watery woes

Nov. 8th, 2008 11:49 pm
theladyrose: (Default)
I'm so so sorry about being tardy in responding to comments. I've got both an exam and a presentation both this week and the week after, and I'm going home next Thursday with Lillian so I'm trying to get everything ready in advance.

I've been trying to cobble together an older women and medication management website as a final project due a month from now. It's the most glamorous subject matter, but I hope it's comprehensible or at least readable. I've got about 75-80% of the content up now. I swear if I stare at it much longer I'm going to down the bottle of Martinelli's sparkling apple cider I have on reserve for emergencies.

It seems that the plumbing in the apartment goes haywire before I have a counselor training workshop to run. Last month our only toilet...well, on second thought, this is too gross to discuss in polite society. Let's just say it was a shitty morning. Earlier in the week we had no hot water in the showers, but on the bright side we conserved water.

The kitchen sink resembled something out of a horror movie yesterday and today, but I think I now worship the emergency plumber who came this evening. We had to periodically bail out the water and stuff from the sewer and the pipes that would bubble up when the tenants in the apartment above ours would turn on their dishwasher. On the bright side, [livejournal.com profile] lilbabiangel888 was kind enough to get us sushi for dinner as the kitchen was a mess. Lysol may be my Xanax; I'm starting to see why my old roommate Rose would obsessively clean things when she was stressed. You feel instant gratification as you see and realize that you've theoretically killed off 99.9% of bacteria and viruses on various high-use surfaces. That, and I suspect that breathing in the chemicals kills off some of your brain cells in the process.
theladyrose: (Default)
My mother and I are passing outside a stationery store and take a moment to peek in at the merchandise.

I am chuckling over a proto-Lolcats featuring a kitten wearing a funny mask.

My mother is laughing, too. "Porn for women! That's just brilliant!"

I turn to stare at her. "What are you talking about?"

She points at the calendar next to the cat one. It features a shirtless man vacuuming the carpet.

Such are the differences between how an asexual views the world and how most others do. But at least I have an idea of what else I should get Mom for Christmas!
theladyrose: (Default)
Many happy returns to [livejournal.com profile] gandydancer and [livejournal.com profile] storybox! I hope you had wonderful birthdays.

Dear X: Semi-feeling me up in front of your mother, even in the guise of a friendly hug, is just awkward. Even if you're slightly drunk. It's especially awkward when we share the same grandmother. But you're my cousin and ultimately one of the most decent guys I know my age, so I won't snap at you this time.

So, within the past week:

I got Kim Cattrall's autograph while passing by some random restaurant in Rome. She's absolutely stunning in person - maybe even more so than the brief glimpses I've seen of her on screen.

The AARP apparently will offer me a complimentary travel kit should I join today...at the ripe old age of 20. Do my web browsing patterns really mirror that of a baby boomer that much? This must be a sign that I should get off my sorry butt and get ready to apply for my gerontology grad program this fall.

Morgan Freeman practically fell on top of my dad yesterday night as we were leaving the theater where we had just seen him perform in the Country Girl. He was quite the gent about it, being very apologetic while being crushed by a horde of autograph seekers right outside the stage door. I also caught a glimpse of Matthew Broderick, who was in the audience that night. I swear these things never happen to me when I'm in LA, although meeting the cast of Finishing the Game last November at the premiere was one of the coolest experiences in my life so far.

It is crazy how much less expensive things seem, even in New York, after Italy. I've heard more French spoken on the street and in the stores these past few days than I did the entire time I was in Europe.

Whenever I finish my two news stories (hahaha, as if I ever turn anything in before deadline) I have a lot to still write about Italy (I know, I know, that's what I always say). I guess I could sum it up as follows:

It was overcast with the vague sense of dampness at odds with the electric bustle of a big city at night. Arriving in New York's JFK last night was, in some ways, remarkably similar to my arrival in Italy at Milano's Malpensa airport.

As much as I have learned of life from the stories people have shared with me, some things really must be experienced to be understood beyond an intellectual level. I won't remember every church and fresco I saw, every note of each piece performed at the concerts I attended or even every lick of gelato I tasted. But what will stay with me is the impact atoms of personalities colliding into each other in transit, with even the relative brevity of contact subtly or significantly altering the trajectory of each party in the encounter.

