BIG CAT!

In my post-finals haze, I decided to look at cute pictures of animals. When you type in "cat" to google, the second thing that comes up is:


"This cat is bigger than most dogs!"

Or is he on trial because he's an author?

Every year Georgetown makes its incoming freshman read a book and then has the author come and chat with them about it. Usually it's a task of some drudgery for students who are unwilling to interrupt the fun of orientation week for such a thing as schoolwork. Our author was Orhan Pamuk, author of My Name Is Red. It turns out that after meeting and chatting with Georgetown students, three years have passed and he's on trial in Turkey! Amy commented, "What did he do? What did he do? Oh, or do they just not like that he's an author?" Turns out, that's pretty much it. Really Turkey? I can't decide what you want, to be totally stand-offish or to court the EU. Stop being so high-maintenance and mixed-signals and let your authors out of jail.

Christmas Movie Moment - Classic B Moment

So this movie may not be at the top of everyone's Christmas shelf, it may not even be on everyone's Christmas shelf. Let's face it, most people have never heard of this movie. But it is one of my favorite Christmas movies, so instead of chosing just one moment from it, I will tell you to go rent it for yourself. It is, "All I Want for Christmas." See it, and you will thank me, just like the young Ethan Embry/Randall throws his arms in the air and shouts, "Thank you, Santa!"

Favorite Christmas Moment of the Day

Not from a movie, but a favorite Christmas quote of mine, and many. When I younger and living at home, we would always try to listen in for the local news radio station, KYW 1060's, reading of it. It is the Chicago Sun letter known as "Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Clause".

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Christmas lines, part dos

When I'm tired, and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep.
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings.

I love that line. To those of you who don't, Christmas is the time of year that it's acceptable to be cheesy, so don't tease me too much ;-)

Favorite Christmas Movie Moments

Since I don't really have time for true blogs, per se, I think I'll at least make sure I post a favorite Christmas moment/line. Today's:

It's the summer of the soul in December.

Go figure out where it's from and enjoy the rest of the lyrics to that song!

Christmas feast

I only have a couple minutes to update before diving headlong into ILaw studying, but I felt I owed it to myself and my valiant cooking attempts to post about the Chambers Holiday Dinner.

The whole thing was Amy's brilliant idea, and it all went down this past Wednesday. There was a lot of stress on my part leading up to the big day, mostly based in obsessive desire to have turkey at the dinner and my obvious lack of cooking skills. That, coupled with several attempted Safeway trips defeated by too much work and/or the snowy wilderness (read: slushy state of DC), led Amy and I to buy a pre-cooked Turkey. So off we went to Safeway with, you guessed it, my GIANT suitcase to pick up all the groceries we needed. Including a nice 10-15 pound (they didn't label it, which proved difficult for cooking) pre-cooked turkey. Before you scoff at my cooking sell-out, remember that a pre-cooked Turkey still must be warmed in the oven for about an hour and a half, and carved. Which we did awesomely.

Amy also introduced me to the marshmallow school of sweet potato thought, since I was brought in a strictly pecan family. They were delish. Tim came over early to help with the cooking and was instrumental in my sautee-ing of onions to add to my instant stuffing. I also made brie with cranberry sauce on top that was delish, and served the remaining cranberry sauce as a side that went over quite well -- it was normal cranberry sauce mixed with cinnamon, nutmeg, and rum, so how could it not!? Anthony made delicious garlic mashed potatoes with chives which involved the debut of our electric mixer... very exciting.

And before your food jealousy is complete, we must not forget the copious amounts of wine everyone brought (including Tim's bottle of "Smoking Loon", which we all loved), and the amazing desserts provided by Jeff and Dominic and Jenny. Really, an awesome night.

And now, my current situation is not having *nearly* enough time to finish everything I have to. As part of my motivational inspiration, I'm revisiting old iTunes playlists. Right now we're about an eighth of the way through my Spanish music collection, which is impressive. But I'm sure you knew that.

Oh, and P.S. Safeway through the snow with a suitcase. Pilgrim that!

These are a few of my favorite things!

Taking after Amy, Tim, and Bob, I now present to you, the first thing that appears in Google images when I type in...

My first car: Camry

I forget what year it's from, but it certainly isn't quite so pretty. And it's tan. And five times dented by one sister.


Home town: Philadelphia



Or, Wayne, Pennsylvania




Current city of residence: Washington, DC


My name: Caitlin

I don't play lacrosse though.


My blog alias: McCaitlin

The one and only picture that comes up. Apparently my names are pretty sporty.


My favorite food: Brie



My favorite drink: Margaritas



My favorite song: Hallelujah

I like all versions that I've heard, Rufus, Leonard, Jeff. And I like the funny pictures that come up for Hallelujah images.


There, now you feel like you really know me, in person and in Google images. Hallelujah!

