I'm in the Business of Blowing your Mind Right Now

I submitted Chapter One yesterday to my dissertation committee chair. He started lecturing me about sending out more of my work to scholarly journals, so that I'll have more publication credits on my CV, hence, I'll be more "marketable" when I start job hunting. The problem is that I can't both write book chapters and write for journals, so I don't know where he expects that I'll find the time to do all of these brilliant things. Hell, I'm hard-pressed to keep up with my dear blog these days. The less I see of humanity, the less there is to discuss. What should I report? Well, we started giving Dax fish oil tablets because we heard they were good for his joints and his heart, of course. I switched from light sour cream to full fat. No more of that lower-cal cream for me, kids. I want the good stuff. The pool water is finally crystal clear... Okay, you get the idea.

As for my Chair--he just kept talking about the difficult job market, and I said, "Oh, Dr. -----, stop being such a negative Nancy." I figured he would understand that better than Debbie Downer. I hate being compared to a product. Should I also be sure to clean myself up and put my ass on display so that some school might yank me up out of the ranks of nonacademia oblivion? I think I'd rather just become a professional underwear dancer.

I'm watching this study about womenomics--which is a sort of exploration of alternative ways for women to both run companies and still have "flex time" to spend with their families---and they noted that since more female CEOs have sprung up, profits have increased by 1/3. I'm not surprised by this figure, as all of my female friends in co-habitation situations are, generally, the ones that keep the houses running efficiently. Plus, think of how much time is wasted by excessive masturbation and porn-perusing practices. I like to think that better than half of male CEOs do their fair share of both while on the corporate clock. Maybe that is just my evil fantasy spawned by terrifying 80s films about women in the corporate world pre-p.c. Maybe that was insulting. Maybe I should edit that part for my male readership, who, by and large, are sensitive and intelligent individuals.

We had a yard sale on Saturday, and we made a ton of good, hard cash on old basement items. Plus, it was fun chatting with neighbors and friends from around our hood. Winnie, Will, and Lisa came by to help, as did my mother, who kept trying to give me part of her profits. Though the yard sale began at 7:00 am on Saturday, one woman came at 4:00 in the afternoon on Friday and asked for a "sneak peek." That same woman returned at 5:30 am to watch us unload, asked if she could get started early, and dropped $100 before 6:00 am rolled around. Her boyfriend looked like Terrence Howard, and Winnie and I started fawning over him. He sat on my porch and chilled with everyone while his girlfriend kept spending money. He says he gets the Howard comment all the time.

The night before, Winnie helped me organize and price everything, which included this lovely ceramic cherub-in-Southern-Belle-wear figure. My Nanny made it, gave it to my mother, who shamelessly tried to sell it in a yard sale two years ago, failed in this endeavor, and then my mom snuck it into my basement where I found it. Horrified, I got it out for this year's sale. We thought $0.50 was a fair price, but we certainly couldn't part with Angel before taking a few snapshots:

Sebastian got really nervous when we put Angel in his bed.

Winnie thought Angel could have used a little more tact with her snippy comments.

I laid Angel down for her feeding.

Here is the man that bought Angel, but he refused to pose for our photo:


I'll leave you with some more images from the classic, Southern yard sale, which, by the way, is far-removed from a "garage sale," in my humble opinion.