I've gained enough confidence to at least make some effort to haggle with street vendors. I can navigate subway system in a language I don't know. I've learned that falafel and döner kebab stands are the best deal the other side of the Atlantic. I now know what it's like to be on a train for 13 hours (I spent ~77 hours in total on trains) and hope to never repeat the experience. I've felt the spine-tingling experience of the otherworldly when entering the darkened majesty of cathedrals that have laid witness to thousands like me passing through. I've scrubbed off the dust and dirt of centuries settle on my skin after wandering from one side of Rome to the other.

I don't know if I'll ever return, but I've brought back enough to last me for what I hope to be a lifetime's worth of value. But at the same time, I won't forget what I left behind.
theladyrose: (Default)
I have officially been cited by LAPD...

For crossing an intersection diagonally, instead of at right angles.

Serves me right for not paying attention to the officers on the corner where I was headed, but I'm still pissed at myself. The absurdity of this situation almost rivals the time I caught frostbite in January in the middle of Los Angeles. If you're going to be written up by the police for something this dumb, you want it to be over-the-top ridiculous, like dancing in the street in a gorilla costume. Now I'm hoping that the ticket to arrive in my mailbox before I move out or else it'll go on my record.

Someone in the [livejournal.com profile] yann_tiersen community just recommended the most amazing covers of cues from Amélie, Goodbye, Lenin! and a few other Tiersen compositions. I tend to be notoriously picky about recordings of soundtrack cues not done by the composer (and sometimes even by the composer himself - I was unexpectedly disappointed by Tiersen's the Black Sessions), but Dave Thomas's performances are a real treat. This classical guitar cover of the Amélie waltz is pretty awesome, too.

My inner literary geek is selfishly glad to know that Dmitri Nabokov is going to publish his father's unfinished work, The Original of Laura against the dead man's wishes.

Random meme that I found entertaining:

I am the sonnet, never quickly thrilled;
Not prone to overstated gushing praise
Nor yet to seething rants and anger, filled
With overstretched opinions to rephrase;
But on the other hand, not fond of fools,
And thus, not fond of people, on the whole;
And holding to the sound and useful rules,
Not those that seek unjustified control.
I'm balanced, measured, sensible (at least,
I think I am, and usually I'm right);
And when more ostentatious types have ceased,
I'm still around, and doing, still, alright.
In short, I'm calm and rational and stable -
Or, well, I am, as much as I am able.
What Poetry Form Are You?
theladyrose: (Default)
No thanks to the moron(s) who pulled the fire alarms in my apartment building at 2:17 this morning, I've stayed up for more than 24 hours. Scarily enough, this is the first time my brain was still just functional enough to be aware of this fact.

Lessons learned:
1. Taking an extension can end up causing a lot more pain than it's worth.
2. Procrastinating by actually writing papers due this coming week is still procrastination.
3. The most surprising things will keep you going, push comes to shove.
4. Psych textbooks don't come close to describing the reality of actually doing research - you don't realize how deadly dull it is to recruit participants for long surveys. Sirens in the background and planes flying overhead on the therapy tapes are just as likely to elicit *headdesk* behavior as are interrater reliability tests.

I think I'm going to crash on the couch now before my brain becomes too scrambled. It's going to be a long two weeks before finals come around...
theladyrose: (Default)
I have an apartment to move into this Thursday, research to conduct and TA office hours to schedule. I apologize for sacrificing proper grammar for parallel structure. It looks like living out my vision of myself as a grad student has just been shifted back a few years to a present that's coming a little too quickly.

For the past few days I was in Vancouver for my cousin Venus's very lovely wedding on the beach of Victoria Island. I haven't seen most of my Canadian relatives since my mother had her heart surgery a few years ago, but my cousins and their friends/other cousins are just as wackily entertaining and wonderful as I remember them to be, although it's awkward being the youngest and only person in college. I had a day's layover back home before leaving again. Just yesterday I returned from orientation advisor training, which theoretically qualifies me to indoctrinate freshmen into joining the programs sponsored by APA Student Services  introduce new students to ways they can involve themselves in campus life. Somehow my LA neighborhoods presentation group and I need to fix up our Powerpoint by Sunday as Joyce and I basically had to improvise everything from the photos on her camera and the magic that is Wikipedia. Our group was collectively whacked pretty badly by what I nickname the Great Frying Pan of Doom, i.e. the whims of fate: one person injured herself on vacation in Hawaii and had a horrible allergic reaction to the medication, the second went to her grandfather's funeral and the third was on the way to our training when his car engine mysteriously caught on fire. Aside from these assorted calamities, the training session was quite enjoyable and a nice, temporary reprieve from home, where the water pipe in front of our house just randomly exploded and Dad's stairlift literally fell apart the day I left (they're fixed now, thankfully). Here's to hoping that orientation itself runs more smoothly...