The "holiday season" : well wishes or the "worst elements in our culture"?

While I don't usually use this blog to link to different news articles, I couldn't help myself today. I particularly like the "war on Christmas" that seems to have snuck under my radar - who knew this was going down!

Analysis of a night on the second floor... in progress

11:00 Amy and Caitlin decide progress has come to a stand-still, a total contradiction, and head to the library to stop the paradoxical madness
11:30 Amy and Caitlin find 2 cubicles in the 2nd floor hot spot (the front cubicles are the place to be)... NEXT TO EACH OTHER. Insert audible gasp here.
11:45 Caitlin is answering e-mails.
12:00 Caitlin makes the rounds to see what cool people are hanging out on 2.
12:15 Caitlin answers more e-mails.
12:45 Caitlin and Amy take Mid Mug break
1:00 Caitlin answers more e-mails.
1:15 Caitlin starts her paper.
1:45 Caitlin has a pretty cool outline of half of her paper that's half a page long.
2:00 Caitlin takes a break to blog.

Productivity is so overrated...

Is there a 2nd floor facebook group? Because I so belong there.

Oh Christmas Tree

Yesterday my family engaged in our time-honored Christmas tradition of driving half an hour to a Christmas tree farm to cut down our own tree. The event is so well-rehearsed right now that the script is as familiar as our favorite holiday films. Each member of the family chooses a tree that they like and then shoots down any suggestion made by anyone else. My mother's familiar line is always repeated at least five times on several different trees, "NOT big enough!" Outrageous at the suggestion that we get a tree shorter than my dad standing up straight with his hand in the air -- the exact height of our living room -- we inevitably choose a tree about a foot taller than said height, bring it into the house and have to chop off the top, creating a slightly trapezoidal shape. My mother insisted that you really don’t notice the top of the tree that much, and fulfilling tradition we selected an incredibly tall tree. I was unable to stay around to see the tree go up, but I can’t wait to go home in a few weeks and see it. Hopefully we won’t have a repeat event from a few years ago when our tree tipped over. We tie it to the curtain rods now to help prevent this tragedy from becoming habit.

Happy Thanksgiving

An amusing anecdote from my Thanksgiving to yours: Just call it a bit of advice. If, at one in the morning, you are standing on the streets of DC with your cousin who has come to visit you, and you find yourself tipsy and her drunk, and she suggests that her mother (your mom's sister) may be awake, and she wants call her mom to ask her a question about your crazy family heritage... if all this happens to you, remember that your family will most likely not let you live it down. And it will be a topic of Thanksgiving dinner conversation.

"In America, we straddle a cultural chasm over premarital virginity loss, with some believing it's absolutely morally wrong and others seeing it more like pork chops -- anathema to some people's religion, dangerous without proper preparation, but otherwise a fine thing."
~Faye Flam

I read this in the Philadelphia Inquirer this morning and thought it was just too amusing. It's good to be home.

From the mixed up files of J. Gordon

One of the more amusing forwards my grandpop has sent me. I refuse to be part of the forwarding culture, but I will post it here, becuase it is pretty funny.

Some actual label instructions on consumer goods:

On a Sears hairdryer -- Do not use while sleeping.
(That's the only time I have to work on my hair.)

On a bag of Fritos -- You could be a winner! No purchase necessary. Details inside.
(the shoplifter special?)

On a bar of Dial soap -- "Directions: Use like regular soap."
(and that would be???....)

On some Swanson frozen dinners -- "Serving suggestion: Defrost."
(but, it's just a suggestion.)

On Tesco's Tiramisu dessert (printed on bottom) -- "Do not turn upside down."
(well...duh, a bit late, huh!)

On Marks &Spencer Bread Pudding -- "Product will be hot after heating."
(and you thought?)

On packaging for a Rowenta iron -- "Do not iron clothes on body."
(but wouldn't this save me time?)

On Boot's Children Cough Medicine -- "Do not drive a car or operate machinery after taking this medication."
(We could do a lot to reduce the rate of construction accidents if we could just get those 5 year-olds with head-colds off those bulldozers.)

On Nytol Sleep Aid -- "Warning: May cause drowsiness."
(I'm taking this because?)

On most brands of Christmas lights -- "For indoor or outdoor use only."
(as opposed to what?)

On a Japanese food processor -- "Not to be used for the other use."
(now, somebody out there, help me on this. I'm a bit curious.)

On Sainsbury's peanuts -- "Warning: contains nuts."
(talk about a news flash)

On an American Airlines packet of nuts -- "Instructions: Open packet, eat nuts."
(Step 3: say what?)

On a child's Superman costume -- "Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly."
(I don't blame the company. I blame the parents for this one.)

On a Swedish chainsaw -- "Do not attempt to stop chain with your hands or genitals."
(Oh my God..was there a lot of this happening somewhere?)

