.



Oh. Another recent highlight is that Quinn drew me as a zombie. It came out fucking awesome. Will try to post it at some point. Whee!

"I got to where I am by sleeping with Catherine..."

...said Shizuka Arakawa, as she carefully dusted her gold medal for incriminating fingerprints, certain that Irina Slutskaya had been trying steal it during the night. She was absolutely sure that she had heard the Russian skater eyeing it, muttering "It's ours, my precious, and we wants it," under her breath.

Now there's a fic for you. The ladies' gold medal is forged from the One Ring. Let the free-for-all begin.

In other news, the week has been kind of bleh. Been sickish through most of it and then didn't really get any sleep last night. The apartment is fantabulous, now that the downstairs bathroom has a curtain and we are no longer mooning/sunning the neighbors. The upstairs bathroom, though, is a different story. Ask Sheldon, who wound up waving to the family across the street as he was taking a piss, or the family across the street, who saw me in my birthday suit when I went to take a shower one morning. I have since realized that the trick is to climb into the shower, close the curtain, and then take your clothes off. By the time you get out of the shower, the windows are all fogged up. Everybody wins.

Quinn has given me the gift of RENT. I am counting down the hours until I get to torture him by making him watch it with me. He will learn it all, dammit. Then we can make beautiful music by having an apartment-wide-and-also-Woody RENT singalong. It will be lovely, and very La Vie Boheme-ish.

School is alright. I feel like I'm not in school at all because I don't have any study-intensive classes. Creative writing, poetry, history, French, and watercolors, for god's sake. I've become adept at making myself go to class, though. At least they're fun classes; however, I feel that if I'm not taking harder classes that require some angst and elbow grease on my part, that it's almost not worth it. Bah.

My creative writing professor recommended me for a scholarship at the New York State Summer Writers Institute at Skidmore College. I just got the information today, and it's kind of overwhelming. I'd like to try for it, but I don't really think I've got a shot in hell and since money is kind of tight, I'd rather not waste the $35 application fee. Just looking up the school was kind of intimidating, if only from a financial standpoint- the place totals to $41,000 per year, although room and board is included in that. But still. Forty grand is a whole degree at SU.

It's kind of got me depressed. I'm starting to realize that I've got to make a descision about what to do with my life. I think I'm closer to jumping over the CRJ fence as opposed to sitting on it, now. The odd thing is that when I talked it over with my parents, they were relieved by my descision not to do it. Quinn doesn't really voice an opinion on the matter other than the standard, "You should write. You're really good at writing." I, however, am interested in making a living, and doing exciting things. Ultimately winding up an English teacher doesn't really appeal to me.

So, here's what I'm looking at. Figuring that I can do writing on the side, if and when the mood strikes me, and let that go where it will without counting on it.

Plan A: Major in Egyptology/Biological Anthropology. Because I've always wanted to be an Egyptologist, working in a museum appeals to me, Egypt is warm, I'd get to hang around with dead people and their skeletons, and it would be fairly easy to switch to forenseic anthropolgy and work in law enforcement if I so chose.

Plan B: Major in European History/Art History, specialize in Medieval Art and the Crusades, get a Master's in reconstruction of textiles from NYU and carry on with my plan to take over the directorship of The Cloisters or [insert random art museum in a major city here.]

Plan C: Say fuck it and become a librarian. Then be proud of it.

Plan D: Give up on academia entirely and get my scuba diving certifications. Somehow get a job at Weeki Wachee Springs in Florida working as a mermaid. Seduce and marry some rich old guy and spend the remainder of my years getting too tan and wearing gaudy jewelry. Towards the end of my life become an eccentric recluse, kind of a crossover between that lady in Great Expectations and Grissom. Die. Leave all my money to my pet kittens Isildur and Dim Sum.

Either way, I've got to start applying to places soon. I've got about a semester left after this one before I graduate. After that, I might take a semester off so I can start the following fall. Or not. Maybe I'll just bite the bullet and start in the spring, but that really puts a crunch on the time. Goddamn it. *bangs head into table*

Maybe Dad will lend me $35? And I'd better write something. Oh, shit, this is pointless. Hope is a cruel, cruel disease.



Oh. Another recent highlight is that Quinn drew me as a zombie. It came out fucking awesome. Will try to post it at some point. Whee!