I swear, I'm deducting what I need from my next paycheck to Carbonfund.org as penetance for all of the carbon dioxide emissions from my recent air travel. My mother wants me to quit my current job writing trivia questions, but I'm really torn about sticking with it as I really like the company or possibly adding a third research committment to my schedule. I haven't even started classes, yet I'm feeling behind already with figuring out how to update the CIRCLE (Critical Issues in Race, Class and Leadership Education) curriculum, although I randomly discovered that my dad's ex-roommate is the Rush Limbaugh of the Asian Pacific American community.  I don't even know what else I'm exactly doing outside of classes, which makes scheduling my current committments more difficult - probably some tutoring/mentoring, the career connections program, maybe more admissions volunteering?  I feel like a weak parody of the model minority stereotype I'm supposed to be criticizing, while my fellow TAs (*cough* you know who you are, [personal profile] laleia) are terribly nifty social activist types who actually know what they're doing.  And now I have this random urge to design that "Chairman Mao does not approve of glitter" shirt inspired by the brilliant
[personal profile] azdak to procrastinate against all of the messages piling up in my e-mail.

Really, I can't believe I only have 3 days before I'm really headed back to college.

Anyway, I'm the lucky girl who gets to drive her father to a 6 AM colonoscopy tomorrow, so good night! 
theladyrose: (Default)
It's quite possible I'm one of the few people who *isn't* picking up the last Harry Potter book. Ah, the joys of catching a morning flight to New York tomorrow! Family, friends and museums - what more could one ask for? It's a pity I won't be joining my "other" family with the ever amazing [livejournal.com profile] eyepiece_simile in Cape Cod this year, but we can always see about next year.

So, in the mail yesterday I picked up the most peculiar postcard, which featured San Francisco's Palace of Fine Arts (which is roughly an hour's drive away).

"I want to buy your house. I am not an agent. Call me."

Well, you have to give this mysterious sender named Jason props for being to the point.

Today's equally unexpected postcard was of the Kremlin, straight from Moscow. Martina, a high school friend who's also at USC, sent it to me. It's been nice reconnecting with old friends lately - within the past week, Sophia and I checked out the Qwik-E-Mart recreation and walked around Shoreline, and I had lunch with PP (she who teaches choir and intro) yesterday when we ran into the class valedictorian and her mother. This afternoon I met up with Alison, whom I haven't seen since 5th grade though we don't live that far from each other. I hate borrowing clichés, but the two and a half hours we talked made up for those nine years apart. And as weird as it sounds, I actually like the meetings over at my boss's house - there's something surprisingly cozy about the start up environment when you've got three people jammed in a home office trying to figure out what went wrong again when rerecording the newest "how to" site voiceover.

But not all of these encounters have been that pleasant, although the one I'm thinking of is actually imaginary. I had a philosophical sort of nightmare straight out of Sartre's Huis Clos (No Exit) or the Prisoner episode "A, B and C" that involved me at a party in someone's rather bourgeois living room where I was trapped presumably for all eternity as my ex kept hounding me about why we broke up. I've been receiving some awkward messages lately from him; he really is a great guy, but all I want is for him to find someone else who'll really make him happy and appreciate him for who he is. The way things are now, the current extremes of awkwardness makes the prospect of being locked up with Inès or Number 2 an absolute picnic by comparison.

On a not-so-related note, I've been reading this fascinating and equally humorous book by Daniel Gilbert, Stumbling on Happiness, which focuses on the sources of our regular dissatisfactions than the title would suggest. His commentary about how insistent we are about how unique our perspectives and feelings are, leading us to mistakenly disregard the feelings of others when put in a particular situation as a poor predictor of our own when placed in the same scenario, really struck me. A wise and generous man once told me that I'd come to enjoy John Barry's chamber orchestra album the Beyondness of Things over Eternal Echoes. I found this remark rather strange at the time - considering we came from such different backgrounds, it seemed rather unlikely that we'd eventually come to have the same view. And yet as I've been reorganizing my soundtrack collection to accomodate some newer material and listening to works I haven't heard for some time, I realize how right he was. If the Beyondness of Things is a nostalgic view of life as we'd like to remember it, highlights of breahtaking and sometimes heart-wrenching majesty, Eternal Echoes recognizes the quiet beauty in our everyday lives. It takes a certain degree of maturity to appreciate the more ponderous tonal colors of Eternal Echoes, a deceptively sedate musical retelling of the moments that show us for what we are when we're in our element.