Is my grandpop not adorable?

P.S. Red hair pictures to come.

Coffee Room Concoctions

My coffee addiction steadily growing to an even 4-5 cups a day, many of them consumed while at work, I have tried a good number of the different coffee options available to me at the office. We use a Keurig One Cup Coffee machine, though nothing as state of the art looking as the one featured on the website. Ours must be something out of the Keurig dark ages, but it's not the coffee maker I take offense too. It's the depressing quality of the grounds, which come in a "K-cup", that we store in the office for who knows how long. I'm sorry, but the grounds I have at home are not as good as fresh ground, but the ones at work are a far far cry from being even recently ground.

So I've turned to creativity. Because whenever you think of brilliance in the all things culinary, you think of Caitlin, obvi. No really, I'm quite proud of myself. Having decided that the best variety of K-cup (is anyone else offended just by the name?) is the "Mocha Java", I set off to the coffee room to find out what sort of communal food there could possibly spice it up. Quickly vetoing all artificial sweeteners (let's give a decisive boo to after-tastes), and tired of the stale "sugar and dry creamer" routine, I decided to dig around for something a bit more unique. Every now and then cheese shows up on the counter, but even I am not crazy enough about cheese to add it to coffee. I was eventually victorious with the only other semi-communal food in the office: hot chocolate packs! The kind with the mini-marshmallows. It adds a creamy/sweet taste for me so I don't need to go for the wretched powdered creamer, and covers the stale taste of the coffee with it's rich chocolatey goodness. And I don't even know how to cook... My confidence may be boosted enough to emerge from the world of canned goods and actually try to cook meat!

I'd been looking for an excuse to post an image using the handy auto-button. A new reading of Wonkette provided this

The job that ate me

I've been meaning to post about my new job for a while, but keep wanting to put it all in one post and not having enough time. Which is for the best because, really, my new job kind of hates me, and there's no need to put all of that negative energy into the world in one melodramatic post, there just isn't. I will, however, give an example of an average day: today. My boss, otherwise known as Ms. Mood Swing (sometimes she loves me, sometimes she hates me, and it's more often the latter), gave me an 8.5"x11" poster to make copies of - colored paper, no white. For an old office bitch work pro like me, this should be no problem. We're talking about the girl that collects pens after all, making a simple xerox is like my calling. There was the slight stumbling block of not knowing where the colored paper was, but not wanting to upset anyone, I just milled around the copy room until I finally found it, way higher than I could reach, but I made do. This simple copy job, however, took me 40 minutes, because, as it turns out, the copy machine at our office really hates colored paper. This would not have been a huge deal had I not left it until the last 10 minutes of my shift, thinking this would be more than enough time for an office-quality copy machine. Which means that I got out 30 minutes late. Realizing that I surely did not have enough time to complete the ILaw homework I left for the hour in between work and class now, I decided to complain on my blog instead. Wow, am I really this whiney?

To top off the fact that even the machines at the office dislike me, the woman who acted annoyed with me on my first day for drinking the office coffee (like you have to last a few weeks or something to be worthy), seemed quite pissed that I was standing near the paper towels she wanted in the bathroom while trying to fix the earring that got embedded in my ear. I know, I am such an inconvenience, I cannot even stand myself. And yes, my bad karma and lack of skill are such that I actually managed to embed my earring in my ear. I think it's time to anoint a new Captain Awkward.

Now I know where I come from...

The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. After two months of wondering if I was the only one in the world wishing for cold, I woke up this morning to the sounds of rejoicing from the next room, where my mother and two of my sisters were checking the weather online. "It's 55! It's 55! It's finally cool!" The four of us then giggled about how great it was that it was finally going to be fall and ran to our rooms to put on long sleeves and sweaters. Perhaps a little over-ambitious for 55, but we were excited.

Apparently the apples can roll pretty far from each other though. As I examined which brown shoes to pair with my light pink J.Crew pants and brown turtleneck, sister Ally excitedly ran by the bathroom, shouting, "Look at my awesome pink Ugs!" Hmmmm... at least we both like the same temperatures.

