The random musings of a slash addict.

Blargh, finals! I only have two, but they're less than 12 hours apart, which is making studying a nightmare. The good news is:

- I can get as low as a 20% on the Biochemistry final and still have a B in the class.
- I can get as low as a 78% on the Animal Welfare final and still have an A in the class. As low as a 34% and I'd have a B. I could pull off a 78% if I started studying three hours before the exam. Of course I won't, but if sacrifices need to be made, it's going to be here.

The bad news is:

- I have to get an 85% on the Biochem final to maintain my A. I'd say this won't be terribly difficult, if the exam was anything like the previous two. I got a 98% on the first one. The second one covered considerably more material, and I studied considerably less for it (about four hours, total), and still managed an 81%. However, this third final, even though it's not cumulative, easily covers as much material as the first and second exams combined. We have to know the reactants, products, enzymes, cofactors, type of reaction and if it's reversible or irreversible, where ATP is consumed and where it's produced, as well as a bunch of other insanely detailed shit that I can't remember off the top of my head for every step of:

- Aerobic glycolysis
- Anaerobic glycolysis
- Alcoholic fermentation
- Gluconeogenesis
- The Citric Acid Cycle
- Oxidative phosphorylation
- Photosynthesis

This is all material I've covered before in other classes, and in similar depth, but one or maybe two of the above at a time. Never all at once! I reeeaaally don't want a B. I'm trying to get my 3.1 up to at least a 3.25 or higher before I graduate in May. God, the next two days are going to suck.

Jacqueline Carey recently had a Facebook poll asking what her readers thought "joie" tasted like. She said ice wine and Goldschlauger got a lot of votes. The latter I can see, somewhat, but ice wine? If you've never heard it before, ice wine is a dessert wine made from grapes harvested after the first frost, so the sugar content of the grapes is higher. It tastes like liquid candy, and I hate it. How does that in any way resemble the description of joie in the books?

Anyway, I've decided that my answer is Rumple Minze. It's got a clear, bright flavor that tastes like bottled, distilled winter.

About six months ago I said something like: "I'm not paying $900 for paper. I'll make my own wedding invites, thank you very much. It'll be totes easy!"

And I bought two different styles of ribbon in my two colors, blue and green, and they sat in a plastic bag until about three weeks ago. Then I started playing around with how I wanted the invites to look, and I realized that this just would not work. The ribbon I'd bought was far too thick and bulky to use both colors and fit in the envelope with a gift registry, RSVP cards and self-addressed envelopes. And a bow was just out of the fucking question.

I went through three different styles of ribbon, and found out just how much of a headache do-it-yourself wedding stuff can be. But today after dinkering around Hobby Lobby some more, I'm finally happy with it. Thank god for organza!

My eShakti order arrived today. There is good and bad. First and foremost that I ordered shirts one size too large. I always proceed with caution when ordering clothes online, because it's so much easier to have them taken in. Anyway, now I know for next time.

The dress isn't as flattering as I'd hoped. Part of that is because it's so badly flattened and wrinkled from transport that it needs to be steamed before the ruffles will fall right. The hem is also about three inches too long, which makes it look dowdy. But that's easily remedied.

The black shirt is a lot less close-fitting than I'd thought from looking at the picture. In fact, it's very loose through the sleeves, which isn't as nice as you'd think. Loose, billowy lace just looks like you're draped in a doily. I plan on having Susie, my seamstress, hem the dress and take the sleeves of the blouse in a bit.

Now, the turquoise shirt is gorgeous. The cut is extremely flattering, and is actually a much richer jewel tone than the picture makes it out to be. Definitely my new power blouse. Meetings, speeches, this is my go-to shirt.

I just sat through two hours of Syfy's "Alice" for three minutes of Tim Curry. At least there was some Kathy Bates in there. Neither of them were given material anywhere close to their potential, though. Sad.

I can finally breathe out of my left nostril. Another cold, right on the heels of my bronchitis.

Snakey was being oddly social tonight. Usually when she's out and I approach her enclosure, she'll duck inside the first hiding spot she can find. Tonight I spent about ten minutes just standing next to her tank with my hands pressed against the screen top. She arched her neck up and tongue-flicked my fingers. It was quite cool. I'm beginning to have hope for her, yet.

( Sometimes my fiance can be a real idiot. )

I just watched the first eight episodes of season two of "Secret Diary of a Call Girl", and it appears that Denise and I weren't the only ones to notice how weird Billie Piper's breasts looked in the first season. She's put on about ten pounds for the second season, most of which appears to have gone to her tits because they've doubled in size from last season and are definitely more attractive for it. The very first episode is about Belle considering breast augmentation, and involves a fair amount of B.P. with her shirt off. And we're treated to toplessness every episode now, whereas I can count how many times we got boobage in the first season on one hand. It's almost like they're rubbing the viewer's face in it. Seems someone had a point to prove.

