<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526</id><updated>2012-01-05T15:29:04.141-08:00</updated><category term='http://bp1.blogger.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mBBm58S3I/AAAAAAAAAB0/VsDgP-hEyaw/s320/butt.jpghttp://bp1.blogger.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mBBm58S3I/AAAAAAAAAB0/VsDgP-hEyaw/s320/butt.jpg'/><title type='text'>Mental Notes</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>108</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-480305183359414077</id><published>2009-12-27T21:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T21:54:30.338-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It is one half ambition and one half compassion. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just need to figure out how to put the two together while leaning toward the latter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-480305183359414077?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/480305183359414077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=480305183359414077' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/480305183359414077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/480305183359414077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2009/12/it-is-one-half-ambition-and-one-half.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8909230314336377982</id><published>2009-10-05T14:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T15:12:05.588-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Experiment</title><content type='html'>Everyone I know talks about how stressed they are. There is never enough time, always too much to do, if only I had 1 more hour in a day to finish everything! But nobody ever does anything about it. I've been reading nonstop in my classes this semester about how wrong the entire system is, how brainwashed we all are, how much we (the average American) hurt everyone else on Earth by our mere existence. This makes me wonder if there even is anything "we" can do about it. We are programmed our entire lives, at least in my experience, to constantly achieve- even better!- to achieve more than the kid next to you. We are over-scheduled from the age of 3 with sports, music lessons, extra tutoring to get ahead of the curve, "volunteering," on and on and on. We don't eat dinner with our families, and sometimes a meal is merely a microwaved burrito while running out the door to the next activity. All of this just to get a better scholarship to a better school to get a better job to proliferate this cycle with your own unfortunate children. At some point the standards are taken so high that this achievement attitude becomes a norm, and all of this is required just to even get into college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're unhappy. Kids get drugged up legally and illegally to deal with their "pain" which is ironically caused by the stuff they do in order to make themselves happy. We eat too much, sleep too little, have panic attacks, and fall asleep at the wheel. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know these things all too well, because I am the direct product of this cycle. My entire life has been a series of activities and events. I often feel guilty for having fun. My day centers around 4 calendars that run my life. I'm constantly thinking of the most efficient way to get it all done, and the slightest breach of this efficiency is enough to send me into an emotional tailspin for the rest of the day. I had a breakdown at the age of 14 that compromised my immune system but didn't seem to stop the patterns that led to the crisis. My back is chronically in pain and my pelvis is crooked, very likely because of the excessive weight of backpack/violin/swim bag that I carried everywhere during my most formative years and the excessive amount of exercise that I got in general. I developed pathologies of anxiety and OCD. And the problem is that it all worked. I got great scholarship to a great school and continue to achieve through this cycle of self-depravation and self-discipline. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But for all of my focus on efficiency, I feel like I've wasted so much of my life in productivity. I know what really matters, so it's not a matter of finding it. The problem is getting myself to do it. I've got to do something to assuage this guilt that I've already irreparably damaged my body and brain from overloads of stress for too many years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here is my plan. I will begin now by chronicling (whenever time allows, always the cruel joke of the matter) the process I have already attempted to undertake of simplifying my life. I no longer feel compelled to read every single word of assignments, to write the most groundbreaking response paper, to attend every single meeting. But I have so much farther to go. The ultimate experience will be when I go abroad in the spring. I am considering my voyage to Vietnam to be an experiment in simpler living. I will have 1 suitcase and will travel for a good portion of the 3.5 months that I am there. I will try to note how it feels to live out of a suitcase, to go without all of the stuff that I "need" so badly, notice if I feel any better or any withdrawal. When I return, I will see how possible it is to apply at home. America is not set up to make simplification easier, and I can't change the world by being 1 person to try this experiment. I just want to see if I can do it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this experiment has been attempted many times before. But I don't think it's been actively analyzed by many people of my generation, the ultimate "stuff" generation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's hoping I can keep up with the task...time to go do more things so I don't have a panic attack!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8909230314336377982?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8909230314336377982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8909230314336377982' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8909230314336377982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8909230314336377982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2009/10/experiment.html' title='The Experiment'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6871722363207961169</id><published>2009-07-01T20:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T20:58:46.922-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spoons and Forks and Knives, oh my!</title><content type='html'>I think I have a thing for kitchen utensils. My old lady style souvenir spoon cabinet is officially full (that's 24 spoons, folks). My prize from my mom for doing well on my triathlon was a coveted grapefruit knife that she found at Williams Sonoma. Then I found an assortment of forks and knives on my desk that had somehow migrated there. Like insects seem to be attracted to me, so am I to eating utensils.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6871722363207961169?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6871722363207961169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6871722363207961169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6871722363207961169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6871722363207961169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/spoons-and-forks-and-knives-oh-my.html' title='Spoons and Forks and Knives, oh my!'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8311059935008579317</id><published>2009-07-01T15:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T15:37:51.