Elevator NDE

My unexpected houseguest, Ashley, and I took an unexpected lunch trip to the Tombs on Wednesday, and on our way back, we took the elevator, not the stairs. Now, I know it seems a bit overdramatic to label an elevator trip as a Near Death Experience, but I have a flare for that sort of thing. The Nevils elevator is not known for its lack of shadiness, but with each lurch and successful emergence at the correct floor, I somehow gained confidence in it. All until that fateful, post-Tombs trip. This was no slight lurch, but a full on shuddering tremor. Twice. Each time, a glance up showed the lights threatening to drop. The elevator staggered and then stuck, staggered some more and then came to a final wavering and precarious halt, obviously stuck on something that either kept it from moving to our desired floor or kept it from slipping downward fearfully. Obviously, I’m as big a fan of the stuck-in-an-elevator experience as the next person, and my abilities to stay rational in various mildly exciting to even averagely frightening true life situations are impressive, if I do say so. But whether it be from irrationality or frightening truth, I actually felt there was a chance, perhaps small, that the elevator just might not hold. Hence, the labeling of “Near Death Experience”. The repair man couldn’t open the doors because they were stuck, so we got one last final lurch as he messed with controls before it slipped into place and the doors opened. Fabulous. I’m totally up on the whole, trapped in an elevator situation, I mean, what a story, but I think I’ll stay clear of this one for a little while.

My triumphant return to blogging

I have considered shirking my academic responsibilities and returning to blogging for some time now. The problem wasn’t an issue of subject matter. Should my first blog back be an account of the young man asleep under my kitchen table one morning this summer, his computer screen covered in porn? Or what about a posting of the nomination Amy and I wrote for Dominic’s stint as Mr. Georgetown – he will win.

No, no, it wasn’t a lack of semi-interesting things that I could occupy a post or two with. It was a lack of procrastination-able things! This summer, my need for money and my desire to have a nightlife took me away from the blog. I started school and senior year was far too exciting for such things as mundane internet updates of my life.

But now, now everything has changed. Midterms have begun. This week I had two exams, one quiz, and a five-page paper. And a four night unexpected house guest. NOW was the time for blogging to begin again. So look forward to a return to my procrastination-central, caffeine diary. First to come: Elevator NDE

Warning: boring post ahead

Normally I wouldn't post about something as insignificant as a visit to the Grandpop's condo, a full 15 minutes away from my house if you don't break the speed limit once on the way over, but it was between that and familial disruptions; that's really all that's going on in my life right now - grandparents and arguments. So I chose the more cheery of the subjects to give Monica something upbeat, if a bit mundane, to read about ;)

Grandpop moved from condo #45 in the Thomas Paine building to #25, same building. Three floors down, and on the opposite side of the building, this was a big step for good ol' Grandpop. My mom, in one of her flurries of daughterliness, shooed Ally, Jackie, and me out of the house on Wednesday, telling us we had to help him unpack. Poor Grandpop had no idea we were coming, and though we were a help, there's no situation in which the McA______ sisters aren't a bit of a disruption as well.

Ally cannot tackle any task without singing. Loud, high notes. Which makes life a bit more difficult for a kind, old man with a hearing aid. Jackie and I took a more silent approach, putting books and pictures on bookshelves, and only when Grandpop instructed us to. Of course, my desire to both be a perfectionist and to hide it don't come from nowhere. Grandpop kept waffling back and forth: Put these books on this shelf. Oh, but they have an order. But I can put them in order later, it really doesn't matter... Put the records on the shelf beneath the television. Keep them in order, they're alphabetical. But by genre. See, the musicals are first. But, oh, it doesn't really matter... The china goes in here, just stack it up. Except the plates, they go behind. But it doesn't matter. Oh, and the tea cups. Obviously put them in saucers symmetrically on shelves. Or however you want to...

In the end, he was really happy to have us over, as always. And who doesn't love a proud Grandpop - they're the best. Jackie and I felt bad about his collection of movies and books (one movie was entitled "See what I mean: a guide to reading lips"), but Grandpop's a jovial type. Plus, who can't love a guy who lives in a building called Thomas Paine?

It is so amusing to me that people have found my blog searching for "videos break dance antofagasta" and "girls deflowering pictures", and I have no idea why.

Disappointment

I am shocked and aghast at the fact that the OC, in such crazy states as Iowa, and perhaps others, is TWO WEEKS behind schedule (please see comments to my previous post). First off, I am absolutely offended that the (surely) lovely people down at Fox would think that we could hold their OC secrets to ourselves for two whole weeks!! Do they actually think us capable of that? Do they imagine us to have self-restraint? The OC happens to be, for those of us who consider ourselves the thinking portion of the program's viewership, a dramatic, scandal-icious break from the monotony of college life. (Or the drama of college life that is way less interesting because it is happening to us and not TV stars.) This is our hour a week to return to age 17 (no wisecracks here)... how are we expected to then turn around and be mature enough not to spoil plot lines for our friends to the west? I ask you, where is the justice?

Second, I am so so so sorry for spilling the beans. I assure you, Lauren, it will never happen again. Enjoy the episode, Mijita.

In the spirit of my ultra-competitive high school, I post the link Monica sent me, listing us as the 195th high school in the country. I suppose top 200 is not too bad…let’s not mention that the ranking system is based only on AP tests, an inappropriate measurement, if you ask me. Really, I just like shout-outs to Monica. She is my hot blogging beauty.

For the sake of blogging...