I don't remember what the point of that story was, but I do remember thinking that my own memory problems seemed to corroborate with the points Gilbert was making, which might explain why I'm willing to trust his argument so much.

And last but not least, a totally unrelated LolCat meme )
theladyrose: (Default)
Things I learned at the Monster Diversity Leadership:

1. If anything else, make sure that your pants aren't falling down.
2. Sometimes the corporate representatives are actually younger than you. Be glad you find this out after the fact.
3. Girls with dance moves are more likely to win scholarships than girls without.
4. Prejudiced but true - if you can, speak to the older corporate reps because they're more likely to do the actual hiring decisions and have more contacts with those in power.
5. The nerds at Seagate really know how to dance. Or at least you have to give them points for trying.
6. Lockheed Martin apparently has money to burn when it comes to recruting college students.
7. There are fewer acts that will please a crowd of 300 college students than a Princeton student virtually sodomizing a Simon Cowell impersonator to hip hop music.

A more serious summary will probably follow sometime within the next century.
theladyrose: (Default)
Lesson of the day: rat (mouse?) blood is virtually impossible to wash out after it's been baked on brick for several hours in direct Californian sunlight. On the bright side, we at least have a neighborhood rodent catcher with friendly intentions, if not the most welcome.

In a house that has almost twice as many printers as it does people, only one seems to work on a consistent basis. And of course, the printer we thought we had fixed managed to break down just as I was in the middle of printing something out for a meeting with my boss. For mysterious and unknown reasons, I seem to have internet access for 15 minutes max on my laptop before it randomly dies on me. Somehow technology and I are having an extremely inconvenient breakdown in communication, so I apologize if I'm being really slow in responding to people. Unfortunately it means that I'm kind of behind on work, which is really not so great.

This weekend I'm off to Moraga for the <a href="http://www.monsterdlp.com>Monster Diversity Leadership conference</a>. Come to think of it, it's a little ominous to head to a summit that has the word monster in it, but it looks like it should be interesting. The Navy will be there as a corporate sponsor; hopefully whoever's representing them won't remember that really awkward incident last year when they tried recruiting me. Awkward as in I was laughing so hard from nervousness that I ran the opposite direction from the uniformed officer and hid in the girls' bathroom until he went away. My valor in the face of the unknown is absolutely astounding. 6 AM wakeup call tomorrow. I'm not sure if I'd entirely mind someone hitting me over the head with a frying pan to really make sure I'm awake, but I have a feeling I'd regret it later.
theladyrose: (Default)
It seems that I am dreaming that I'm doing things that I haven't actually done yet but need to still do - the most common scenario involves e-mailing/calling/writing back to various people. Imagine my very unpleasant surprise to discover that actually, I haven't responded to that e-mail that my department advisor sent me about getting my statistics grade officially corrected (which officially will start happening in August, I hope). Does this confusion and invasion of reality into dreams ever happen to anyone else? I'm afraid my subconscious can be terribly dull, although sometimes it comes up with entertaining "lost" episodes from various TV shows. My favorite to date was a black and white Emma Peel era Avengers episode that took place in a hot air balloon; unfortunately I don't remember much else, other than that the air balloon scenes actually looked like they were shot in a studio against a blue screen.

In other vaguely multimedia-related news, I'm recording a voiceover for the first time tomorrow, and I might actually get paid for it! Yes, this is coming from the person with the slight speech impediment who was afraid in high school for the teacher to call on her to read out loud whatever it was that we were reading at the time. As a teenager (heck, who am I kidding - even now) I was self-conscious about my voice the way most girls are self-conscious about their bodies. One of the reasons why I don't really talk that much in person is because I still slip up a fair amount even around people I know well; no matter how many hours I practice, presentations and speeches (though strangely enough, I've never had serious stage fright) will always be a challenge. But I figure that the best way of combating fear is to directly confront it, so I figured that this would be a good opportunity to practice. Few people are probably going to listen to it anyway, which is reassuring.

