Author: Kat (Page 85 of 89)

The Blur That Was The Last Two Weeks

I warn you all: this may be the last time I write in three weeks. In the next three weeks, I have three papers (one of them being my honors thesis), a midterm, a presentation, SA and Mountainview Elections stuff-o-rama, and CDT Sweatshirt Distribution. Oh, and my brackets. And I’m behind on everything because of my oh-so-lovely illness (which is dealable with for now). So take this abbreviated entry and make it last three weeks, unless I decide to procrastinate at any point during the next three weeks of all-nighters.

And since the past two weeks have been a completely medicated and sometimes-not-medicated enough blur, I bring you a random bunch of notes.

-I have this sneaking suspicion that the Terrell Owens trade will be rescinded. I don’t think it should, but I think it will. I don’t know why. I’ve come up with a bunch of different reasons that I could easily argue against. We’ll see, I guess. I just think it will. Premonition…meaning I’m probably wrong, because I’m never right when I chalk something up to that.

-Yes, I will still watch hockey, and I will still let any future children I may have watch and play hockey, even after this Todd Bertuzzi event. I think this combined with the McSorley event of a few years ago and the upcoming labor dispute will cause a decrease in the amount of violence allowed on the ice. As violent as America is, a brutally violent foreign product isn’t going to sell. The NHL will try to curb the violence as best they can, as already seen in the almost-suspension of the Rochester American’s goalie on Friday night for something he didn’t do, that the accusing player did to himself. Binghamton is a dirty team. I’m not saying that the Amerks are angels, but what I’ve seen and read about Binghamton points to a pattern of violence.

-Speaking of any future children I may have, I was thinking the other day: could my children have all the makings of comedic genius? I’m part Canadian, grew up in what is practically just “Southern Canada” as Tricia put it, and I will be spending at least the next year of my life in Boston. Seeing that the best comedians are either Canadian or from Boston, my children will be on the stand-up circuit by the age of seven–well, at least on my end. Who knows, whoever I may marry might have no comedic genes and just ruin it. Maybe I will try to avoid that by marrying someone from Toronto–they breed comedians there like it’s their global export.

-Why must the NCAA basketball tournament be during the busiest three weeks of my life? And why must BYU be playing Syracuse in the first round? I never pick against BYU in football or basketball–let me remind you that for my 14th birthday, my parents gave me a BYU Cougars baseball hat. I wanted to go there, even though I am nowhere near Mormon. I feel like I have gone over this before. Well, anyway, I can’t pick against Syracuse either. Us upstaters got to stick together, and as the only true Upstate NY team in this tournament, I can’t pick against them. Urgh. But I want to kick the guys’ butts, so I will more than likely pick Syracuse. The sad thing is, I spent 10 minutes hemming and hawing this out while I should of been studying for my silly pointless monastery art history midterm. Procrastination, whoo-hoo. (But don’t worry, I put my nose to the grindstone and focused right after.)

-Several people have asked me this in the past few months, and so I will address this in a larger forum: No, I never pick in pools with money. That’s gambling, and that’s something I refuse to do (you’re looking at the girl who refuses to play even scratch-off lotto tickets.) I pick football and basketball for the pure enjoyment of making other people squirm when they realize the peppy art history minor with the cheerleader ponytail has kicked their butts. Haha, to quote my friend Brian, I rule.

-I think one of the most entertaining parts of the break-that-wasn’t (aka, the 4 day long “spring break” Binghamton gave us) was Tricia and I busting out into Jessica Simpson’s “I Think I’m In Love” in the middle of a coffee shop on Saturday night. Her fiancé, Olivier, is from France and therefore had not been exposed to the fun that is Jessica Simpson. (The second most fun was the dinner they made with her mom for us–very very very very good food.)

-My sister thinks she wants to go to Ithaca. Deja vu for my parents. I’m all for it, so when she’s a senior there, I can vicariously take part in Senior Week through her. Let us see how this plays out.

-If I was not convinced completely before, Barenaked Ladies sure convinced me that they are the BEST BAND EVER. Totally. Completely. I love them. It takes me seeing them live again for me to break out all their CDs and play them all completely through, and I did that again, and……I love them. You know how people quote lyrics in their away messages? I’m doing that now with Barenaked Ladies lyrics, just because they’re genius.

