Monday, March 15, 2010

Dick Moves and a Sense of Proportion

I was planning on writing a nice nostalgic post about Sean Connery Day IX and the importance of rituals of friendship.  It was going to be all sensitive and bittersweet and ultimately uplifting.

However, three things happened between my intending to leave for Up North and my arriving Up North that kind of soured me on the whole bittersweet-and-ultimately-uplifting theme.  Nothing particularly bad per se, just those moments of mild annoyance that we encounter in our lives.  And I thought that I'd rather complain about 3 dick moves in 60 minutes than write anything, like, productive and shit.

The first dick move I encountered today might need a little background.  All of Hypatia's Household is out on the grad school market.  A fun and joyful experience that totally does not instill a massive amount of stress, self-doubt and anxiety, nor does it create a sense of hysteria any time the phone rings, or we check our email.  It certainly does not make checking the mail some sort of epic adventure in disappointment, frustration and magical thinking.  (Particularly if you're not Hypatia's Roommate, who being wiser than Hypatia's Girl and Hypatia's Boy, also applied to science-y grad programs.  Apparently in the sciences you actually get back to your applicants.  And have, like, money and shit.  And make decisions before the end of March.  Of course, if you're Hypatia's Girl (an experience I don't necessarily recommend these days), you only apply to schools that don't officially tell you anything, allowing you to grow and expand as a student through ferreting out rumors and learning to interpret dreams to discover the FATE OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, but, you know, I'm totes cool with that.)  Today was my day to walk down three flights of grand staircase to the front entrance, chill and dark in the early morning (ok, 9:30 a.m.) light.  To rifle through the stack of mail and see what came (if anything) for Hypatia's Household.

Lo and fucking behold, Hypatia's Boy had a large envelope from a school.  This is the holy grail of mail-checking during app season.  Everyone knows that The Large Envelope is good.  You still open the small ones (if you're not Hypatia's Girl and actually get mail from schools), but your heart doesn't leap like it does as the thought of The Large Envelope.  So I go tearing back up those stairs, manage to crack my shin twice, stumble into the door and rush to wake up Hypatia's Boy, because it is a large envelope and everyone knows what that means.

Hypatia's Boy was confused.  Mostly because I was shouting and waving bits of mail about.  Also, the Boy is not really a morning person.  Also, he'd already heard from that school, and wasn't expecting The Large Envelope.  But, whatevs.  He opens it . . . I jump and skip . . .

It's a week old "We have received your application" notice.

Sending out "we have received your application" notices, in the middle of March, in a large envelope is 100% completely and totally a dick move.  Seriously.  The Large Envelope, especially this late in the season, only can mean one thing.  And that one thing is decidedly not "HAR HAR WE GOT YOUR APP."

The next was totes more minor, but just kind of a statement of fact.  If I'm going, say, 10 miles over the speed limit in the right lane and your I-didn't-plan-for-Daylight-Savings-Time idiot ass is tearing along at, say, 20-25 miles over the speed limit, you actually don't get to tailgate me.  Tailgate the jackass in the left lane who is a. going slower than I am, and b. IS IN THE LEFT LANE, the LANE YOU PASS IN WHEN YOU'RE IN THE STATES.  You particularly don't get to mouth "GO FASTER" at me.  I'll just give you the finger and continue at my speed.  Which may or may not have been 10 miles over the limit to begin with.  That's just a dick move, that even my road-rage-y self doesn't do.  (N.B. To people in the right lane.  The left lane is totes fair game for me to be a dick).  Dick move.

And then, 20 minutes later, driving along the barren wasteland that is US23, I noticed that the jackass who broke into my car stole my 10 year-old pride rings that hung from my mirror.  Which must have taken some effort, because they'd been on that mirror since the day I bought my car, and were constantly tangled up with the parking tags for various schools and weird $0.25 frog necklace that Hypatia's Ex gave me 1000 years ago and I've never gotten around to throwing out.  The loss of those added to the loss of a broken bracelet that I'd meant to take in and repair for months and the loss of the face of my stereo but not the whole stereo made me realize that the city in which I am living is totally just a dick city.  (When my apartment was broken into a year and a half ago the thieves may or may not have stolen an item of personal use, a theft that may or may not have been particularly galling in light of the Ex leaving me two weeks later.  Dick fucking move.)

None of this is a big deal.  None of this is even particularly upsetting.  But, seriously, sometimes you just have to mention dick moves.

1 comment:

  1. I had that year, too! that was 2004-2005 for me. 2 thefts, 2 car accidents, (1 of which was Capt. Twitch running our car into the carport and the other of which was on US-23 trying to pass an asshole in a pickup truck going 15-20 under the speed limit in the left lane, the wind catching my back end and throwing my wee car into a spin. The event caused me to go into labor!)
    One thing's for certain, you'll hate being where you are until a year after you leave...
    Whereby you will get hit by a big old helping of nostalgia. Trust me, I know these things :)