Date Line

I have a big exam tomorrow.  My parents vaguely know about it.  They heard all about the last one.  And yet, for reasons unclear, cannot seem to remember the date and time of this exam.  They are, however, very good at proposing their own dates and time.  Every conversation we have had, for the last two weeks, has gone something like this.  

Mother: I'm rooting for you.

Moi: Thank you.

Mother: It''ll all be over May 31st, at 1pm.

Moi: ... May 30th at 9am.

Mother: Right.

(It helps to know that May 31st is a Saturday)

It would not be so funny and frustrating if it had not happened 3 times this week.  With each parent.  

Deconstructed Memory

Daniel and Nancy went to Spain last week.  Daniel is a boy and Nancy is a girl.  When we asked Nancy how the trip was, she was articulate and told us about the pastry shop by their apartment in Barcelona, people watching in the plaza, and the wonderful train ride.  When we asked Daniel how the trip was, he kept taking out his phone to show pictures.  It was weird, but whatever.  We let him show us the pictures. And that was when we made an amazing discovery:

Years of saving tiny human lives has taken its toll on his mind and robbed Daniel of his memories.  The pictures were not just a way of sharing his vacation with us, it was the only way he could remember that he was even on a vacation.  This was especially evident when Daniel started showing us pictures from a fancy 10-course dinner they had-- the most memorable dinner from their trip.

Daniel: This was- a yellow shot.

Moi: I see that, but what is it?

Daniel: I don't know.  It was savory.  And here, this was a foam colored thing, and carrots.

Moi: Yes, I recognize carrots.  What was the foam thing?

Daniel: Um, and this was dessert.  You had a brown thing and a gelatin-

[according to Nancy, it was deconstructed apple pie.  "There was cava granita over the dessert and a nice contrast between hot and cold."]

On Second Thought

I made rhubarb-strawberry bars last night and brought them to school to share today.  I also did the same last week, but this was the new and improved batch, with 40% more bar and fresh strawberries.  I brought them with me to Liz's defense (Liz has a PhD now!), to my meeting with Who, and generally everywhere I went today.  And everywhere I went today, this exact same scene played out:

Moi: Would you like a rhubarb bar (say that 10 times fast)?

Professor Dubya: [skeptical look]  Well-

Moi: They're home made.

Professor Dubya: I guess I could try a little.  

[5 seconds later]

Professor Dubya: Oh my god, these are really good.

[everyone else grabs one]

I'm not feeding you poison, people, and I would imagine that history has shown that I make dang fine baked goods.  But alas, some people just like to be surprised.  

Kryptonite

(Yesterday just happened to be get-bad-feedback-day for Liz and me, but it's another morning so we're ready to get up and do this all over again.  At least we're trying to.)

Moi: I gave myself a "no self pity" talk.

Liz: You should give yourself a "superman" talk because in the middle of battle, he always looks like he may lose but then he triumphs, like you will.

Moi: So I'm basically telling myself I'm Superman?  That seems rather egoistical.

Liz: You have said bolder things.

Royal Adults

I did not put on pants yesterday.  It's that time of the year when I don't have to wear pants.  Instead, I put on my old-man-shorts and hobbled out to the farmer's market in an ankle wrap and plastic flip flops (turns out, it's hard to wear shoes with an ankle wrap).  Normally, I'd make a self-deprecating remark about my life and wardrobe choices but on Sunday, I stepped out with confidence that somewhere out there in my neighborhood, just a few blocks north, was someone else probably also not wearing pants, has a bum ankle, wears glasses, and is generally aging terribly.  They say misery loves company, misfits do as well.

(Special shout out to Ilene, who is aging gracefully, and Brian, who is not.)  

----

(at Ilene's birthday dinner, though it was not her birthday)

Ilene: We were getting ready to leave and these two would not put pants on.

Meghan: [looks aghast]

Moi: To clarify, we were not wearing pants in separate apartments.

Brian: And we were wearing shorts.  

Meghan: Gross.  I find shorts so uncomfortable.

Everyone: [looks aghast]

The War on Humor

It's no secret, Pretzels, that I like to goof around with my superiors.  I also like to joke around with my subordinates; it's just unfortunate that I don't have any.  I'd love for nothing better than to sit around all day cracking wise and doing public health research.  Oftentimes though, I refrain from punchlines I truly want to say because I don't want to offend my superiors by crossing some line.  Advisor Who, however, does not have this problem.

(on jobs I could look into)

Who: You could work for the Syrian rebels.

Moi: Aw.  Syria is so sad now.

Who: Yeah, it is.

[I immediately think, "it'd be even darker if I say I'd work for the Nigerians instead," but I hold my tongue because it seems inappropriate.]

Who: If not the Syrians, you could work for the Nigerian kidnappers.

Moi: I used the hash tag #bringbackourgirls and they're not free yet.  I don't get what more I need to do.  

Crossing the Line

Reading my blog lately, it's easy to come away with the assumption that my world revolves around biscuits and my advisor/school.  I assure you that that's not true.  It only seems that way.  

Except last night really was all about the biscuit.  We faced endless obstacles, but Alice and I were determined to have dinner at blacksauce.  We both successfully resisted late afternoon snacks and remained faithful to dinner, but dinner kept getting farther and farther away.  There was terrible traffic, endless GPS rerouting, all in concert with torrential downpours.  We kept looping around small country roads with growling stomachs.  The blacksauce food is cooked in tents outside, and with the weather kept changing every two seconds and the GPS constantly telling us we were 3 minutes away, we kept wavering between excitement for food and anxiety that the rain would ruin everything and the realization that our destination was still just a little bit farther away.  But at long last, we pulled in to see that despite the rain, Damian and his team were still outside.  We ran out with our umbrellas:

Moi: Please tell me dinner is still on.

Damian: We ran out of food.  I'm sorry.

Moi: Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-

Damian: I'm just kidding.  We're only out of chicken.

Alice: That's a mean joke.

Damian: That was kinda mean.  I'm sorry.

Moi: It's a horrible joke.  Though I totally did the same thing to my friend on Sunday.  It's hilarious.

[On Sunday, whilst waiting in line, since I was 2 people ahead of Christine, I turned back to tell her that they were out of the fried chicken biscuit we waited so long for.  She told me that "there are some things you don't joke about.  This is one of them."  I didn't understand on Sunday.  But I understand now.]