Well, my not-so-secret-admirer (I’m going with Monica, anyone else agree?) I will please you with a blog, but I must say, you will most likely be sorely disappointed. Finals finished without any major breakdowns, I returned home and (due to my mother’s back injury that kept her out of the process for the whole day) there were no parental freak-outs to speak of. Really, the most exciting thing that has happened in the past few days is when I pulled into my driveway this evening – correction - attempted to pull into my driveway, and failed. This was because there were several cars blocking my way. I celled Jackie (third child, with whom I share a room) to figure out why the hell my driveway was filled with unfamiliar cars, and she came outside to tell me there was a huge party next door. As we were chatting at the bottom of my drive, I saw two randoms wander into our house. Me: Who are those people? Jackie: I don’t know. Me: Why are they going into our house? Jackie: I don’t know. Okay, so this is mildly interesting, but wasn’t there a much more dramatic and drawn out plot of this sort just two weeks ago on the OC? I mean, sure we have a pool house, but it’s locked and used for storage, so no real sex potential, and we don’t even have a pool to go along with it. That means, of course, no girls can od on drug a or b and nearly drown, barely escaping death. Life at this point, is a bit boring. If anything big happens, or if I think of more interesting commentary, I’ll keep you up to date.

Tribute to Monica

or should I say "Mizzle". I gotta say, you have now won the award of my most faithful reader. Even after I return from Chile and have nothing more interesting to say of my life than the normal college drinking scene, you are the first to read my entry and immediately comment. Props to you - 1st place.

Take care on the Britain-side.

Cheers,
Cizzle. yeah, doesn't work as well with me.

Tribute to 6

Because some people say they actually care about what I post (how are you Monica?) I will take the opportunity to pay tribute to the awesome McCarthy 6. It seems like a very freshman thing to do, take such pride in a floor, but then again, it's a little like a freshman floor. Only with more legal alcohol. (I love the new dorm policy!)

What better way to pay tribute than to just describe a crazy night. I myself live on McCarthy 8, but due to 3 Chambers living there and the very friendly atmosphere, I was quickly adopted as an honorary floor member. (For real, I'm even an officer on the RA Matt Fan Club facebook group. Of course, my position is "shirtless nomad" but don't let that sway your view of my social value to the 6.) Two days ago, on Wednesday, I was in the lounge, as I often am, and Mary came in looking for someone to have a congratulatory drink with; she had just finished editing 53 pages of her thesis.

I went into the room for one drink of Bailey's. I had an interview the next day. The problem is, it was also Anthony's birthday, and I had a handle of Captain Morgan's for him. (It was my first time providing minors AND going to Dixie's... I'm learning so fast!) Anthony came looking for me, Mary offerred him a drink, and all of a sudden we were all making coke and rums. It was much easier for everyone to convince me I would be sober by the time my interview started after the initial Bailey's.

We're not really sure how it happened, but by the end of the night about half the floor had stopped by Mary's room at some point. Keep in mind, this is a single the size of the small Village C rooms (a comparison that brings some weird memories back... excessive drinking in small dorm rooms? freshman year? what?) I have not been so drunk in a while. I ate cookies in Nick's bed, I kissed Mary, I squirmed on the floor as people tickle attacked me - oh wait, I do that sober too. In any event, it was a great night. And on any other floor, the noise would have attracted excessive RA attention. People would have called in noise violations instead of joining in the fun. And the drunken, debaucherous fun would just not have been the same.

So thank you floor 6. I may have woken up really dizzy and confused the next morning, but I still made it to my job interview. And I made it knowing I had had a really good time the night before. Even if I wouldn't completely remember it until later. ("Mary, I think we kissed that night...." "We what??")

okay, okay, i'm sorry, anonymous, for not blogging, but nothing that blog-worthy has been happening. sure, i turned 21,



and chambers went to nyc


(and took pictures in elevators),

but really, nothing that interesting has happened.

until now.

and so i mark my return to blogging with a heartwarming and dramatic tale,

Birthdays and Bomb Threats
how i ended up sleeping for an hour on the floor of ICC 118

saturday night was sam's birthday, and we celebrated by sitting at the pope table at buca di beppo. i kid you not, the day the pope died, we were told the only table large enough to accomodate our party of 16 was the pope table, off of which the bust of JPII had just been lifted. talk about irony. dinner was quite good. tim and ra matt spilled the fact that i'm incredibly ticklish, and were duly punished by well-placed ass grabs. we annoyed the whole restaurant, staff and all, by insisting that we sing "happy birthday" as many times as possible. and we weren't even drinking yet.

we took the bus back from dupont circle, singing a few more times there, and headed to an apartment of sam's friend. we told sam we had arranged for a little "performance", seating her on a tall chair and forcing singles into her hands. someone ran upstairs to get the stripper, and we all took photos of sam looking quite frightened at the fact that her boyfriend had orchestrated such an embarrassing situation. april fools, now time for kings.