-I tried to watch Stars On Ice on TV the other day. Vastly disappointing. I ended up turning it off. I just can’t get into any figure skating this year. I feel off. I just can’t get into it. I haven’t watched a whole thing of figure skating all season. It’s gotten that bad. Am I just growing out of it? Was this just an age 2-21 thing? I still like to skate, I just can’t get into watching it. ‘Tis bad news for the 65 tapes of figure skating I’ve taped over the years that are now collecting dust in my attic and under my bed.

-Grad schools need to step it up and let me know what they think of me, otherwise I’m going to stop being patient and just send in my confirmation to Boston University. At least they like me.

Off to bed, or reading, or more procrastination. Yee-haw.

Health Center, Smelth Center–aka, Why I Can’t Write a Full Entry This Week

So, you know that running joke (on either campus I’ve been on, mind you) about the Health Center thinking everything is either pregnancy or a STD and really not being able to help any non-sexual or alcohol related issue at all? I always tried to give the Health Center the benefit of the doubt–even though my confidence in them had been blown on several occasions.

Well, I’ve been dealing with a cold/sinus infection for a few weeks now. No biggie–I get them about as often as Jason Sehorn has had season-ending injuries. I went to the health center, they barely glance at me, then have a doctor just take my tempature, and then diagonose me with a sinus infection and hand me antibotics. No biggie, right?

Now, take into account that in November my whole left side of my face went numb and tingly–and they told me it was all stress-related and I just needed to slow down (ha!)

Well, I’m at work last Friday, a few days after my course of antibotics was done, I’m still not 100 %, and it happens again–as I’m playing Go Fish with Rob the Computer Repair Center Guy, my whole left side goes crazy numb. I crawled back to my room after work, and I couldn’t move all Friday night. I realized my sinuses were swollen. By Sunday, I was a zombie, and by Tuesday, I was blacking out during the SA meeting. I realized that I needed to see someone other than the Health Center, so I had my mother make an appointment with my real doctor (who I hadn’t seen in a while, seeing that I’m barely ever in Rochester anymore) for Thursday morning, since I was going to be home Wednesday night for the Barenaked Ladies concert.

Rachel and I were both on our deathbeds for the concert–but so was half the band with the stomach flu, so it worked out. They cut stuff short, we had to leave early. And Rachel and I are Barenaked Ladies junkies or groupies or really obsessed or whatever you want to call us (it’s our Western New York upbringing), so if we’re sick enough to leave early, not stand the whole concert, and not be able to sing along to every song, you know something’s wrong.

The next morning at the doctor’s, I tell him everything that’s been going on. He looks me over, then gives me the oh-so-wonderful news: I’ve become antibotic resistant. I’ve been on antibotics four-five times in the last year, and always the same two kinds, so now they aren’t working. Plus my sinuses are in such bad shape that they are what is causing my left side numbness. And I am now battling a severe bacterial sinus infection that will get far worse before it gets better. And–if that all wasn’t enough–I am probably looking at sinus surgery sometime in April or May. “You should’ve been to a specialist sooner, and they should of realized what was going on back in September and November when they couldn’t figure out what you had,” he said.

He loaded me up with a boatload of a new antibotics (super strong and super long course) and a bunch of other things, and appointment with a specialist. I spent the rest of the day unable to move on my couch before I went back to school. He was right–I’m far worse than I was earlier in the week. I sound like a 90 year old chain smoker, and I feel like Ted Washington has plowed over me several times.

So the lesson to this story is: don’t go to the health center if you’re sick. Try to find a real doctor.

So before weezy me goes on another coughing spree, I will finish this up. I will write more soon, when I feel up to it.

Dance Land, Anglo-SEXons, and the “A-Rod to the Bills” Trade

I just spent the last week held hostage by the Anderson Center Concert Theatre and Children’s Dance Theatre. Aka, I spent the week in the middle of a glitter explosion in the freezing cold wings of the Concert Theatre. I missed one class, skipped a lot of reading, missed two meetings, and had my mini-stapler attached to my hand. CDT’s own Miss Publicity 2004 is in a zombie like state.

