Here We Go Again!
Life is funny sometimes.
Most of yesterday was excellent, but grueling. I took the GRE, and for the occasion wore my lucky underpants with stars on them. (I'm sure you all needed to know that.) I think they helped, because despite getting there just in the nick of time, going through security that trumps any airport check-in I have ever seen (I had to show my passport to go to the bathroom, for Christ's sake!) and being surprised with a test math section at the end of the test, I still managed to do tolerably well, I think. I don't remember any of that ridiculous quantitative malarkey at all, though. Quadratic equations? Beats me! Percent increase? I don't have that many fingers. Ascertaining the volume of a cylinder? I do this by looking at the little numbers written on the sides of beakers. On the other hand, several of the words I went over with Christina in our prep session at the Bourgeois Pig were actually on the verbal section. Hoorah for effort well-invested!
At the end of the test I had a killer headache and was just a shade above drooling and walking into walls. So I called Ryan Murphy and arranged to pick him up in Evanston (where his bike was broken) and do dinner somewhere. Note To Self: the orderly grid layout upon which one can rely within Chicago proper goes through some sort of time warp when you get to Evanston. It's like they said "Oh hey, let's take all the same streets... and skew them all a quarter turn in random directions. Won't this be fun!" So after spending about half an hour lost in Evanston and fielding intermittent calls from Murphy ("How did you get there? Okay, turn around. No, the other way. Look, I'm standing on the street corner holding a bicycle wheel! I'm not that hard to miss!") we eventually made it out for Thai food, which was tasty. Even though they took our plates away and may have salted my water.
After I managed to nearly kill Murphy about three more times in the course of the evening, he wisely got the hell out of my car and I went to Fizz for dancing. This is where all the people who teach swing elsewhere go to dance for fun. I sat there going "Wow, everyone is a whole lot better than I am. I need a drink." I warmed up eventually, though, and had a great time. I'm glad I made it out there finally.
Then, of course, life (as I said) got funny. My mom called just as I was parallel parking for the last time. My dad is in the hospital with peritonitis again. In the grand scheme of things that happen to my dad, this is not such a big deal, but he hasn't had to deal with peritonitis for at least eleven months, so this relapse is frustrating. To boot, he and I were responsible for Thanksgiving dinner this year. With him hospitalized and my mom working and running in to see him, it's up to me to do logistical family maintenance-- which I guess includes Thanksgiving. So I will likely be running about like a crazy Susan the next few days, because I'm determined that dinner will be awesome. Hopefully my dad will be able to enjoy it at home with us, but you never know.
Most of yesterday was excellent, but grueling. I took the GRE, and for the occasion wore my lucky underpants with stars on them. (I'm sure you all needed to know that.) I think they helped, because despite getting there just in the nick of time, going through security that trumps any airport check-in I have ever seen (I had to show my passport to go to the bathroom, for Christ's sake!) and being surprised with a test math section at the end of the test, I still managed to do tolerably well, I think. I don't remember any of that ridiculous quantitative malarkey at all, though. Quadratic equations? Beats me! Percent increase? I don't have that many fingers. Ascertaining the volume of a cylinder? I do this by looking at the little numbers written on the sides of beakers. On the other hand, several of the words I went over with Christina in our prep session at the Bourgeois Pig were actually on the verbal section. Hoorah for effort well-invested!
At the end of the test I had a killer headache and was just a shade above drooling and walking into walls. So I called Ryan Murphy and arranged to pick him up in Evanston (where his bike was broken) and do dinner somewhere. Note To Self: the orderly grid layout upon which one can rely within Chicago proper goes through some sort of time warp when you get to Evanston. It's like they said "Oh hey, let's take all the same streets... and skew them all a quarter turn in random directions. Won't this be fun!" So after spending about half an hour lost in Evanston and fielding intermittent calls from Murphy ("How did you get there? Okay, turn around. No, the other way. Look, I'm standing on the street corner holding a bicycle wheel! I'm not that hard to miss!") we eventually made it out for Thai food, which was tasty. Even though they took our plates away and may have salted my water.
After I managed to nearly kill Murphy about three more times in the course of the evening, he wisely got the hell out of my car and I went to Fizz for dancing. This is where all the people who teach swing elsewhere go to dance for fun. I sat there going "Wow, everyone is a whole lot better than I am. I need a drink." I warmed up eventually, though, and had a great time. I'm glad I made it out there finally.
Then, of course, life (as I said) got funny. My mom called just as I was parallel parking for the last time. My dad is in the hospital with peritonitis again. In the grand scheme of things that happen to my dad, this is not such a big deal, but he hasn't had to deal with peritonitis for at least eleven months, so this relapse is frustrating. To boot, he and I were responsible for Thanksgiving dinner this year. With him hospitalized and my mom working and running in to see him, it's up to me to do logistical family maintenance-- which I guess includes Thanksgiving. So I will likely be running about like a crazy Susan the next few days, because I'm determined that dinner will be awesome. Hopefully my dad will be able to enjoy it at home with us, but you never know.