…no more faculty’s dirty looks!
For ten days, I’m free!
It’s February recess, and I’ve had all the fun I can take.
I’ve been so bogged down with backlog, I can’t even think straight. Today, I reached my fracture point and sent the division VP a memo that will either get me more help, or get me fired. Either way, I won’t be working alone in that office any more. It matters not to me, one way or the other, how that comes about.
I came home, and slammed two very large glasses of Chianti. Lisa is watching The Quiet Man and I’m sitting here trying to convert a pattern from 8 strips of 7 blocks, to one big hunka knitting. Perhaps this isn’t the best time, what with the Irish music in the background, the Duke wooing Maureen O’Hara, Maureen O’Hara overdramatizing her role, and the pleasant buzz of too much red wine. But what the hell, why not?
We’ve decided not to go down to Le’s house tomorrow. We’ll go down to Bob and Wanda’s later in the day, spend the night, and go to Le’s on Sunday, but the weather tomorrow morning is supposed to be ridiculous.
I woke up at 2:30 this morning, drenched in sweat. I mean, literally drenched. I thought that either the water bed had sprung a leak, or my bladder had. It was 62 degrees outside, and 73 degrees inside. Given my menopausal life in the past few years, 73 in the bedroom is WAYYYY too warm! Even Lisa thrashed about, too hot to sleep under the covers but too cold to sleep without them. Finally I turned on the window fan (we STILL have the bedroom window open) and we covered up, and dropped off peacefully to sleep after more than an hour of thrashing around. By the time we woke up at 6:30, it was 39 degrees out, and the temperature was dropping even more. We had winds of 40 mph with gusts up to 60 forecasted. Getting to work was quite the task, just trying to keep my RAV4 on the road with such high winds. I no sooner got to work, and the lake effect snow started. It blew and blustered all day long. A woman was killed when a tree fell on her car due to the high winds. Power lines were knocked out, traffic lights were on flash…it was a stressful drive in.
We’re both pretty burned out tonight. It’s been a long week at work, and just knowing that this weekend AND next were tied up with traveling to the southern tier made us both even that much more tired.
So, we’ll sleep in tomorrow morning. And we’ll do whatever the day dictates.
So, here’s my bitch for the day…
Why do educated women, articulate and intelligent women, insist on using “grrl” in the place of “girl?” I can sort of understand “womyn” as opposed to “women” but “grrl?” It looks like an angry female word. Like the word is being growled.
And then there’s “gurl.” Fuht the whuck is up with that? We pride ourselves on our independence, our intelligence, our unity, and we refuse to spell what we are correctly? Even women with post-doctorate degrees are using either “grrl” or “gurl.”
And we want to be taken seriously?
Get a clue, ladies.
We’re GIRLS. Not GRRLS or GURLS, or GURLZ, we’re GIRLS.
There. I feel better now.