On a totally different note - [livejournal.com profile] laleia, please tell me that your group hasn't started your orientation neighborhood project yet. I have no idea what our group is doing seeing as half of us aren't around to film as we had originally planned. Blargh.
theladyrose: (Default)
Our neighbors one house down the road had valet parking for their party this evening. That's right, complimentary valet parking with two valets parking at least 12 cars on a road that's easily at a 35 degree angle. Those throwing the party the only Muslims on the street, as far as I can tell; the husband is occasionally mentioned in Business Week and prefers to drive the candy apple red Ferrari he bought eight years ago, and the wife has been faithfully jogging 4 miles a day ever since I was born. Sometimes they take in their nephew, but no one actually knows what the boy looks like or why he only stays for three weeks at a time at seemingly arbitrary moments throughout the year.

Just one house up the road, my special ed teacher neighbor is trying to figure out how to juggle attending her veteran son's trial for the armed robbery of prescription painkillers (which I've angsted enough over at unnecessary length, it seems to me) and babysitting her schoolteacher daughter's two-year-old son. The scientist husband has been spending more time on the golf course with his buddies lately, but the schoolteacher daughter's twin brother has come home for the summer, finding work at the same lab where his father is found during the weekdays.

Across the street is the Hispanic architect and his family who actually grows and raises their own food. The chicken coops were built so far up the hill that it looks like they plop down like wingless pigs to the feed bins that rest 20 feet away from their gas grill barbeque. There used to be turkeys, but they disappeared three Thanksgivings ago. The rooster stopped crowing around that time after my mother kept calling to complain about the unwanted 5 AM wakeup call. They (the humans, not the animals) live in a house that has become a landmark when giving directions due to the off-white paint job with firehouse engine red trim. If you have ever visited me at home, you'll know the house to which I'm referring.

And then there's me and my family, and I am too close to these subjects to know how to sketch them in pat phrases.

On an unrelated note, this post with my attempts at advice for high schol grads was apparently my 850th. I wonder how long it will be until I reach 1,000.
theladyrose: (Default)
Watching the third installment of Pirates of the Carribbean is like sticking your brain in a clothes dryer: you're a little confused at first as you try to remember what exactly is going on, then things start warming up and become less boring. But the cycles of treachery/swordfighting/getting the cast sweaty and/or wet in new situations/fatuous pseudo-angsty love scenes for adolescent fangirls gets repetitive, and then the action speeds up to an insane point where the plot is nothing but hot air, and then it manages to slow down enough for a reasonably satisfying end.

I never was very good at figurative language.

It took 8 reasonably intelligent friends and I half an hour afterwards to figure out all of those "Wait, what exactly happened there?" and "Why the heck did they do that?" moments. I'm surprised that the editor didn't contemplate strangling him/herself.

Hans Zimmer's score eerily resembles his work for the Lion King, which basically caused me to laugh so hard that my eyes were watering. Seriously, I could predict what was happening next because the approach was so "cut in generic swordfight cue / fake Asian sounding cue / big serious orchestra version of the Disneyland ride theme / Davy Jones organ theme / Davy Jones heart theme / love theme / cheery fiddle welcome to the pirate life theme / comedic ship crew motif" here. I have to confess, though, that I rather like that idiotic Davy Jones music box theme. Umm, yeah, and I'm opening myself up to ceaseless mockery for that admission.

In non-related TV news, a guy I recognize from the Birnkrant 616 set is appearing in my favorite new comedic detective show, Psych. You can read more about the actor here. There are so many talented filmmakers and cast members on that show - for the many who graduated just a few weeks ago, I honestly hope that they make it in Hollywood because they're seriously amazing. The guy who plays Roger really reminds me of James Roday, the lead actor in Psych. To a certain degree, I feel sorry that I couldn't keep working on that show because of other committments this semester because being a production assistant on that was one of the few highlights of first semester freshman year.  It's a pity the second season's still not through post production yet; hopefully it'll be up for online viewing sometime this summer.
theladyrose: (Default)
When allergy medication tells you not to operate heavy machinery while under the effects of the drug, food processors do indeed count as heavy machinery. Just because it's a small Cusinart doesn't mean that you can't potentially cause a lot of damage!

Somehow, [livejournal.com profile] eyepiece_simile is still my friend (I think? I hope!) after nearly destroying her kitchen today for our joint family Young Frankenstein dinner party. I swear, I'm normally not such a zombie-esque butterfingers.