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mind games</title><content type='html'>Elementary school marquee I saw while driving: "Rememberto    collect supplies." I spent a good minute trying to figure who Rememberto was, like some intellectual Latin superhero. Appropriate spacing goes a long way...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think anyone would ever guess where I found myself today. When I finally managed to extract myself from the office following an influx of problems the second I tried to walk out the door, I drove to a super sketchy Walmart (stick with me here) to meet my grandma and get in her car. We drove to Memorial Hermann Southwest, elevatored up to the 5th floor (with her carrying her giant red patriotic straw hat...quite a spectacle),and walked downn the hall to...dum dum DUM...the plastic surgeon? I was super embarrassed to go inside, feeling that I would be judged as one of the wealthy and boobless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I managed to trick my friend, via text message, into believing that I was actually there for butt implants. I think he actually believed me...but really, I was there to get my painful and kind of ugly shoulder surgery scar looked at. If insurance covers it, I get another surgery...yipeeee. At least it would be in-office. And I could officially say I've had plastic surgery!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8311059935008579317?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8311059935008579317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8311059935008579317' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8311059935008579317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8311059935008579317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2009/07/mind-games.html' title='Mind games'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-432017875259217318</id><published>2009-06-30T20:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T20:30:41.455-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bugs</title><content type='html'>An ant just fell out of my hair. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This wouldn't be too terribly alarming if I wasn't on my 2nd round of antibiotics in 3 weeks for insect attacks. Mystery spider bite in California led to a swollen wrist I could barely move. A week later, I was opening my mouth to order at The Grist Mill, when I felt something buzzing at my leg. I was wearing an ankle length purple dress, feeling pretty fly since I actually wore something mildly fashionable. But thank you fashion for trapping what I can only assume was a bee in my dress, where I-- being brilliant-- managed to squeeze it, so it stung me. Without even looking, or ever even seeing the bee for that matter, I ripped the stinger out and threw it. I started semi-shrieking that something bit me as the pain seared up my leg. Of all the places, the bee chose to sting me on my inner thigh. The confused waiter, my exchange student sister, and my boyfriend just stared at me. Finally the dumbfounded waiter drawled, "I guess I can go get you some ice..." So I spent the rest of dinner with my sexy dress pulled up one leg, holding an ice bag to my thigh. A week and a half later, I had to go to the doctor to get an antibiotic cream and some Zyrtec-ish related pills. I've also been so dizzy that I'm disoriented. The doctor told me to drink Pediasure...well great. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am afraid that I will soon pull an Alien v. Predator and actually morph into an insect.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-432017875259217318?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/432017875259217318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=432017875259217318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/432017875259217318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/432017875259217318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2009/06/bugs.html' title='Bugs'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5625853324105821008</id><published>2009-06-05T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T12:35:45.262-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On being 20</title><content type='html'>I am incredibly talented at overcomplicating everything. Most things are really a lot simpler than I think they are. I've also realized, 1 day into my 20s, that I am simultaneously more and less mature than I think am. I am obviously not the grown up I think I am sometimes, but I have also grown so much and have so much more control over myself than I used to. In the spirit of my favorite activity, list making, here is another list of things that I have realized (realizing being my other favorite thing apparently).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life lessons that will probably take my entire life:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. No matter how much I want to or how hard I try, I can't do everything. I learn this lesson over and over again (think: 1st semester freshman year of high school's physical, mental, and emotional breakdown; 2nd semester senior year with all AP classes and 11 extracurricular activities; 1st semester of college when I almost blew out my hip; the 4 jobs I have been trying to balance this summer and failed at today). A quote I found today: "While intelligent people often simplify the complex, a fool is more likely to complicate the simple." Sometimes I'm a big fool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I have got to get a thicker skin. I have had &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;plenty&lt;/span&gt; of rejection and criticism in my life, and honestly, I think I deal with big problems a lot better than small ones. I take things way too personally and always turn everything into my fault. I know the adult world is just full of even more rejection and criticism and drama and unfairness, especially the career direction I seem to be headed in, and I will melt into a puddle if I don't toughen up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. People really don't care about what I do as much as I think they do. Sometimes I think I invent problems where they don't exist, like my life just isn't right without sometimes going wrong. I care way way wayyyyyy too much about pleasing people with every choice that I make, when in reality they would be most pleased if I just made an effing decision and committed to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of these are also simultaneously my greatest strengths and weaknesses. I think the root of all of these weaknesses is that I care so incredibly much. If caring too much is really and truly my biggest weakness, then I am doing ok. I try to do everything because I never want to miss an opportunity to have fun, improve myself, or to improve the world. I have a thin skin because I care so much about doing things the absolute best that I can. I care what people think because I want others to be happy and never want to do anything that hurts them. Fortunately my skin grows thicker as I get older (mostly due to developing a self-deprecating sense of humor), as my patience grows deeper, and my reasoning abilities grow stronger. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to coming into the prime of my life. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm pretty sure things only get better. As my advisor told me the other day, I have lived more in 20 years than many people have in their entire lives. And as my therapist told me, I have very good coping skills. So I suppose I'm not doing so poorly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I'm really in doubt I refer to the old Houston Chronicle horoscope clip I cut out years ago: "Your plight is like Spiderman's. With great talent comes great responsibility." At the risk of sounding a bit conceited (but who reads this anyway??), my spidey senses tell me this will be my truest lifelong lesson.