of course, at the beginning of each game of kings there's the obligatory rules consultation (perhaps there should be a national group that publishes the rules to such things so there's not so much debate) during which everyone is able to get a little bit tipsy as they sip their beverages of choice. by the end of the game, and after vodka, champagne, and rum, i was drunk. for, perhaps, the 4th time in my life. priceless.

drunk caitlin wandered back to the dorms with tim and amy to watch star wars. drunk anthony joined in and made fun of drunk caitlin for being quite scared of that sand pit thing that was supposed to eat all our friendly protagonists. everyone got sleepy, realized it was an hour later than we thought (damn daylight savings), and went to bed an hour into episode vi. the perfect end to a rolicksome evening.

almost. because really, what would my 4th drunk night ever be without a pulled fire alarm. only it wasn't pulled by a student, it was more DOPS (dept of public safety) officers responding to a bomb threat in the building. which the ra's still won't officially confirm since reslife won't permit them to treat us as people of an age older than 8. the swquad was evacuated and an ra told us that this normal "fire alarm" would take a while, and that we should go to a friend's house or ICC to keep warm. my friends from the 6th floor and i went to ICC 6, home of the gov department, to rest on the nice leather couches, until a DOPS officer told us that we had to come down to the 1st floor, which has no such couches, where he could keep an eye on us. because the evening wasn't juvenile enough. those of us who wanted to sleep crashed on the floor of ICC 118 (which really is no different from ICC 116), and those who knew that was going to accomplish nothing went to the alumni lounge, promising to call if we were allowed back in the building.

i managed to sleep for about an hour on the floor, periodically waking up to walk outside and see if tim had called me from alumni lounge. because there's no cell service on ICC 1 (even more reason that we should have stayed on 6). and though the building looked like a bad slasher film, with bodies lying face down in the hall ways, the DOPS officer never thought it would be a good idea to announce that the dorms had been opened once again at 6 am. i'm not even really sure he knew about it. lucky for me and my 4 partners in sleep, i got tim's message at about 6:30 and we all went home to our beds.

so there you have it, anonymous. another lengthy blog entry from the painfully verbose caitlin. next thing i know, i'll be fired from blogging for not being concise (or for bad spelling). :-P

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I took advantage of Presidents’ Day Weekend to go up to the Vineyard with my mom and her twin sister. I know, already it sounds like “Diary of a Rich Girl”. Maybe it is, but really, who would turn down a weekend on MV? Also, don’t the “Day Weekend’s” sound wrong somehow? Like Presidents’ Day and Memorial Day and Labor Day have powers to extend past normal twenty-four hour boundaries? Anyway…

Following what seems to be Caitlin’s Travel Rule #1, I tried to cram in as many modes of transportation as possible. It wasn’t “Trains, Planes, and Automobiles”, it was more. Friday I slipped out of Con Law 20 minutes early (I know, I’m a bad student – I have Friday classes) and caught a cab to National. There I got the 1:45 shuttle from DC to Boston.

The great thing about the shuttle is the very obvious class distinctions. It’s practically it’s own sociological study. I break them down into the following three groups: college students, businesspeople, and “other”, which, unlike on censuses, is not a catch-all, but a very specific group in and of itself. Each breed is very easy to spot. The college student gets on the plane with backpack in hand and music listening devise in pocket. He or she is unobtrusive enough sitting down, having traveled this route for every major holiday since freshman year. Upon sitting, books of some sort are produced for the semblance of work and/or educated entertainment, which is usually useless because they often fall asleep promptly after take-off, the result of professors struggling to fit assignments in right before the break in question.

The businesspeople are swift and direct. They travel with laptop/brief-cases and stow them in a matter of seconds. They are flying between cities for brief meetings, perhaps a one night stay-over; they are not taking-up a lot of time or space, and would appreciate it if you would do the same, thank you. The “other” category, then, is of course very difficult for them to tolerate. Others do not understand what the hurry is. Sure, one wants to get on and off the plane quickly, but you have to give them at least a minute to get together their large shopping bags of travel items and fit their just barely small enough carry-on suitcases into the overhead compartment, possibly moving your things out of the way to do so.

