Off to the Big Easy.
(or, Wherein I Use Too Many Parentheses for My Own Good.)
Hello my lovelies!
I am off to New Orleans for the weekend. No, I don't actually spend any time in Boston anymore (I actually backed out of two trips (Atlanta and Florida) that were to take place over the two previous weekends (although I did spend part of the last one in Providence) because I realised that if I went on them, I'd have been out of town for 5 out of 5 weekends, which was untenable given that I have so much work to do, and it's not like I do any of it during the week). No, there's no reason in particular. My best friend from home and I didn't have the same spring break, and so we decided instead to take a random weekend and meet up somewhere vaguely equidistant (as she is in LA, and I am on the wrong coast) and warm. Warm is key. Me getting to wear tank tops and skirts and flipflops and NO jacket is key. I had voted for Texas, because goshdarnit, all I wanted to do was to eat BBQ (yum, real pulled pork with BBQ sauce, not Carolina style with the icky vinegar dressing) and buy cowboy boots, but she wasn't so into that. So New Orleans it is. That's okay, massive amounts of drinking and beignets are quite fine by me as well.
Seeing that she's a bit of a stick in the mud (and an incredibly boring eater, being borderline anorexic and definitely neurotic about her food) and always whores me out to get guys to buy us drinks (generally against my will but see, I have a rather nice chest and am all sorts of cute and even occassionally perky, whereas she's scarily skinny and still hasn't learned how to flirt with guys, much less talk to them, so I'm the sacrificial lamb, so to speak) - well, we'll see how this weekend goes (remember that part where I don't talk to strangers because I am exceedingly picky? See how getting me to get guys to buy us drinks might fail because I am more prone to sarcasm than flattery? Plus, I don't believe in small talk just for the sake of alcohol, I can buy my own drinks thankyouverymuch). At least we have reservations at a number of good restaurants where I can eat frog's legs and gumbo and oysters to my heart's content. Oh, and beignets. There are few things more marvelous than fried dough.
(In real life, I do talk like this, in perpetual tangents that'll give you whiplash if you can't keep up.)
(Oh yes, on the stupid grad school front. The admissions officer called me back, told me that they had NEVER received my GRE scores from when I applied there for my master's program, told me to email them my scores, fax them a copy of my score report, and hung up before I could get a word in edgewise. Huh. 1) I received a letter last year telling me that they had received my application in its entireity, 2) I received an email from her in the fall saying they had my GRE scores, and 3) my score report is somewhere in LA, therefore not accessible to me. So I wrote her a very nice email with my scores that also said, "I am surprised that you do not have a hard copy of my GRE scores, since if you had not received them last year I should have received a letter then of lack of receipt, not this year, and certainly not this late in the year." Apparently I'll hear back by the end of this week whether I'm in or not. I bet she just throws my application in the trash and claims that they never received it in the first place. I might have to write a letter to the admissions office telling them how saddened I am at their lack of proper communication ability. Last time I wrote a letter complaining about someone, it was about the physician's assistant in the ER when I had the plague, and she later got fired. I'm not saying that there was a causal relationship there, but the letter from the very nice chief of the ER telling me she was "no longer with the hospital" was a rather satisfying one.)
(I swear, I'm not a vengeful bitch. I just believe in proper communication, and in the case of the ER, someone who knows what she's doing and doesn't later threaten me with suing my mother for malpractice (which is a story in and of itself).)
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