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5625853324105821008?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5625853324105821008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5625853324105821008' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5625853324105821008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5625853324105821008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2009/06/on-being-20.html' title='On being 20'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1465376449573671798</id><published>2009-03-24T08:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T08:33:57.324-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ayo Technology...</title><content type='html'>I'm sitting here at work, a picture of modernity. I've got headphones on, playing my latest Rhapsody finds, my cell phone (with internet) plugged in, my laptop open and logged in to gmail, Facebook, Rhapsody, and Twitter. I'm alternately reading a book and writing the 14 status update ideas that pop into my head. Our brains have to be evolving to be able to function like this. How do I get everything done? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also worry a lot about how electronic all of my creativity is. There really isn't anything like a hard copy of a diary or notebook to look back at in years to come. What will archaeologists of the future have to find but computers with unreadable files? Half of the creative moments and thoughts that I've had are lost somewhere in cyber space, blips of something that really isn't anything. I've tried getting myself to write in a journal, but I just don't have the patience. My hand can't keep up with my brain, nor do I have the patience to take the time out to write by hand. I don't want to print every single thing I write. What to do?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1465376449573671798?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1465376449573671798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1465376449573671798' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1465376449573671798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1465376449573671798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2009/03/ayo-technology.html' title='Ayo Technology...'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6069235571356323526</id><published>2008-12-10T13:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T13:39:56.168-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So everything finally snapped. And I'm angry. Really really angry. And I like it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being angry is so much better than being sad and desperate and lost. It has energy and passion. It makes me move forward. At least it doesn't feel like I've fallen in a hole. Yesterday it was just denial (stage 1 of grief, right on time...there was a lot of bargaining already...jumped ahead with stage 3, I guess). Too much to do, too much to grieve. There comes a point where there is just only so much one person can grieve for and at some point you go the completely opposite direction and are just happy because you've run out of room for sadness. Today I'm just angry (stage 2). Angry that people have to die and hurt and that I can't figure out what's wrong with my hip and have gotten nowhere. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm going running. Haven't been allowed to for the better part of a year. Don't stop me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--&lt;br /&gt;I want to be good at poetry or writing songs or art or something to get this all out better. All I do is write bad emo stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/SUA3GeiBXGI/AAAAAAAAAHI/hHCCi-gaTew/s1600-h/u+box.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/SUA3GeiBXGI/AAAAAAAAAHI/hHCCi-gaTew/s320/u+box.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278279347692723298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just had to put this somewhere.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6069235571356323526?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6069235571356323526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6069235571356323526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6069235571356323526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6069235571356323526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/12/so-everything-finally-snapped.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/SUA3GeiBXGI/AAAAAAAAAHI/hHCCi-gaTew/s72-c/u+box.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7327604320016750935</id><published>2008-12-03T11:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T11:31:59.986-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Six hours, an entire bag of Chex Mix, a hamster named Fluffernutter, and only 4 hours of sleep later, my last anatomy class exam is over. Time to pull out the big guns for the final...haha on me...Never again will I attempt science.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7327604320016750935?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7327604320016750935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7327604320016750935' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7327604320016750935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7327604320016750935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/12/six-hours-entire-bag-of-chex-mix.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3335325831064000682</id><published>2008-12-02T07:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T09:16:13.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tis the season for the groove type thing</title><content type='html'>Tis the season for freaking out, and I feel like I should be...but I'm not. This week should be super stressful, and maybe I'm not working hard enough, but so far it's been pretty decent. (I should probably get to that 15 page paper soon...) It's strange, or maybe not so strange, but I tend to find my zen place when I have a lot to do. Perhaps it's more of a groove-type thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel pretty snobby sitting here at work, listening to a Mendelssohn string quartet, reading critiques of Samuel Beckett, sipping coffee. (The picture is definitely brought a bit back to earth by the fact that it's cafeteria coffee mixed with chocolate in a plastic mug, and I'm sitting in a cubicle making minimum wage, and the Beckett critique is for a class I have a final in on Friday.) The thing about Beckett is that it makes me feel kind of bummed about life. He's such a downer...all this "you're born, you live a meaningless life, you die" stuff. College has a tendency to be depressing when you actually think about things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I had decided to go to India for study abroad, buuuuuut not so sure about that now, what with all hell on the loose. I'd still really like to go to Scandinavia. Doubtful that I can convince my advisor that the whitest place on the planet is the place for me to do research for my senior honors thesis, though. I just don't feel drawn to somewhere where I might get blown up or shot or taken hostage or die of malaria. I appreciate that things suck a lot and need help, really I do. But I don't know how my dying to  see that is going to help anything. I'm also coming to see a lot about how "the academy" works. To get credibility, to get a teaching job (of which there are few in the anthro field), to get published, and to get known, one has to go to the Third World to do research. My interests have always lied more (is that proper grammar?) in the realm of studying the oppressor or something like that. I have mixed feelings about being the world's savior. We definitely need to make reparations for effing it over in the first place, but at the same time, we meddle too much in other people's business. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also I really hate small talk. A lot. Don't ask me how I am if you don't actually care how I am. And I will do the same. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi, how are you?"&lt;br /&gt;"Good. How are you?"&lt;br /&gt;"Good."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you actually tell how you are, people go glassy eyed, because they didn't actually want to know. A simple hello will suffice. The worst thing is when both people say "How are you?" and "Good" at the exact same time. And I have it on good authority that Europeans think our fakeness in greetings is dumb. Except we do it in French class too, so I don't even know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soooo I need to get back to my work...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3335325831064000682?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3335325831064000682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3335325831064000682' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3335325831064000682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3335325831064000682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/12/tis-season-for-groove-type-thing.html' title='Tis the season for the groove type thing'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5788216945451567779</id><published>2008-09-25T12:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T12:54:07.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How Ursula got her groove back</title><content type='html'>General rule of my life: When it rains, it pours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the good news about that is that this time it's pouring happiness. I feel like me again! Yesterday I socialized with more skeletons (in the biomechanics lab) than people throughout the day (until nighttime), but I got my groove back. I probably should actually be more stressed than I am, but I'm feeling under control. (I have 4 meetings in a row tonight, but it's ok!)  I also love Southwestern again and am satisfied to be here. I've also finally learned how to be ok not being in a relationship and honestly-- get this-- don't want to be in one. That's not to say I am opposed to dating, I just really can't do serious right now. And it's ok!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, the career plan du jour is Teach for America for 2 years post-SU to get some money and to get the teaching bug out of my system. Then UT law, which I hear is actually a lot more fun than I thought. Then: world domination. By which I mean running a non-profit or NGO or working for da government. Or the trusty backup plan of writing things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you." &lt;br /&gt;-Nathaniel Hawthorne&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5788216945451567779?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5788216945451567779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5788216945451567779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5788216945451567779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5788216945451567779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/09/how-ursula-got-her-groove-back.html' title='How Ursula got her groove back'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5801653225331757216</id><published>2008-09-23T07:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T07:48:48.808-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I really enjoy that it took me this long to realize that the reason I'm so sluggish and deranged is that I'm not actually allowed to work out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5801653225331757216?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5801653225331757216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5801653225331757216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5801653225331757216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5801653225331757216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-really-enjoy-that-it-took-me-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3338278950497979129</id><published>2008-09-22T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T11:06:03.242-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Existential crisis part deux</title><content type='html'>Actually, it isn't really very existential, but someone PLEASE remind me why I thought taking Anatomy was ok? Why? I mean, I have reasons, but they obviously aren't good enough ones. Why didn't I take Environmental Science like I knew I should? Today they are hearing a talk from a beekeeper for their lab. While I hear a 45 min lecture on muscle articulation and learn the entire musculature for the elbow, wrist, and hands. HAAA. This class is killing my beautiful GPA and making me feel stupid. And at this point there is nothing I can do about it. I did try to do my research last year, but I got such sketchy answers from people on the hardness of anatomy...lots of "ooh..eeee" and even "that's what made me decide to be a kines major" and now it's "holy Jesus why would you take that?" Where were those naysayers when I was asking last year????? I've made the dumbest scheduling decisions this year, and I can't do anything about it now except forge on for 3 more months and hope I don't deeply regret my stupidity come transcript time. It is entirely possible to get through this school without actually taking anything all that hard while still learning things; in other words to leave with a nice inflated GPA and a decent bank of knowledge, but apparently I derive some perverted pleasure out of taking needlessly difficult classes. Microeconomics is a case in point. I honestly can't say I remember very much or that I'm very glad in retrospect that I took that class. It was the downfall of my 4.0 with one little minus, and I don't even think I got much out of it. Except maybe I kind of know something about how houses made the economy suck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I am ridiculously sleepy but not tired. My body is antsy mcantspants, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I was literally beating my face in class to keep my eyes from crossing. I even went to bed before midnight last night! (Thought I did get awakened to open the door for someone and was very confused by the fact that I'd been asleep...I can't really explain it. I also had a lot of very vivid dreams about naming body parts. Yeahhh.) I do not want to become addicted to caffeine!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vices:&lt;br /&gt;Chai&lt;br /&gt;Dark Chocolate&lt;br /&gt;Panicking &lt;br /&gt;List making&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to go stare at my inspirational rodent screen saver.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3338278950497979129?