I must note, I am by no means a frequent traveler, nor have I never been guilty of the no “checked baggage” air-travel felony. In fact, I didn’t check any baggage on this very trip. However I say to you Others, there is such a thing as faking it. Yes, you may have children. Yes, airplanes feel small. Fine, the rest of us are in too much of a hurry. I feel your plight. But learn the rules, explore the culture, and try to adapt just a little bit. Just as one would recognize the responsibility to understand foreign laws and customs before traveling and remember not to graffiti in Singapore (we won’t make that mistake twice), it is wise to understand air travel before one attempts it. When in Rome…

Class-conflict aside, and needless to say, I made it to Boston fine. We always do. In fact, my no checked baggage move to avoid missing my bus as a result of delayed baggage claim or flights was unnecessary. I made it fine to the Bonanza Bus from Boston to Woods Hole on the Cape. Being the only one on the bus for the first 5 minutes, I was even honored by the abridged autobiography of my bus driver, a Portuguese man with an accent touched by Boston who had left his “honey” to come to the States and had just seen her after a 28-year absence. Just don’t tell her husband or his wife how much fun they had! Thankfully saved by my iPod and more passengers, the remaining 2 hours to the Cape were uneventful.

Once on the Cape, I had to wait for my mom and aunt to arrive via car. They were transporting a couch that took up the whole of the automobile. Because my mother had my ferry ticket, I had to climb over my aunt’s front seat and onto the hump in between the driver and shotgun in order to drive onto the ferry with them. Strong winds provided a fairly choppy 45-minute ferry ride, and my hump-seat was a not-so-comfortable 20-minute ride from the ferry terminal to our island home.

Being that February isn’t a very happening time in Edgartown, Martha’s Vineyard, it turned out that there wasn’t all that much to do. We ate at the usual favorite restaurants, the ones that simply can’t close in the winter; we did cute Vineyard Haven shopping; I allowed the Gordon twins (a.k.a. my mom and aunt) to generally spoil me in all possible ways. We were there for two full days of relaxing Vineyard fun.

Monday, I drove home with the twins to Philadelphia where I caught a train to DC, arriving at my dorm around midnight. Why, you may ask, did I not pay the $30 extra to get a roundtrip plane ticket and save about 8 hours? Evidently, because I am very, very stupid. That being said, it enabled me to top off my cab, plane, bus, and ferry transport story with car and train. Because they say it’s the journey that matters.

unintentionally assisting a stalker

among my daily list of procrastination tools is checking the tracking information for my blog. so today, as i think about what justice mca_______ would decide in my con law paper assignment of smith v. smith, i took a peak at what people search for to get to my blog. the most popular entry has always seemed to be "ticklish pedicures". (does someone have a question about them, because i'll gladly answer it. my question is why so many people seem to be searching for them.) today i discovered that i seem to have stepped up in the world. the word "porn" has finally entered many a search-querie landing people on my blog, but the most significant discovery was the altavista querie of "jessie gubbins" that somehow landed someone on my sight. yes, the former chamber and fellow alto seems to have a stalker, and judging by the fact that he or she made it to my blog, it is a persistant stalker, because i certainly do not appear first on the list of altavista sites pertaining to that name. also, why altavista? what's up with that? so anyway, jessie, i am sorry that somehow my blog has aided someone's search for you. you know that if you ever have to go into hiding, i apparently am of no use.

Welcome back to Georgetown! That'll be $20,000 and a small intestinal pouch

my rediscovery of american health systems

fine! i give up! i cave under the pressure of the demanding masses [read: one brit-residing monica] and update once more. to bring rapidly up to date with my life, i returned from chile, i hit up philly, i had christmas with chileans chillin’ states-side (in DC to be exact), i vineyard-ed, i took new hampshire by storm with my stunning skiing skills courtesy of tim’s family’s ski house, i introduced amy to philly, and then we stormed georgetown with stunning force.

so that was me, just another one of the throngs of georgetown students coming back from being abroad and moaning about how hard it is to re-integrate into a culture, etc, etc. reverse culture shock aside, things were going rather well, i was happy to be back, liked my classes, hated my work, the usual.

two wednesdays ago, in the middle of just one of those liked classes, balkan politics at 8:50 to be exact, i began experiencing sharp abdominal pains, as i would later tell a million and a half doctors, nurses, residents, and med students throughout the georgetown health systems.

i went home and lied down, thinking a few episodes of alias and some rest would surely clear up whatever was ailing me, just in time to place me in con law at 11:40. wrong! by 1:20 pm, i conceded partial defeat, and made my way to the student health center, which had so kindly told me over the phone that i would have to wait a very long time if i chose to be seen today.