Either way, keep the weight on, Billie. It suits you much better than the razor-faced, mannish creature you become when you're too thin.

Heading up to Chicago tomorrow afternoon for a Skepchicamp planning meeting, and to have the fantastic reuben and bloody mary buffet at Galway Arms Irish Pub. Hopefully I'll get my take-home final for Companion Animal Management done in the car.

I got a 91% on the Dairy Products final, which bumps me up to an 81% in the class. My only B this semester. I'm ticked, but at least I'll still make the Dean's List. And I'm doing better than most. The professors have said that they aren't going to curve. They really fucked this one up. They're first time professors, and have managed to alienate and piss off their entire class. Whether or not they're offered tenure rides on our evaluations, and they might have been able to generate some goodwill with a curve. As is, they're fucked. I would love to read through their student evals. I know mine was a bloodbath.

Denise, did you get the allspice?

eShakti emailed me to confirm my height. Apparently they thought I'd entered 6'2" on accident. It's nice of them to double check their orders, but it felt a little... yeah. Could you imagine them emailing someone who entered an abnormally large weight instead? "Hi, we just wanted to confirm that you are indeed a fat ass."

These next two weeks will be insane. I have two large projects, a ten page enterprise analysis, an exam and three finals. I keep telling myself, only one semester left until my BA.

And I find out if I move on in the vet school admission rat race this month. I'm not holding my breath. I'm expecting to be turned down. Almost everyone is their first time, after all. Only a lucky 40 out of hundreds of applicants make it in, and who knows how many of them have applied multiple times.

I just placed my order with eShakti. I got the purple cascade dress, the black lace long-sleeved top and the turquoise ruffle blouse. If anyone wants one of the $20 off coupons, let me know.

I'm so mad right now I could spit.

My mother asked me to make the gravy this Thanksgiving. Since the recipe from Penzeys that I made for my and Don's Thanskgiving dinner had been so amazing, I decided to do that. I woke up at 8:30 this morning to make stock from the turkey gibblets. After the turkey came out of the oven around noon, I spent an hour straining the drippings and skimming off the fat with a tablespoon. After that, I made a rue with the turkey fat and flour, and whisked in the stock one cup at a time. Gravy was fucking delicious.

But it wasn't brown. Why isn't it brown? Gravy is supposed to be brown! So my mom takes a packet of instant gravy from the pantry and mixes it up with some hot water and serves it instead.

And right now she's wondering why I'm angry with her. She even came up and gave me a kiss on the forehead and told me: "I love you, don't be mad." I told her: "I love you, too. But don't ask me to do something, watch me spend hours doing it, and then undermine me at the last second."

Really? You call this "stunning"? The only way that dress could be considered stunning is if you're 17 years old and have an $80 budget for prom.

Making a mini-Thanksgiving dinner for me and Don and then heading home to visit the family for our big dinner tomorrow. Trying the Penzeys "Bicentennial Rub" on the turkey and in the gravy. So far the stock I've got reducing with it smells pretty awesome.

Good news! Don and I might be getting a dog. His allergies from the rats have finally calmed down to the point where when he's around dogs, he feels no worse than usual. Eeeeeee doggie!!! I'd like to shoot for the 2-3 year age range, preferably a small breed that doesn't shed. Only I think Don's already got his heart set on a dachshund. And I can't see a pit bull without falling in love, but I doubt we could talk our lessors into it. Stupid media.

I'm so thrilled! Not having a warm, furry creature in my life has been slowly eating away at me since last fall when I put Gracie down.

So, good news on the career front.

Today I had a professor from the vet school encourage me to do the 6-year PhD program instead of the 4-year DVM program. He said I'd be "set for life" in terms of a job, because after retiring from clinic work I could get a job teaching at any vet school in the country. I told him I was seriously considering it. I really do enjoy the education opportunities I've had, and it'll increase my annual salary by up to an additional 40K on top of what I'd be making as a DVM.

Speaking of education opportunities, I've been asked to give a speech at Skepchicamp Chicago. At first I was reluctant, thinking that my particular field doesn't lend itself well to their goals. But after a great deal of persuasion, and also taking the time to sit back and think about just how much trust the public places in commercial pet products due to catch phrases like "Vet recommended", I decided that there is a niche within skepticism and critical thinking for what I have to offer. They've left the topic up to me, and I'm leaning toward false advertising in the commercial pet food industry.

I finally figured out my unfortunate attraction to men like Dennis Miller and Tim Curry. They're the spitting image of my First. It seems that I have been conditioned to eternally be attracted to short, dark-haired, pudgy men with beards/goatees.

The humorous flip side to this is I'm marrying a tall, lanky, beardless, pale blond.