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3338278950497979129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3338278950497979129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3338278950497979129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3338278950497979129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/09/existential-crisis-part-deux.html' title='Existential crisis part deux'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3591513050523080201</id><published>2008-09-21T14:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T15:18:10.805-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ok this is getting kind of obsessive, but when I'm stressed, I organize things, even my brain. Soo, fueled by liberal-arts inspired critical thinking skills, here is an organized version of my existential crisis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About every 3 years I have one of these crises, and every time it rearticulates the same ideas in a more analytical context. Basically, it grows up with me and my vocabulary. It also grows inversely to my knowing who I am. I know myself very well. It's more a matter of what to do and how to think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is nothing I can do about some of it. I am impatient to be somewhere, actually doing something, having a "real" life, not stuck here putting in the grunt work. Time, however, can't be changed, no matter how hard I try. The rest of my problem is a matter of binaries (thank you, Levi-Strauss): useful vs. enjoyable, fun/less "achievement vs. work/more "achievement," exploration vs. domesticity, idealist vs. realist, put on the happy pants vs. give myself a break. I don't know how to just accept that a lot of things are BS (i.e. the college lifestyle), but that's ok. Now that I write this down I feel a little less abnormal, because I sound like half the people in the universe who have taken a semester off, dropped out of school, joined a convent, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Action plan:&lt;br /&gt;-Write. Anything, everything, all the time, whenever. Please God, help me find my creativity again.&lt;br /&gt;-Humor. My constant fallback companion, the monologue in my head. Self deprecation puts everything in perspective.&lt;br /&gt;-Continue my personal mantra of: think good things, say good things, do good things &lt;br /&gt;-Accept that I will probably never reconcile the desire to achieve the most with a need for fun, so do very best but don't freak out over "failure"&lt;br /&gt;-Forgive myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I move closer to the person I want to be through these crises. I think it's ok to have this period of time in which I'm just not entirely ok, because I'll come out of it even more ok than before. I already feel like I've reached a new place. Change is just hard. The only thing I possibly can do is move forward. I didn't live today like I meant to, but I can leave tonight like I want to. Every personal leap needs somewhere to leap from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world... as in being able to remake ourselves. &lt;br /&gt;-Mahatma Gandhi&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3591513050523080201?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3591513050523080201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3591513050523080201' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3591513050523080201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3591513050523080201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/09/ok-this-is-getting-kind-of-obsessive.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-244249424530612848</id><published>2008-09-21T11:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T11:13:50.925-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Immediate personal response to last post:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't get myself. I can't even just feel some real emotions without explaining them away as some stupid, unimportant, self-wallowing thing. Why do I make fun of myself for thinking deep things? It's one of those contradictions...don't take life too seriously but life is deep. Blah whatever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-244249424530612848?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/244249424530612848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=244249424530612848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/244249424530612848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/244249424530612848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/09/immediate-personal-response-to-last.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6153081122206571662</id><published>2008-09-21T10:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T11:08:03.648-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Psychobabble</title><content type='html'>The last month has been like a big, charcoal gray cloud looming just a bit over my head, occasionally punctuated by a few timid rays of sunshine. A lot of the feelings I have now are almost sickeningly familiar and are almost perversely enjoyable, that old sense of queasily contented self-containment, in particular. I always alarm myself at how well I hold up to things, probably mostly due to my terror of deep sadness. It's just managed to manifest as a general hazy gloom and negativity that waits to pounce whenever I let my guard down. I used to love my alone time, revel in it...but now it just makes me feel strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if some of this feeling is me grappling with this strange adulthood transition. I am no longer a part of my family pod; I am a little seed that has blown away to strike out all by myself, unsure where I'll land. I am such a very small part of this huge world. I used to be so naively excited about taking on the world, but now I'm overwhelmed, and I don't want to be alone. I am not a loner, but I feel like I'm almost forced to be a lot of the time because I just can never take the easy way around anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure where my sense of never-aloneness went. I always had a sense that God/the universe/whatever had its arms wrapped around me, always watching, always helping, but I keep losing that feeling. I feel almost not a part of myself, even, like I detach from my body sometimes. I wish I could say it was highly effective meditation, but it's like I'm outside of my own self, marveling at this whole swirling life that belongs to this thing called Ursula, a word that I automatically respond to and somehow sums up this animated form. Maybe I'm really a prophetess on some higher plane of consciousness. That would explain things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't afford to lose myself right now. What happened to the indestructible me? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like being this weird emo kid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6153081122206571662?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6153081122206571662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6153081122206571662' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6153081122206571662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6153081122206571662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/09/psychobabble.html' title='Psychobabble'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3816656437441033175</id><published>2008-09-06T14:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T14:25:13.252-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Just when I fall apart, and especially when I start to hit bottom, God shows up through coincidences and reminds me of how magical life is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3816656437441033175?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3816656437441033175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3816656437441033175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3816656437441033175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3816656437441033175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/09/just-when-i-fall-apart-and-especially.