1:35 – i arrive in the shc
1:40 – i put my head between my legs and try to concentrate on not concentrating on pain
1:45 – i realize head between legs tactic isn’t working and try head dangling eerily back method
1:50 – everyone surrounding me in the waiting room has disappeared, and i approach the woman at the desk who told me to take a seat and ask if i should, perhaps, fill out some paperwork. ma’am, i respect the fact that this is not a pleasant job to do, however we are very sick people. we are not trying to be unpleasant; this frown is not meant to be antagonistic towards you, but is hard to remove because MY ABDOMEN IS ON FIRE! thank you for your assistance.
1:55 – i finish aforementioned paperwork
2:00 – i am seen by the nurse the above referenced woman told me over the phone would be able to see me… because the doctors are completely busy today. no one but the nurse would be able to see me, but if i still wanted to come in, that was fine, i’d just have to wait a long while…
2:04 – the nurse says the doctor will be right with me

so the doctor didn’t think it was appendicitis, but i was tender on the right side of my belly, so she was going to send me across the parking lot for a ct scan at the hospital. i arrived there at about 2:30 and waited until 5 or 5:30, drinking radio-active milky stuff and making conversation with a man surprisingly upbeat for a) having cancer and b) having just lost his wife to cancer. this new friend of mine tried to get the technicians to take me first, seeing that i, by this time, was in a terrible amount of pain, but they would hear nothing of his kindness and saw him first. not that i’m complaining. the thing tearing my insides apart came out that night; my pain was not long-lasting.

as this update is already far too detail heavy, i will spare you the grim details of a ct scan. needless to say, when one’s appendix is inflamed, you’re already in enough pain without them expanding your large intestine with fluid. fun.

after that great experience, i waited outside while some young resident looked at my scan. my guess is that it was his first appendicitis, from my two, short conversations with him.

resident: where’s your doctor?
me: pennsylvania.
res: what? who sent you here?
me: oh, the student health center.
res: okay… well… i’m going to have to look at this more, and call her. and look with my colleague. can you, um, wait here?
me: yeah, sure.
res: [obviously stressed] okay.

resident: [appearing again]: well… after looking at the scan… and talking with your doctor… i’m afraid it’s your appendix.
me: [relieved that i finally knew what the hell was biting my abdomen to pieces] okay.
res: so, um, you’ll go to the emergency room?
me: (are you asking me if i will go to the er, or are you just unsure of the advice you’re giving me?) yeah, can you tell me how to get there?
res: oh! i’ll walk you there!
me: (great, something you’re sure of.)

obviously, parenthetical remarks are thoughts. i was very appreciative of the assistance provided me at radiology and didn’t want to freak him out any more.

i went to the er, called my mom, who left me with “caitie? what do you mean you’re just going to get your appendix out? what do you mean you don’t know who the surgeon
will be? you know, there are bad doctors out there, caitie,” and called tim, who left me with “if there’s anything i can do, let me know.”

after a bit of a wait in the er, i was given a bed and a young nurse/nursing student teased me for being a “real bleeder” as a large pool of red appeared on the sheets beneath my arm and she desperately tried to get some of my blood into one of the tubes for tests.
i told hordes of med students what was wrong with me, when it had started, and let them push around my belly to see me wince. i met my surgeons and told them my mom wanted them to call her (they reported back to me that she was on her way down to spend the night with me – my mom may freak out easily, but at least she takes good care of me). my surgeon went home for dinner since we weren’t going to get an OR before then. i met the really hot med student that was going to be working with him. because fate thought it would be good for me to be attracted to people while in a de-generizing hospital gown and in pain.

mercifully, at around 8:30 pm, i passed out with the pain. right before surgery, they gave me some narcotics to stop me from crying. when your appendix is inflamed, it’s not pleasant. it’s hard for you to tell it’s your appendix, because it makes your whole stomach a raging mush of sickness and pain. so i put aside all facades of strength i have and just cried.

at around 9:30 or 10:00, they wheeled me into the OR, and 2 hours, three small scars, and the aid of some cameras later, i lost my appendix.

my mom stayed the night in the hospital with me, which was a godsend. my mother is a nurse practitioner. given the nursing shortage, it’s always nice to have one’s own personal nurse with the added benefit of being a crazed mother who will demand pain meds for you. another nice thing is to live close to where you get the surgery done. instead of leaving me to recuperate with my randomly assigned roommate (who is very nice, but certainly not familiar to me), i got to go home to the comfort of my (and jackie’s – long story) bed. which is where i spent most of the weekend.

i came back to gtown sunday night, just in time for the super bowl, and found that tim had kindly taken care of everything i asked him too. the problem with getting surgery is that, in hospitals, you can’t use your cell phone. so if you need anything, you’re forced to [gasp!] remember numbers. you also have to make local phone calls. what luck, then, that i have ordered delivery chinese to tim’s cell phone about a million times AND that tim is cool enough to have a 202 number. for the first time, i am ashamed of my 610, main-line-philly area code. i hang my head. i had called tim from the hospital to take care of a few things for me (including calling my chilean friends living in DC to tell them i couldn’t make it to the bars the night after my appendicitis. tim enlisted jeff’s spanish-speaking help, and i am eternally grateful to both of them.)

at this point, i’m just trying to play catch-up. sleeping for five days isn’t a great way to keep up with work. the 8 page con law paper i have for tomorrow is going well so far, but does anyone want to talk to me a bit about great expectations…