Therefore, my entry this week will be another smorgasbord of random thoughts, seeing that I did nothing that merits a whole entry. I’ve spent the past half hour trying to find one unifying aspect to all of these things, and I can’t. Hence, I’m Peter King-ing it again. (Which is okay, because the man is a genius–why didn’t I start reading him earlier in my life? Although he has gotten a bit carried away with the “Mock Trial Notes.” Maybe that’s because I’m jealous–my parents never bragged about my Model UN-ness and Debate Team-ness like that. This is the closest my parents came to bragging: My mom: “Uh, yeah, Katie’s away this weekend. She’s at that Model UN thing…no, it’s not modeling. It’s countries, they pretend they’re countries, she wears a skirt…and she argues with people.” My dad would then break in, “She LIKES to argue. She should be a lawyer. She loves to argue with me.” I love my parents. Ask them what my major is, I dare you. Mom: “Uh…there was the sports thing….but she doesn’t do that anymore…even though I think she should…” Dad: “She should be a LAWYER! She’s gonna be a lawyer, she’s just arguing with me again. She’s just rebelling. She’ll turn around when she realizes I’m right.”)

Where was I? Oh yeah, saying I’m going to Peter-King this. Okay.

–There’s an epidemic going around Take One Video/Bokays (aka, “the store,” the store I co-manage in the New Union). Two of my co-workers ended relationships in the past week. This now means, as far as I know, that the entire staff of the store is single. Guys of Binghamton University: along with renting movies, you can now pick up a girl at Take One Video. While supplies last, restrictions apply.

This also led to my boss telling me all the girls should be more like me because “I don’t need men because I’m too busy.” Yee-haw, yet another outside confirmation of my workaholicism. Who wants to be my sponsor in WA?

–Running joke of the week: “This dance is about the battle between good and evil…this dance is about the battle of good and evil….this dance is about the newspaper boys fighting evil…the dance is about good people fighting evil demons…this dance is about the Anglo-Saxons fighting the Vikings, but the Irish are strong and survive and learn to live together with everyone in harmony.”

Ciarra: “I don’t know where the heck she gets this. You know those kids don’t know what the heck she’s saying about the dance. They heard Anglo-Saxons and they’re like, ‘Ooh, Anglo-SEX!”

–For a girl who didn’t stay around long enough to make it to the Parkie courses in my Sports Info and Com major, I felt a tad like a Parkie this week. (I just realized that the use of the word “Parkie” is alienating my whole Binghamton audience. I’ll explain: Students in the communications school at Ithaca are nicknamed “Parkies.” Many of my friends were “Parkies.” I didn’t use it until I started hanging out with Sara, who uses it all the time–she’s an ex-Parkie who then went to H&S. I still go back and forth between IC lingo and BU lingo two years later. The worst is when I call the SA office the SAC, because the two are completely different, but somehow I slip and get the two confused…I don’t think transferring was good for my poor brain.)

But anyway, as I mentioned at the beginning, I was Miss Publicity for CDT. Thanks to my Homecoming connections, I was able to get Gail from University Publications and Marketing to help me with publicizing our Saturday performance. I wrote press releases, called and e-mailed people, designed advertising, and, the crème-de-la-crème, got interviewed in the studio by our CBS affiliate here. Yep, that was me on Thursday afternoon, chatting it up with Francesca whats-her-face. I realized after that I needed more make-up–I looked like I belonged as an extra in The Hours.

But it all worked–if you live in the Binghamton area (outside of the university, that is) and didn’t at least glance over something about CDT, then you obviously shun all forms of media. We had the biggest Saturday performance, profit-wise, ever. Initial numbers indicate that we brought in almost $900 more than last year’s dismal showing! Attendance wise, we doubled from last year. (I raised ticket prices when I took over as Financial Manager–it was sorely needed budget wise.) Although, there can always be more: when I presented our faculty advisor with my initial numbers, she looked sad. “I was hoping for $2,000 in profit.”

Bah, humbug. Given what other forms of entertainment we were up against, I’m rather proud of our showing. To quote Brian, “I rule.”

