IN THE EVENT OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

Just so you know, our apartment would be the perfect stronghold in the event of a zombie apocalypse.

I was thinking about this the other night and have decided that really, for the amount of rent we pay, you can't beat this level of zombie-security. Normally I wouldn't say that about a garden-level apartment, but in this case I think it's true.

Item: All of our doors and windows are barred, heavily. And our doors are made of that weird, shatter-proof Plexiglas which is impenetrable to the thumping of undead heads/loosely gripped fists.

Item: Despite being at garden level, I feel like we're fairly inconspicuous. When was the last time you saw a zombie get down on its knees and investigate something? Never. That's when. Most of our windows are behind shrubs which make it easy for us to see out, but difficult for the unobservant (read: the undead) to see in with their beady little eyes.

Item: In the event of a long stake out, we have a fireplace for heat and plenty of room to store supplies (maybe I should start stocking up?). Plenty of reading materials. But no shotgun--this is D.C. one of my neighbors is bound to have one.

Item: The apartment does have three entrances. The front is moderately conspicuous to the street, the other two are well-hidden. The side door leads to a small patio which is sunk into the ground and surrounded by a high railing and shrubs, good for getting out if needed, unlikely that any zombies would climb/fall over--and if they did they'd be trapped on the patio and easily dispensed of. The back door leads to a locked/enclosed courtyard which all of the apartments in the building share. Assuming that none of the neighbors have been taken by the desire to gnaw our flesh (which we obviously can't) this is a great way to get onto the roof via the fire escapes, get the lay of the land, throw Molotov cocktails, sharp-shoot (there's also a second-level terrace on the front of the building that would be good for this, assuming zombies don't excel at climbing), take out the trash, and smoke cigars (which there's no reason not to do in a Zombie Apocalypse).

Item: Our apartment is 4-6 blocks (don't quote me on that) from two different grocery stores, a hardware store, and a farmer's market (of limited use a few days after the electricity goes off). If one is brave and well-armed enough to go outside, these are useful sources of supplies and magazines.

Also, there are the Marine Barracks about 12 blocks away which probably have swords and maybe a hummer with the keys in it. If they doesn't have swords then the Marines need to change their advertising.

12 blocks in the other direction is the Library of Congress, which I would LOVE to run around in if it was totally uninhabited, but I would NOT love to be attacked and have my brain eaten by a congressional librarian in the darkened stacks because the irony is too much.

Conclusion: This is definitely the right apartment for the job. D.C. is probably one of the worst cities you could be in during a zombie apocalypse--a lot of people, a lot of traffic jamming the ways out, metros(!), already high panic quotient... ick. But I could totally have this apartment on lockdown and still make snacks.

High Noon at the OK Corral

HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD.

So, in the last 48 hours my whole life plan has changed.

Nevermind, strike that... my whole degree plan changed. But when you're a graduate student, your degree plan IS your life plan, so it feels pretty much the same.

Georgetown offers two degree plans: the thesis plan and the non-thesis plan. Oh, so I have the option of not writing a thesis? Sounds great!

Caveat: in the non-thesis plan, one must take two extra courses (or one extra semester of work) which must be paid for somehow.

I talked to the director of the graduate program yesterday about switching to the non-thesis option and determined that, yes, funding was available to take one extra class this semester, meaning that I will have to take (and pay for) one course over the summer. All of this mostly sounds like business except that no one could decide if I was going to get funding or not and today was the last day for add/drop and this is my last semester and I'm supposed to take my oral exam in a week. So I've run back and forth from then English department to the graduate school to the registrar, talking to advisers and professors and carrying forms back and forth all over the place.

My main motivation for this ridiculous change is that, in addition to not wanting to write a thesis, there was another class I really wanted to take this semester. I'm not going on to get a PhD, so I won't need to have thesis under my belt, so I should take classes while I still can...

But I may have made a mess of my life in the process.

The class I added to my schedule? Had an 8-page paper due today. Which I will have to write over the weekend. That's funny, I didn't have an 8-page paper due before I changed my schedule.

I've got to take my oral exam and get it done as soon as possible. Oral exam. Three classes. One summer class. Done.

Let's Stay Up 'Til 2012

I still have one more day in Colorado before I go back to D.C. but I think it's safe to go ahead and rule the holidays a success. Meat&CheeseOnly (I really think I need to open up voting on this, since he's stopped ordering food this way--probably because having that as your blog nickname is enough to give anyone a complex) came to Colorado with me this year and partook of the awesomeness.

One of the high points of said awesomeness was visiting Trina. Even though Trina is having her second baby (due right around McO's birthday) this is the first time I've ever seen her pregnant. My brain still can't conceptualize this. We don't "pregnant"; we "macaroni and cheese" and "student government" and "homecoming." Oh yar, that was ten years ago. Oopsie doo. Probably I also can't conceptualize this because even though she's 8 month pregnant she's still all ridiculously cute--just, you know, smuggling a volleyball. When I get pregnant I plan to grow so large I develop my own gravitation field so that food is actually, forcibly pulled into my immediate area. Actually, this is an off-and-on life goal of mine that has nothing to do with pregnancy. It's probably good to prepare for it now though, since not everyone can look like Jennifer Connelly when they're pregnant.

So, anyway, speaking of smuggling. What did I get for Christmas? This is infinitely more interesting than "what are my new year's resolutions?" since I don't make resolutions. I think the last time I did it was something like, "I resolve to not get hit by a Smart Car in France," which is (literally) setting the bar really low. So no more of that horsepucky.

I got lots and lots of great and amazing things from my friends and family, lots of great books and DVDs especially.

McO got me my red KitchenAid mixer! I can stop entering Pioneer Woman's contests (well, the mixer ones anyway)! I can't wait to go home and use it. I'm making that man a chocolate cake when I get home. And some cookies. And a pie!

Here is a terrible short story featuring my christmas gifts.

Once upon a time Benny and Joon packed their red travel bag and filled their antique thermos with tea in preparation for a journey to Super Mario Galaxy II. Those were Simple Times, and from the Inception of the trip they couldn't imagine they were in Jeopardy!. While Benny was checking his James McNair cookbook for directions (which is probably why they were lost), Joon was attacked by a vampire. WHAM! She struck him with her ebelskiver pan, and then again with her hefty John Steinbeck collection, while Benny quickly used the garlic press to form a poultice for her wounds. She was mostly healed, but they felt better after drinking a bottle of homemade wine and eating some chocolate.

Was that terrible? I'm sorry.

I also learned that I have to be careful what I ask for, because I facetiously told my grandfather I wanted deer brains, dirty socks, snails, and a dog fart for Christmas and he gave me a box that said "3 out of 4 ain't too bad" and had a tab on the top that said "pull gently on loop to view gift." He's a veterinarian, so I should really have known better than to ask for... well... any of those things, but the dog fart in particular.

Some people may think that this is a bad gift (dirty socks?), but I'm telling you, I'm honored to receive socks full of snails and dog farts (please do not question the logistics of this). Please tell me anyone you know whose grandfather goes to such lengths to find every item on their wish list? I know love when I see it. ♥ If I didn't think I'd be arrested by homeland security for carrying that on a plane, I might have brought it home.

Maybe.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!