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5097314384565456603</id><published>2008-08-16T12:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T13:02:08.873-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Another year at SU. I moved in early on the 14th to my temporary on-campus apartment. It's big and nice but lonely and kind of smells like water damage. I have no idea if I'm supposed to have a roommate right now...I didn't get to live with who I wanted to, so it's pretty lonely. Yesterday I mostly settled in, helped move freshmen into their dorms, and watched Olympics in my friends' apartment. People bring the weirdest things to college...swords, a couch the size of the room, platters with their grandma's face all over it. It was pretty cute/a bit heart wrenching to see the freshmen and their parents so frazzled by the going away process. Three hours of hauling boxes to the 3rd floor had me a bit frazzled too...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was my first cross country practice. Glenn thinks I'll be able to race by mid-season, which I am kind of doubtful of, but he's the expert. I get to run a little bit, bike some, and do crazy core work. He made me feel a lot better about the cortisone shot, though. Apparently I could be a fluke case where a pain gate in my spine has stayed open even after my injury healed, so it keeps triggering unnecessarily, which the shot could cure. If the initial shot doesn't work, however, I'll have to try one in my spine. :( I spent the rest of the morning helping with first year check in. Mostly I told people not to skip the language placement table and to sort themselves by last name. For hours. But I am one of those people who can't stop trying to be helpful and just go eat my darn lunch. Actually I think I really wanted to see all of the first years, not going to lie...When I finally went to lunch, there was NOWHERE to sit, so I sat by myself on the edge of a table. Who comes to sit next to me but Pres Schrum himself. We had a lovely chat about majors, SU history, and most importantly, HUMILITY! And now I"m working.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5097314384565456603?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5097314384565456603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5097314384565456603' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5097314384565456603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5097314384565456603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/08/another-year-at-su.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8372092450856410432</id><published>2008-07-09T11:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T12:01:33.494-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When life gets too stressful, there is always wikipedia to lift your spirits. Today it told me I was "new age." Minus the lack of responsibility and antisocial tendencies part. (Which would describe a large handful or two of people I know...love them dearly but it's the truth.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also there are double stuffed Oreos, baklava, and chocolate Easter candy...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8372092450856410432?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8372092450856410432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8372092450856410432' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8372092450856410432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8372092450856410432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/07/when-life-gets-too-stressful-there-is.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1397310253234196727</id><published>2008-06-03T13:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T14:31:09.582-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Triumphant return to the blogosphere</title><content type='html'>I've gone a little wild with the whole not having to do anything thing, having one arm and all, and totally neglected my bloggage. My surgery went really well last Thursday (very early) morning. I wasn't particularly nervous beforehand, but in retrospect I probably was, what with all the joke cracking I did. When I get the pictures off my mom's Iphone I'll share them...I look really dumb in a too-big shower cap and purple gown, just fyi. My super gay southern accent nurse was the first to come in and hook up my IV. When I joked about the "tropical view" I had on the curtains in front of me, he went on and on about all the cruises he'd gone on. The IV, my biggest fear, went a lot more smoothly than expected. Then the nurses decided to make me take a pregnancy test, even though I promised them I'd have to name the child Jesus due to immaculate conception if I was pregnant. I did have to pee, though, so whatever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, after 4 or 5 nurses fussed about things for a long time, the rather shy anesthesiologist came and gave me a "margarita." Then he started poking me with things that he sort of didn't really explain were going to happen. He stuck a needle in my neck and said that when my arm started flailing to just let it move. I think that's when I started crying and telling him he was hurting me, to which he kept apologizing. My mom told me later that they called my parents back in, and I kept saying, "I don't want to be a bad patient!" and crying more. When my mom asked me what I was thinking about, I said, "Elephants and rhinos." Which is probably the weirdest stoned person answer ever. Next thing I know the mask came at my face. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up, I was sure they were killing me. I thought they were still operating and the surgery had gone horribly wrong. But I couldn't really see, and no one was paying attention to me. I started raising my right arm a little bit and gasping, "Help!" A nurse finally came over but would not answer any of my demands as to what they had done to me. There was a giant lump on my shoulder, and I was very displeased. My shoulder was really painful, but I couldn't feel my arm. The nurses said something about morphine, which I protested and talked about opium dens. Eventually they maxed out the drugs on me and gave me a giant, painful shot in my leg that is still bruised. My parents eventually came in, and I got to drink the world's best Sprite. Mildred the Grumpster wheeled me out in a wheelchair, which was a pretty crazy feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out the surgery was the best case scenario. They cut off part of my labrum and cleaned out really bad bursitis. My doctor gave me the pictures of my "angry shoulder," which are pretty gnarly. I had to start moving it that day, and I can move it a little more daily. When I got home that day, though, my arm was still seriously numb. My mom and I were sleeping in my bed when I got some sensation back in my fingers, but as I tried to show her, I socked her in the stomach since I couldn't control the rest of my arm. Oops...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taking the bandage off was extremely painful, taking off a lot of my skin with it. Showering was also an athletic endeavor and still sort of proves to be. I've been taking it really easy but moving my shoulder a lot. I can do some pretty normal things at this point. I haven't taken Vicodin in 3 days. Friday afternoon I have my follow up and find out what I can do. So hooray.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I might have talked about this before, but every Sunday morning I partake in my ritual of reading the wedding announcements over breakfast, or as I call them, "my brides." After seeing 27 Dresses (twice actually), I began to think that I was apt to become the main character, obsessed with weddings and wanting to attend zillions of them. Then today I found myself reading the obituaries, devouring them really, and realized that it probably isn't really the wedding part that I'm so drawn to. It's the story of each person. I don't care who designed the dress or where the reception was. I skim immediately down to the bottom, where it says the bride and groom's high schools, colleges, jobs, where they're going to live. I like to imagine my future life and to read about every one else's. The obituary thing is still a bit creepy though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also really excited because my high school bff passed on to me the adorably terrifying "sock-eyed mule" I made for her in a feverish stupor after a junior year physics class joke. I miss her so much! And I'm really glad we have this, our traveling sock pal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1397310253234196727?