The SSLP has been trying to break me for months, and she finally won. She's been harping and harping at me to get on facebook, but you might have picked up on the fact that I love my anonymity. However, as a concession for going away to school instead of attending here in town, I finally frickin' agreed.

Now, I'm addicted, and I'm mad as hell! It's affecting my life. I want to check it every five minutes, I want to buy a smartphone so I can keep track of it when I'm not at my laptop, and I have NO IDEA how I'll react when someone rejects my offer of friendship.

Crikey. I knew this was going to happen. I warned her. Now there will be weight loss and interventions. I'm all juiced up.

Another IMMD, along the same theme:

I was watching Snow White with my 3 year old cousin. When it got to be the part at the end when the prince kisses her and she wakes, up she yelled “ZOMBIE!”. IMMD.

From itmademyday.com:

When my husband and I got married my little brother bought over his wedding gift… it is a glass case that says "in-case of zombies break glass" inside it toy six-shooters, an axe, a crowbar and walkie-talkies. My brother is awesome and IMMD

This is what I want for my next birthday.

Also, a convo with the little voice in my head about how she's weaseling her way into watching new Buffy episodes (she wanders in while I'm watching the end of one, and then I let her watch the beginning because I believe in getting the whole story and she's not having nightmares or getting traumatized, sooooo...):

ME: You're sneaky.

She: I am crafty. I'm in GATE.

My little sis sent me something wonderful - even funnier than anything. Before I link you to it, I must explain the premise: a woman is married to a man who talks in his sleep. He says things so confounding and hilarious and offbase that she starts recording him while he sleeps, sometimes typing as he says it. His sleeptalk is in regular type and quotation marks. Anything in italics is the wifely commentary.

Now. You are ready. Go here.

You can thank me later.

This weekend the little voice in my head and I were driving around and we needed to change out CDs (I had listened to Hard Candy all week ad nauseum, needed to change it up) so my daughter picked out two other Madonna CDs - Confessions on a Dance Floor and "Madonna Veronica."

Madonna what?

"Veronica."

Madonna what? There is no "Veronica" - and as I was saying this I looked behind me to see what she was holding up.

It was Madonna's Erotica.

A few tidbits, as my tired old brain cannot do better than that.

First of all, I finished my GRE this morning - I can resume a normal life again without that stress hanging over my head. I think standardized tests should actually be called "bastardized" tests.

Secondly, my brother-in-law's response to the OB/GYN tale with Raggedy Ann hanging over the proceedings: "the only thing creepier would have been a Chucky doll."

(I tend to agree, however I have an irresistible urge to design a tee-shirt: Raggedy says RELAX.)

Third, a convo between me and the little voice in my head this afternoon:

Me: I was so nervous about my test last night that I had nightmares all night. They were zombie nightmares.

Little Voice: Of course they were.

If you're wondering at all how I did on my GRE, here's how I see it: I did exactly as I'd hoped on the Verbal, exactly as I'd thought on the math, and I have no idea yet the rating on my essay portion. That is all subjective, so I have to wait for the GRE gods to spit that out at me. Seriously - the "quantitative reasoning" was so bad I'm embarrassed. It's as though I live in a realm completely devoid of any math at all. Which, really, isn't too far from the truth. And I'm totally okay with that. But I could have lived without sharing the proof with higher educators that I'm trying to impress.

Meh. What a girl gonna do. I'm a frickin' English major.

It's been a few days. I'm overrun by tasks and activities driven by my impending move and standardized test. However, I can tell you that my two new dream men are still Spock and Fat Jesus. (I haven't touched on Fat Jesus yet because I haven't mentioned the sublime hangover I finally got to experience over the holidays).

Today, however, I'd like to share a valuable life lesson that I learned wholeheartedly and will never forget. This morning I had an appointment with el doctor de las mujeres. I forgot, though, until I got to work and my Outlook reminded me. So I had not made any special effort to shave the legs or paint the toenails. I dismissed those concerns - my doctor is at least 65 and inured to the sight of my hairy (though very blonde in that regard) legs, I'm sure.

I got there four minutes early, and my doctor was behind schedule. An hour and fifteen minutes later, I finally got ushered into a room by a wonderful nurse who informed me that Dr. was late because he has a med student shadowing him today, and would I grant permission for the student to observe my annual examination?

Ladies, please, PLEASE. Before you ever answer this question, SNEAK A PEEK AT THE MEDICAL STUDENT FIRST.

Being incredibly hungry, incredibly late, and incredibly pro-education, I hastily answered, "Of course!"

I should have asked, "How he look?" Because, dreadfully, I forgot about my legs and my toenails.

Unshaven, unpainted, I lay in the most inglorious position in the world with an ubercute medical student staring me in the...well, it sure as hell wasn't my face. And above me during the entire procedure was a Raggedy Ann doll hanging from the ceiling with a yellow lei around her neck and a handwritten cardboard sign in her hands that said, "RELAX."

Fortunately, I am no amateur at public humiliation and self-embarrassment - this was not my first rodeo. I am also gracious and funny in the oddest situations. When the doctor inserted the speculum and kindly asked me how I was, I said, "Oh, I'm relaxed. I'm in my zen place, doing mental yoga." Due to deep breathing and my Aspergerish aversion to eye contact, I could ignore the HAWT MEDICAL STUDENT in front of me and manage to relax all the right muscles.

He did actually see me with my clothes on, which were almost cute enough to save the day. As I left, though, I knew in my heart - there was one future doctor I could safely mark off my list of potentials.

I had to return Star Trek so as soon as we got home from doing that, the little voice in my head looked up full episodes of the original series and found them on-line (ahhh, the digital age, and the wee geniuses who thrive on it). We watched "The Trouble with Tribbles" first, of course. I have to say, Spock is my new it-man. I've seen my fair share of Star Trek eppies (thanks, Big Sis), back in the day, but back in that day I was not hormonally developed yet. Now I see how Spock could be such a sex symbol - HAWT. Calm, confident, funny, soft-spoken, and smart - with facts always at the ready and a constant half-smile during every conversation with the mere humans surrounding him. And not immune to love. Look at him with the Tribbles!!! (Before he deems them completely useless, that is.)

Also, I was shocked to discover yesterday my daughter can do the Vulcan salute without any coaching. Trektastic.