Forget about Insurgents

Now they’re to be called “Enemies of the Legitimate Iraqi Government”

Yuppie?

My friend Erik thinks I'm a yuppie. He hasn't met my lesbian parents.

Do yuppies drink 2-buck Chuck? Except for that, my maternal units are as yuppified as it gets. Except that it comes from Trader Joe's--that's definitely yuppie.

They just added a whole house onto the back of our old house. The new addition is generally tastefully done, but does have some yuppy charm in the flick-of-a-switch gas fireplace and certain other features.

Plus, my 6-year-old sister now eats Lean Cuisine more often than real food. She takes lunchables to school. Granted, I ate school lunches most of the time, but that was because they were cheaper.

I realize they're a little old (early 40s) to be called yuppies, but they do have a 6-year-old and they're becoming soccer moms. They're just a little different.

Bitchy Around the Edges

Sometimes people forget how to share. And then they get bitchy. We have to share time. We have to share space. We have to respect that people have different temperature thresholds. And when we fail to do this, things get ugly. So I just quit and move to the basement.

Now on to 2-proportion z-tests and figuring out the difference between that and 2-proportion Confidence Intervals. Thought I had it... then came along part (b.) of question 23. Crap.

One Lane at 4

Family time is always fun. How exactly are you supposed to plan for 13 people in every generation from age 6 through 69?

Duck Pin Bowling of course!

So you call. And it turns out every one else had the same idea. All they have is one lane at 4.

I guess we're not all going.

Onward! To Statistics Class!

On the T to Harvard Square, I was sitting next to an overweight 7-year-old who was busy stuffing his face with Pringles. He looked at me. I looked at him. He said something like "you stink". We decided not to make much of it.

Then I looked at the cute guy with the suitcases. We decided the kid was a little off.

We were entering Harvard Station and I stood up. The kid acted like he was going to hit me. I flinched and looked over at cute guy. We smiled. We decided not to take him too seriously.

Then he stood up. "I'm getting off here," said little man, "You're not getting off here."

"Well actually, I am getting out here," says the motley princess.

"You don't live around here," said little man.

"You're right. I don't"

"Where do you live?"

"Way over that way" (pointing toward Boston)

"Who's your boyfriend?"

"Jeff"

"Jeff the cab driver?"

"No. Jeff the rock climber."

And then we parted ways.

Grantikins

Just want to let you all know that the best roommate ever has joined the blogosphere. He's also known as the (Inconspicuous)Nomad. And he's a musician. And he's terrible beyond all belief. (He made me say that)

Shout it From the Rooftops!

My plan is to move to Cambridge, and dammit, this time I'm not flaking out. That's because this time I'm moving to live with the best roommate ever, Grant! He wants me to say bad things about him. In fact, he has just now required that if I use his name it has to be used in context of bad things. I told him I would therefore give away all his secrets and he told me that that only involves pancake recipes. I bet it involves some secret war tactics used in back yard mud battle fields. Just a guess though.

We found a beautiful top floor apartment with in-house laundry and a back yard. It also has a bonus room, which will be properly renamed once we move in. We're still in the insh'allah stage of this whole process as I just sent in the applications today. So don't expect anything yet. We still have to have our credit approved.

Ok, so pretty much all the rest is all either non-bloggable or boring material, so that's about all I can tell you.

Hey wait! Now Grant has to make me pancakes.

It's a good thing we're moving together because half of my stuff used to be his and that would be, well, awkward, if he moved to a studio. Fate.

And no, parents and other concerned parties, we're not sleeping together or getting married or any of that nonsense. It's a 2-bedroom.

Don't Mess With Me

GalaDress
Originally uploaded by MotleyPrincess.

I'm wearing Roses.

This was the before picture... I can assure you that the after-gala pictures are even less flattering.

Toe Head

What the freak?

Ok, I know I've heard this term before, but I have no idea what it really means. I've heard/read it twice this week in different contexts and now I'm thoroughly confused. It doesn't seem very nice to call someone a toehead. Maybe it's the little kids' version of butthead?

Or is it toWhead? Now we're on to something. So does that mean that the head is big enough to tug oil tankers through the Boston Harbor?

Unfortunately (for the purpose of continuing to feel ignorant), I just now decided to check the actual dictionary instead of WikiPedia, and it gave me an answer.

Towhead
1. A head of white-blond hair resembling tow.
2. A person with such hair.
Colloquial Version: An urchin who has soft, whitish hair.
3. A sandbar or low-lying alluvial island in a river, especially one with a stand of trees.

Excuse me? Tow is a noun? An alluvial island? Now I've got to know the etymology of this business.

Eureka!
"Tow" evidently refers to the fiber of flax, hemp, or jute, prepared for spinning which apparently is light in color and messy looking. "Head" refers to that heavy thing on top of your neck. The blonde headed person definition is a product of 19th century American language. Not sure about the alluvial island, but Huck Finn tied up to one, so I think it makes a little more sense than toEhead did at the beginning.
Source

Yes, I know it's obvious that I haven't been writing. It's just that I promised not to talk about those things and I have a temporary roomate which keeps me away from this dreadful machine.

Excitement Sandpaper

Remember how I thought Statistics was this amazing new part of my life? Well, the novelty is rubbing off and someone decided to use sandpaper for that task. It's damn near impossible to get me to move over to the table where my statistics work is sitting. It's begging me, but I am being a princess. Maybe I'll go out for a drink and come back to it. I really think champagne would help.

U-Turn

Awesome! I'm not sure if it was the spectacular views or the champagne or the company or the lake or the playlists or the dance party or the crampons or the herbal essence or the new boots or the fact that I wore a sports bra only for the first half of our hike in November or the sauna or the chocolate or the breakfast or the barbecue or the backpack or the snow or the fact that I wasn't in Boston or the margaritas or the middle of the back seat or the lack of sleep or the amazing bathtub or the fine mist or the possibly faux northern lights or the milky way or the color of the trees or simply the fact that I wasn't even thinking about work, but this weekend was awesome. I certainly didn't do any statistics which I might regret later, but right now I'm just aglow. On my way to rehearsal in about an hour, but then will probably pass out, wake up, go to work, come home, do stats, pass out, go to work, pick up long-lost-friend, take my midterm, come home, pass out, go to work, come home, say hello to friend and head off to yoga with him. Great 3 days, right? Uh, yeah. I want to go back to weekend land. Except for the friend thing. That's awesome.

Confidence Interval

As I get further and further into this statistics class, my confidence level diminishes. I swear everything was going just fine. I could do my homework in my sleep. And then last week I went to class and had no idea what the hell she was talking about. Then, I managed to skip my homework. Now we have a midterm next Tuesday and I'm struggling to complete last week's homework and will be away for the weekend. Granted, I'll be with someone, or a few someones, who could dance circles around me in stats, but I have a feeling that won't be on the top of the agenda. So, car sickness: here I come. Does anyone have any Dramamine?