Do you know what I realized on today's grouchy, blustery, Monday-morning ride to school? 2 weeks til' Reading Week, baby. If I can survive past this Wednesday, I can make it until the end. And while I may not be flying off to tropical locales or even locales with more than 400 residents, I am taking a road trip with my favourite cousines and mi madre up to the sleepy town of Benito, whose old-timey charm and sweet exterior is only magnified by the vicious gossips peering out from behind lace-chintz curtains. Let's see if I can hold my head up after my last visit while still giving them all something to talk about...
In other news: I went out on a date Saturday night. I was just complaining to my sister last week how casual dating has all but disappeared, replaced by the notion that if you ask someone to coffee, suddenly you're courting and essentially engaged. And if not, then you're obviously promiscuous. Maybe that's only in Baptist circles.
Anyways, I was blown away by how clichéd the asking part was. While the words were struggling to climb from his mouth, I had very maturely covered the receiver with my hand and was giggling spasmodically. I didn't think it actually happened like that in real life. The date itself was surprisingly unawkward and extremely enjoyable. But a Round 2 would have to be firmly placed in "Friends Only" territory. A dating relationship at this point is just not worth ruining a beautiful biochem friendship over.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
I left my washing in the launderette
What is wrong with all of you? I figure out how to post a widget on my blog - not only that, but I discover that the word "widget" exists - and no one even comments on it! This is a high-tech blog coming from an extremely technologically-challenged blogger! Show some appreciation!
My mother is holidaying in the East right now. In a museum, she stumbled upon a Orthodox celebration of Jesus' baptism (conducted in Ukrainian), and was able to console and distract an extremely bored French priest by translating the liturgy for him. What a mom: such a crusader in bridging the cultural gaps of our country!
I am attempting, for the umpteenth (literally umpteenth - count it) time, to stop chewing my nails. I've made more progress than ever before; I actually have visible nails! But now the skin around my cuticles has grown out to the dry, extremely-satisfying chewable stage, and it's so tempting. I can hear it tempting me. Today in microbiologie, I sat there and was so consumed with cravings to chew that I tried to console myself with imagining exactly how I would chew my cuticles off if I still actually chewed my nails - which I don't, of course. And then the temptation was too great and I chewed them ferociously for a good 10 minutes. Argh. Now I have bandaids over all my fingers to help myself along.
It's lunch (well, 10:45, so close enough), and time for some couscous. And thus endeth the entry that makes all other rambling entries look foolish.
The end.
My mother is holidaying in the East right now. In a museum, she stumbled upon a Orthodox celebration of Jesus' baptism (conducted in Ukrainian), and was able to console and distract an extremely bored French priest by translating the liturgy for him. What a mom: such a crusader in bridging the cultural gaps of our country!
I am attempting, for the umpteenth (literally umpteenth - count it) time, to stop chewing my nails. I've made more progress than ever before; I actually have visible nails! But now the skin around my cuticles has grown out to the dry, extremely-satisfying chewable stage, and it's so tempting. I can hear it tempting me. Today in microbiologie, I sat there and was so consumed with cravings to chew that I tried to console myself with imagining exactly how I would chew my cuticles off if I still actually chewed my nails - which I don't, of course. And then the temptation was too great and I chewed them ferociously for a good 10 minutes. Argh. Now I have bandaids over all my fingers to help myself along.
It's lunch (well, 10:45, so close enough), and time for some couscous. And thus endeth the entry that makes all other rambling entries look foolish.
The end.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
To claim as love what could be emptiness
Happy 2007 to all my readers in absentia… and by absentia, I mean non-existence.
January 07 saw the annual advent of starched white shirts with flowing sleeves and crisp embroidery, parched onion-skin pages tucked inside the oily black covers of battered hymn books, groaning tables that differed in no way from any other holiday, birthday, or afternoon chi except for the glaring lack of meatballs and turkey:
It was Ukrainian Christmas. Христос Народився! Christ is born!
January 07 soothed my soul and filled me with the Christmas spirit I had longed for during the December holidays. And I think the shift in spirit can be found merely by looking at the traditional Ukrainian Christmas greeting: not Merry Christmas, which means so little to so many. But Christ is born. Christ is born. Why do we celebrate? Because he came. Why can we be filled with joy? Because he saved us. Christ with us. Christ mass. Christ is born.
And even though we didn’t throw kutya at the ceiling, as tradition demands, to see if the coming year would be prosperous, and even though (or I suppose because of the fact) we didn’t throw the kutya at my Baba, no matter how much she deserved it, I think this year will be a good one.
Christ is born. Christ is with us. And so we celebrate.
January 07 saw the annual advent of starched white shirts with flowing sleeves and crisp embroidery, parched onion-skin pages tucked inside the oily black covers of battered hymn books, groaning tables that differed in no way from any other holiday, birthday, or afternoon chi except for the glaring lack of meatballs and turkey:
It was Ukrainian Christmas. Христос Народився! Christ is born!
January 07 soothed my soul and filled me with the Christmas spirit I had longed for during the December holidays. And I think the shift in spirit can be found merely by looking at the traditional Ukrainian Christmas greeting: not Merry Christmas, which means so little to so many. But Christ is born. Christ is born. Why do we celebrate? Because he came. Why can we be filled with joy? Because he saved us. Christ with us. Christ mass. Christ is born.
And even though we didn’t throw kutya at the ceiling, as tradition demands, to see if the coming year would be prosperous, and even though (or I suppose because of the fact) we didn’t throw the kutya at my Baba, no matter how much she deserved it, I think this year will be a good one.
Christ is born. Christ is with us. And so we celebrate.
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