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1397310253234196727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1397310253234196727' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1397310253234196727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1397310253234196727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/06/triumphant-return-to-blogosphere.html' title='Triumphant return to the blogosphere'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6466656019344209614</id><published>2008-05-06T17:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T17:52:08.669-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>A general rule of life is that you always run into the exact person you would really rather avoid. Or, in my case, the exact 4 people you'd rather not see. Several times a day, in different places, separately. Queen of Awkwardsville, at your service.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6466656019344209614?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6466656019344209614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6466656019344209614' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6466656019344209614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6466656019344209614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/05/general-rule-of-life-is-that-you-always.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8842141982188304788</id><published>2008-05-04T23:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T23:16:08.422-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Procrastination has spawned profundity for me tonight. Though my paper is not due until Friday, I still meant to write it tonight. Instead I slipped into the most inspired mood (of non-paper writing). At first I attempted to listen to Vedic chanting to channel my inspiration toward academia, but that just turned into musing on my life goals...which led to Joni Mitchell's voice summing up my soul...which led to the most profound sense of peace. I can look at Facebook pictures right now and want to cry as an overwhelming sense of the beauty of every person takes over. It's about the corniest thing I could possibly come up with, but it's also a really nice feeling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8842141982188304788?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8842141982188304788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8842141982188304788' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8842141982188304788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8842141982188304788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/05/procrastination-has-spawned-profundity.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-401150870105481458</id><published>2008-04-25T16:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T16:19:19.373-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Yesterday my friend told me that I have a way of "describing things in a way that makes them interesting even if they're not." That's one of the best compliments ever to me. That's what I want to do- write normal (or not) things in interesting ways. One step closer to being Dave Barry yesss...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-401150870105481458?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/401150870105481458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=401150870105481458' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/401150870105481458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/401150870105481458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/04/yesterday-my-friend-told-me-that-i-have.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-4781715842228668908</id><published>2008-04-24T15:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T15:19:06.884-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Campus Energy Challenge has been such a huge success. Who would have thought that boys and even frat boys would do the best job at energy conservation?? And also that 1/4 of the school would come out to a Wednesday night party for the environment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, to be brutally honest, I wish men had the equivalent of menstruation. Like monthly "down under" aches or something. Then possibly there would be a greater understanding between the sexes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also also...I am very glad to have French tv in my room. It gives me a so much better than usual excuse to not do hw.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-4781715842228668908?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4781715842228668908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=4781715842228668908' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4781715842228668908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4781715842228668908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/04/campus-energy-challenge-has-been-such.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1292902855280255216</id><published>2008-04-15T21:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-15T22:02:12.437-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Jobs are annoying to find.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1292902855280255216?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1292902855280255216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1292902855280255216' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1292902855280255216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1292902855280255216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/04/jobs-are-annoying-to-find.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-649161987865485377</id><published>2008-04-14T11:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-14T11:10:05.239-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm having such a super awkward day. Mostly I'm doing things like missing the door handle and tripping on myself, but I also forgot something for extra credit that I very much did, dealt poorly with clueless group members, and had a really odd confrontation with a weekend potential mistake. Is karma kicking me in the face for the epic past few days? Hey karma, could you just get it out now and maybe stop at 7:59 pm? That would be great, thanks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-649161987865485377?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/649161987865485377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=649161987865485377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/649161987865485377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/649161987865485377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/04/im-having-such-super-awkward-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3895187809256391532</id><published>2008-04-13T22:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T16:24:05.