–This “Mark Brunell going to the Redskins” thing led me to throw my throw pillow at Sportscenter Thursday night when it scrolled on the ticker. For one, the Redskins were set at quarterback–not only did they have Ramsey, they had one of the Hasselbecks, the one who is married to the new girl on The View, making them the heirs to the famous mediocre QB-actress throne currently held by Rodney Peete and Holly Robinson Peete. They don’t need a QB who has had some pretty bad injuries–and they had to be bad, because any QB with a style like Steve Young and with time served under Brett Favre is going to sit with anything less than decapitatzation–who may be at the end of his career (and that stinks, cause Brunell is what, 33?). The only thing I can think of, and this came to me tonight after I finally got around to thinking about sports again after the week-o-dance, is that the Redskins want to set up a St. Louis situation–if one falters, you have a backup who should be a starter to fill in. But why would you do that when your existing backup (the Hasselbeck) just needs more time (at least I think), and your starter is promising and finally healthy? That’s bad front office stuff. I feel as if I’m missing something here, and I very well might be, because I was in artsy-land all week. If I am missing something, please let me know.

And of course, this leads to what I wanted to happen to Brunell, which was my patented “Kat’s Well-Intentioned-But-In-Reality-Really-Bad Joke of the Week.” I thought I had read something on “The Daily Quickie” on ESPN.com saying that rumour had it that the Niners might waive Garcia. Now, news like that was enough for me to allow myself to eat mozzarella sticks (at over 1000 calories, I only allow myself to eat them on VERY special occasions). Well, I had this crazy idea for the Niners, and if you aren’t the most knowledgeable about your mid-90s football, it can be explained by my Top 5 Hottest QBs list I had a few weeks ago (it’s still up–just go to the 1/24/04 entry): The Niners could get rid of Garcia, sign Brunell, and let him keep his number 8. Don’t sign Owens (not like they’re going to anyway) and somehow get back Rice. Volia! I get to sit back and pretend that I’m 13 again.

My poor mom, I told her this over the phone, and she was quiet. “Uh-huh, honey…now would Dad get that? I don’t get it. Who is he again? And by the way, who is this A-Rod fellow?”

“Wrong sport Mom.”

“Oh, I was hoping the Bills could get him. Are people angry about this?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Ahh…do you like him?”

“A-Rod? Mom, I don’t like anything having to do with the Yankees.”

“I know honey. The Yankees stink.”

“Mom, you’re only saying that because Uncle Sean likes them.”

“They stink.”

Thank you, Verizon, for letting me have these conversations more often. Unlimited nights and weekends=the best invention since the internet.

–Sara took great offense to me saying last week that my children will not play basketball. I give you this in response: I’m 5 foot 1. The tallest person in my family (both sides, mind you) is my Uncle Sean, my mom’s brother, who is close to 6 foot. How the heck that happened, I don’t know. (Well, my grandmother is pretty tall, so I guess that’s how. And when I say tall, I mean average.) My immediate family lines up like this:

Dad = 5’6

Megan = 5’2 ½

Mom = 5’1 ½

Me = 5’1

Sam = shortest boy in the 3rd grade

I have this inkling that unless I marry Shaq (ewww), or unless my genes completely get crushed by my future husband’s, my children will be of the running back, not the point guard, variety.

–I have grand aspirations now that Children’s Dance Theatre is for the most part done. I join the SA on Tuesday night as the new Mountainview Rep at Large. I also plan on sleeping, eating full meals, and maybe actually doing work for my classes. I also have decided that there are three more things I want to do in the 80-something days before I leave college:

1) Dance one more time somewhere.

2) Write a guest column in the Pipe Dream (school newspaper).

3) Be on the sports show on BTV (aka, avenge the BTV dating show disaster I participated in last year. Blech. I can’t believe I did that.)

We will see if I get those done. I may not, seeing that I have that little thing called a thesis to write.

–Next week: The BU vs. BU basketball game! The Bear-Kats (hahahahaha, I’ll be here all week) versus the Terriers. The cats versus the dogs. Wow, I’m just trading wimpy mascots.

And I leave you with my quote of the week: “I can not have sex with a Harvard acceptance letter!” (not that I’ve gotten one yet or that I will).

Where’s the sign up for Workaholics Anonoymous again?

Note 2/18/04: Okay, I realize that my rant here is so completely wrong. It works on the assumption that I am better and more deserving than everyone else of having a boyfriend, and just better in general, and that’s not right. So disregard the whole theory, or read it and laugh at it because the metaphor is hystarically funny.

All this was was me being bitter and jealous after sitting at CDT all night and hearing all the other girls talk about their boyfriends and hook-ups. Add that to being terribly tired and volia, this rant. Bleh. I apologize.