Oh hey, I realized I never mentioned the outcome of my doctor's visit. I have bronchitis. Apparently a rather bad case of it. She put me on a z-pack, as well as an albuterol inhaler. When she listened to my chest, she said that I had quite a bit of rattling noises in my lungs, but I didn't seem to be complaining much. I told her I grew up with an emergency room RN for a mother. We talked about people being scalped in a bus accident over the dinner table, and I received stitches at home on more than one occasion. One doesn't emerge from an environment like that as a pansy.

Tomorrow I have an interview to do at the Avian and Exotic Clinic in Carmel. It's for a project in my Companion Animal Management class, not a job offer, unfortunately. But seeing as the president of my rescue is the head technician there, and I've worked with Dr. Lennox a few times now, I don't imagine that it's too far out of the realm of possibility after I graduate in May. Maybe I can further ingratiate myself to the rest of the staff tomorrow. ;)

Oooh, Denise is evil. Her Id powers have managed to remind me of a website that she turned me on to awhile back, but somehow managed to forget about. Their clothes are sexy, sophisticated, unique and understated, while still being impeccably stylish and modern. In a word, gorgeous. And she's offering me a $20 discount, you bitch.

The one thing I am absolutely getting, no matter what, is this dress.

The things I want to get, and possibly will, because I have poor impulse control are:

This top.

This, with a well-fitting pair of charcoal dress slacks, would be the perfect job interview outfit. Confident, memorable, without being too stuffy or sexy.

And this with a flesh or soft pink camisole would be absolutely edible.

This blouse is really high on the "must have" list, and would also provide me with an excuse to get these earrings.

This skirt, which I just love the simple elegance of, even if I did wish it came in a different color.

This scarf is giving me fits.

This coat looks like it stepped off the set of "Secret Diary of a Call Girl".

Also slightly in love with this, although I don't really look good in horizontal stripes so it's probably destined to be a love affair from afar.

If these people ever start doing shoes, I am DOOMED!

I think I need to face the reality that I really should move to a fashion capital like New York or London. Hopefully Don will get a job at a museum in a major, metropolitan area and I can have the closet full of fuckably delicious clothes I've always wanted. There is simply no appreciation for things like this in Indiana. Uggs and sweatpants with "Juicy" written across the ass, yes, but a well-tailored pencil skirt and ruffle blouse? Not so much.

Had a dream last night that Tim Curry was a sex god (literally) and was going to sacrifice me to restore his aging queen's youth and beauty, but instead realized that the ritual didn't have to be fatal to work. They kept me around as a living battery and the three of us had crazy, wild sex for centuries.

This is what I get for watching Rocky Horror and Annie within two weeks of each other.

Mango vodka + a splash of triple sec + cranberry juice = liquid candy. Due to my new found love of mango anything, I have to refine my hatred of fruity drinks. If they include mango vodka, puree or juice then we're cool.

Also, I'll be hitting ya'll up for semi-permanent addresses in the next month or so. Wedding invites go out after Christmas.

Doctor's appointment tomorrow at 2pm. The last two or three days my cough has been getting mucho better, and my energy was almost fully restored. I'd still get short of breath if I overexerted myself, but it appeared I was on the road to recovery. Then last night as soon as I laid down to sleep I was hit by a major asthma attack. Coughed so hard I was bringing up bloody phlegm. I almost called Don to tell him I was going to the hospital. Weirdly, it got better when I got up and walked around. Laid back down again, and it felt like I was drowning. So I propped myself up on three pillows so I was almost sitting up in bed and finally fell asleep. Yeah, I think it's time for a chest x-ray.

Don is being adorable and alternating between ordering me to see a doctor and then hugging me and begging me not to have cancer.

I like watching Animal Planet, obviously. And I watch all of the shows, including those where people get attacked by animals. Sometimes it's a bear, or a shark, or something equally tragic and unavoidable. But most of the time it's rodeo fucktards whining about how they got their head stomped in by a bull.

Y'know what? I have no sympathy for you. In fact, I was hoping the bull would turn around and curb stomp your skull again to finish you off. Because it is entirely, 100%, no question about it, all your fault. You've taken an animal and bred it generation after generation to be bigger, meaner and more feral. And then you take that highly excitable and dangerous animal and put them in the middle of a closed-in arena with hundreds of people waving their arms and shouting, which is guaranteed to send them into a panic. And then you hop on its back or lasso it or whatever the fuck, which scares it even more fucking out of its mind and gives it a clear target to focus all of that fear and aggression on; you. Is anyone else seeing any point in the above scenario where someone might have avoided having their brain pancaked?

I hate rodeo. It's the last major, acceptable form of animal cruelty. Because America hates dog fighting, but loves a good bull ride.