I mix metaphors the way I do pesto sauce - in incomplete and uneven chunks. I should probably get some sleep before I wreck further linguistic (is this an adjective that can also describe linguine?) havoc.
theladyrose: (Default)
Phone cards operate on a mathematical operating system that defies human comprehension. Or maybe you have to be Einstein or Ford Prefect to figure out what the heck is going on.

I tried calling my grandmother's cell phone after talking to Dad this evening. When I called Dad, the number of minutes left on my card magically dropped from yesterday's 447 to 238. Then when I made my next call, 238 minutes shrunk to 1 minute within the span of 15 minutes. Now I have to find a new phone card that I only really need for another week or so. Has anyone else ever had these kinds of issues with phone cards before?
theladyrose: (Default)
Dear floormates,

Next time you start dry humping shirtless in the hallway, I will seriously consider 'accidentally' stepping on you if you are blocking the entrance to the bathroom again.

Not so much love,


My mother claims that because I'm asexual I shouldn't mind if people are getting it on around me. I do think it's reasonable to be annoyed by the inconvenience factor if those who are doing it are blocking access to something vital like your bed, and it's many more kinds of awkward if they're being rather noisy and oblivious to the rest of the world. And this case, I really wanted to wash up before all of the water in our building is cut off for the night for maintenance work. Enough said.
theladyrose: (Default)
I conversed with a ballpoint pen yesterday morning.

Or rather, I actually talked to it without realizing that I was actually voicing my thoughts about the pen aloud until a small horde of prospective students/scholarship candidates suddenly snuck up on me and gave me strange looks. 

Awkward doesn't even begin to describe it.  It's quite probable I'm interviewing some of those people tomorrow, too.
And this, my friends, is why one should never underestimate the impact of sleep on basic cognitive capacities. 

After I finish editing this paper, I still have to finish packing.  Finish is an inaccurate word - it implies that I actually have more than two pairs of shoes in my duffel bag.  Oy.
theladyrose: (Default)
I'm not quite sure why, but I find it incredibly funny that I have a test in ... creativity.  I actually started laughing when reading my notes on different theories, which probably is making my roommate glad that she gets to move out in a few months so she doesn't have to live with a wacko anymore.

It feels rather absurd that the majority of our grade is based on how well we do on the tests for this class.  Our actual creative projects are only 5 percent of our final grade.  It's not exactly rocket science difficult, but still.

Then again, you can't really complain about a class where you play with clay for an hour...
theladyrose: (Default)
What exactly is it that makes guys who play the guitar so attractive to women?  Why don't we see piano players or saxophonists or trumpeters basking in the same sort of female adoration?

Seriously, there must have been at least 12 girls crammed into one of my floormates' rooms last night as three guys gave an impromtu concert.  Granted, they were actually pretty good, although they'd sound better if they didn't sing along.   None of them seem particularly good-looking nor have sparkling personalities, or at least not to me.  Then again, one of the guitar players was that weird dude who's always walking around without his shirt on...
theladyrose: (Default)
I've been walking to and from psychology building pretty much every day since the end of August at least once a day. And yet today - OK, technically yesterday now - I noticed the gigantic palm tree in front of the main entrance for the first time. I'd like to think that I've had a vague awareness of this tree's existence for some time, but only now have I really acknowledged this tree's presence.

I'm really intrigued by weird unconscious phenomena. Why did it take me so long to notice the palm tree, and what was it that finally made me notice it? I seriously doubt I was primed by anything that I had seen/read/heard, but who knows. To quote from [profile] annasmiles, ''I like my major so much if it were a guy I would make out with it.''  Erm, well, metaphorically.

I'm trying really, really hard not to wake up my roommate from laughing too hard at what I'm listening to. I can't think of any composer besides Elmer Bernstein who could make a storeroom inventory list so entertaining, except maybe Henry Mancini. I'm seriously surprised that none of the singers cracked up in recording this.  I also have a bad habit of laughing during performances/rehearsals of any sort; I probably ruined a lot of takes on Birnkrant 616 and bell choir practices and the 24 hour plays...and now I should shut up so that I can wake up on time for my 8 AM statistics lab.  If morning were a person I'd strangle it.
theladyrose: (Default)
Sophia: What holiday is in a week and a half?
Me: President's Day!
Sophia: Shut up...Valentine's Day.
Me: Oh, right...


theladyrose: (Default)

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