The only reasons why I’m keeping this up are:

1) I want everyone to know about my pajama pants. They are the most exciting thing to happen to me since my first two grad school acceptance letters.

2) There are parts of this that are amazingly funny. I mean, come on, read it and try not to laugh.

3) Everyone else who writes writes something about being relationship-less at some point in time. So here is my one. I promise that I’ll never do it again.

So you have been warned. Read this, or wait until this weekend when I find something less voyeuristic and annoying to talk about.

The Icing on the Cake…aka, Katherine’s One Time Only Mid-Week Rant That Shows That She Might Actually Have Feelings

I bring you this special mid-week rant because I feel like it.

I bought new pajama pants today. I was buying some odds and ends for Children’s Dance Theatre at Dick’s Sporting Goods, and I happened upon these cute pink and dark gray football pajama pants. They are amazingly cute, and they were on clearance. Double score. As my little brother said when he saw them, “If they had been purple instead of pink, that would have been scary because then they would have been (made for) you!”

Now, I come back from Children’s Dance Theatre tonight and want to change into comfortable clothes, so I change into the pants and my Red Sox t-shirt. I sit down at my desk, read ESPN.com quickly and play with my 49ers Koosh ball before finishing my reading for class. Then it hit me.

Look at me. Why am I single?

By no reason should a guy want to date me solely because I like sports. No. I am not interested in sports because it is a way to get guys. People tend to make that assumption, and it’s wrong. It is true that I first got into football because I had a mega-crush on Steve Young, but let me remind you that when I was six, I was begging my mother to stay up late to watch the 1988 Winter Olympics. I was the girl who made podiums out of boxes, took her reading contest medals, and made my parents stage medal ceremonies for me after I skid around our tiled kitchen with footie pajamas on or jumped off the end of the couch. I’m the girl who in fourth grade wrote fake news articles about Kristi Yamaguchi and playing kickball on the School #52 playground. I was the girl, who when my dance teacher let us do our own choreography, would jump around double-axel style and do cartwheels, trying to make my dance a sport. I got into hockey because it was the only sport (except for figure skating) I saw live on a regular basis. I never got into this because of guys. I got into it because I liked it, and continued it because in my childhood and adolescent quest to be the complete opposite of everyone else, it set me apart.

No, no guy should like me just because I’m going to sit down and watch Sportscenter with them or because I won’t bug them to pay more attention to me and not “the game.” I want a guy to like me because I’m cute, nice, successful, hysterical and a just-tolerable amount of perky. The sports stuff is just the icing on the cake.

With that out of the way, I would think that the fact that I’m sitting here in this outfit would say something. I’m not wearing some lacy camisole top with a fake tan talking on my cell phone. I’m not consulting SparkNotes. I’m completely down to earth. I’m wearing this cute little outfit, my hair in a cheerleader-type ponytail, and I don’t care that I look 16 and not 22 at this moment. And I can make a very convincing argument right now about why the Bills should draft a QB and not trade for Drew Henson and make a completely unconvincing, but completely hysterical argument about why Steve Young is better than Joe Montana.

You care about the type of cake, about if the consistency of the cake is moist or dry, sure. But don’t we look for the icing? As children, didn’t we always want the piece with the flowers because it had that extra icing?

So I guess what I’m saying is this: Sure, there are thousands of sweet, nice, funny, down-to-earth twenty-something girls out there for guys to pick from. But don’t I have that little something extra that makes me just that more interesting, appealing, tolerable? I’m not better than other girls, because they all have their own “icing,” but wouldn’t my interests point to something else, like a tolerance, laid-back-ness, a easy-going-ness that comes with it? Isn’t my “icing” appealing to anyone? It obviously isn’t, for I’ve been single since late 2002. It is now the middle of February 2004. Sure, I’ve had more at bats in the past year than I ever did before, but I’ve struck out on all of them.

Man, this article so sounds like it’s from Sex and the City. I apologize.

I’m not one to rant like this. I mean, I rant, but not about the stuff I’m feeling. I’m not sensitive like that. But I had to get it off my chest. Everyone wishes they had someone, even workaholic driven 22 year old seniors in college who don’t have the time for a boyfriend. And I’m wishing I had someone.

But give me my thesis, my jobs, my reading and my Sportscenter, and I’ll get over it tomorrow.