I went to lovely NYC this past weekend for a publisher's conference, paid for by my cheap ass state school, that insisted on buying us tickets on the Chinatown to Chinatown bus. Seriously, wouldn't have been a problem but I had to travel separately.
Backtrack to Wednesday night, where I had to be my mother's date to an event at which the keynote speaker was none other than the lord of hypocrites himself.
I met him in person, and got his autograph. I wonder if there's some sort of voo doo or something I could do with it to make him stop being such a self-righteous ass. I bet under his robes he dresses like this:
So during his speech, which was intentionally inflammatory, he made a few points I'd like to address. He said that the Supreme Court is undemocratic, because it's 9 appointed people who are making decisions about the actions of the legislature, which is of course elected by the majority. Assuming for a moment that he is correct (I know, I know, bear with me) then WHY IS HE STILL SERVING ON THE COURT?! He also said that the Constitution cannot be interpreted, it can only be followed. Of course, that would mean that (based on his original intent argument, which he is oh so fond of) slavery would be a state's right, and women don't get equal protection under the law.
Oh, the burning hatred.
But I looked fabulous, and got to hang out with some of my favorite girls.
So the next morning I get on the 7am Lucky Star bus from Chinatown Boston to Chinatown NYC - get to the hotel by 12 and am ready to start networking and all that good stuff. Except the conference, which was designed for newspaper publishers, has almost nothing on literary publish. Not too big a deal, I'm in NYC with some friends from school, so we decide to surprise my brother and join him for his birthday celebration in the Village.
He was already pretty drunk when we got there, but we had a good time at this little bar with a gorgeous bartender who I got to dance with. Oh to have had a picture of that. She was 6 feet tall, Jamaican, and absolutely stunning. Instead, you'll have to settle for a picture of me with my drunk-ass brother, who ended up spending most of the rest of the night in the bathroom.
Next day, St. Paddy's day, the parade was literally outside of our hotel. Some of it even made it inside.
Bagpipes galore! I'd never been to NY for the parade before, and it was pretty fun. Although after several hours of every piper in the state of New York playing I was ready to crash.
Of course, I had to be back at 2pm on Saturday to be at work. I got this great new job barbacking and learning to bartend at a place on the South Shore. So far it looks like my specialty drink is going to be Red Headed Sluts. I've made eight of them, that's over half the drinks of mixed so far.
So I wake up at 5:30 on Saturday morning, get on the subway and make it to Chinatown by 6:20 for the 7am Lucky Star bus. Problem was that by 5 of 7, there was still no one there for the Lucky Star. Fung Wah was already loaded up, and ready to go, and I'm standing outside, freezing my ass off waiting. By 7:30 I gave up, bought my own ticket on Fung Wah and made it back to Boston by noon. Frozen, and of course, getting sick.
I make it through work (meeting a cute boy) and home where I promptly pass out into a feverish sleep. I swear, I heard the phone ring, answered it and had a conversation with Arachne's mother about her being in Michigan for training, but wanting to get back to Afghanistan. Then I realized that there was no one on the other end of the phone. It was pretty bad.
Luckily my darling brother came to pick me up and take me to my mom's where I passed in and out of consciousness for the better part of Monday.
Unfortunately this meant that I couldn't write the 10 page section of my thesis that was due yesterday, and am now officially stressed, behind and still fucking sick.
So fuck you Lucky Star. Fuck you in the ass without lube.
Edited to add:
It took me all week. It took me shutting off my phone, skipping work and several classes. It took me not checking my email, but I did it.
I just emailed the first draft of my thesis in its entirety to my adviser: 31 pages without introduction, conclusion or bibliography.
Now the revision starts, but I get to celebrate at least for one night, right?!
Where are you?
xo
LIAR!