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I really love music people jokes. They never make sense to anyone but other music major types, but that is what makes them all the more humorous. My voice teacher often sits at the piano plinking out notes and chuckling to herself along the lines of, "Oh silly me, that was a raised triangular minor octivated fifth ho ho ho..." while I stand there saying, "Haha..." but thinking, "Good thing I got as far as it being a C#." Apparently I am out of the loop in the musical humor department. But I &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt; have my own personal funny music-related moment in my head whilst working on my research paper for voice. (Uhh yeah, voice lessons research paper...) I was perusing Mozart's collection on Rhapsody.com so i could listen to his style, and I had this thought that it was so strange that Mozart was accessible while the Beatles weren't due to copyright issues. And then I realized that Mozart is quite dead and even more unaware of the Internet and probably copyrights. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm starting Spanish next  year for practical purposes, but I'm planning on studying in Sweden for other practical purposes. So in a few years I should possess skills in French, Spanish, and Swedish but dubious mastery of any of them. Should I be focusing better on that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3895187809256391532?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3895187809256391532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3895187809256391532' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3895187809256391532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3895187809256391532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-really-love-music-people-jokes.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-4064333508672967668</id><published>2008-04-09T22:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-09T22:15:49.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well, I did it. I declared my major today. Marching with all my mustered dignity into the registrar's office (before I could realize what I was doing), I filled out the little card and handed it in. The lady took it from me, smiled, and said to have a nice day. And that was it. For some reason I expected balloons and confetti to fall out of the ceiling or the heavens to rumble and the earth to crack open. But I just handed in my card and walked away. And now I'm an Anthro major...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, while playing water polo today, I went to attack my friend to get the ball away and instead managed to shove my fingers up his nose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-4064333508672967668?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4064333508672967668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=4064333508672967668' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4064333508672967668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4064333508672967668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/04/well-i-did-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-2955615742554750031</id><published>2008-04-02T15:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T15:34:52.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Greek musings</title><content type='html'>Just 6 months ago, I could not even have fathomed that I might be in a sorority, much less that I will be living on a Greek hall next year.  I was actually asked to live (with my ADPi suite) with the TriDelts and Zetas and skip regular registration. Yet I feel completely true to myself in all of this. I feel more comfortable in my own skin than ever actually. Life is sooo weird.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-2955615742554750031?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2955615742554750031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=2955615742554750031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2955615742554750031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2955615742554750031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/04/greek-musings.html' title='Greek musings'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6889102625501029271</id><published>2008-03-27T21:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T21:57:03.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Vair vair busy week, no time for post. So 12 years of putting my body through intense training has finally entirely backfired. My rheumatologist of all people called to tell me that my 3rd MRI showed a SLAP tear in my shoulder. Cool thing it only took 7 years and a hip injury to find that in my &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;shoulder&lt;/span&gt;. So now I'm down to water aerobics and biking until I get shoulder surgery this summer. No tri season for me...But, as with all things, it's a blessing in disguise. My bod is forcing me to have the break I always dreamt of all these years. I am learning what this whole resting and having fun thing is...strange, new territory...My other hope is that I will emerge out of all this with such a strong base and thereby avoid further injury and be even more powerful than before. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A journalist for the Austin-American Statesman spoke in my Media &amp; Politics class today, and her presentation re-inspired me towards journalism. Just in time, too, as that class has been depressing the pants off of me in terms of the media. She showed some really cool aspects of print journalism, though, including the new blogging side of things. She also gets to travel around and investigate things, which is very cool to me. I wish print journalism wasn't considered such a dying art. I kind of want to just write for Outdoors magazine or something, though, and talk about how awesome riding in a canoe is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week was kind of like what I imagine my own personal school-like hell might be. Today alone I had a microeconomics test, voice performance, 2 meetings, a 9 page psychology paper to finish (5 weeks of work culminated), and a test to study for. Tomorrow at 12:00, I will feel so freeee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6889102625501029271?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6889102625501029271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6889102625501029271' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6889102625501029271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6889102625501029271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/03/vair-vair-busy-week-no-time-for-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-377681746411126357</id><published>2008-03-18T22:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-18T22:43:37.930-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring Break 08 / my pathetic life</title><content type='html'>What a day. Because I have to get up for ANOTHER doctor's appointment tomorrow, I am going to be so lazy as to merely copy and paste an AIM transcript of today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie: what happened?&lt;br /&gt;Me: i spent 11:00-4:00 at doctors&lt;br /&gt;Me: i had to wear a stupid paper dress&lt;br /&gt;Me: and answer a million questions and be poked &lt;br /&gt;Me: then we had to drive all over the world to find a blood sucking place on our insurance&lt;br /&gt;Katie: that sounds awful!&lt;br /&gt;Me: the usual place looked like the entire building had evacuated..the sign on the door said they'd be back in 30 mins and this stupid alarm beeped literally every 3 seconds so we left&lt;br /&gt;Me: then we found a good place, right back where we started&lt;br /&gt;Me: but i hate getting my blood drawn&lt;br /&gt;Me: at least i got to go to pei wei with my mom and gma&lt;br /&gt;Me: and my 68 year old gma said one of hte first politically reasonable things i've ever heard her say&lt;br /&gt;Katie: ya pei wei!&lt;br /&gt;Me: my grandpa is the most psycho conservative and he has brainwashed my gma who is already kind of a nut, but she came up in her own mind with the idea that she'll have to support obama since she has experienced racism (when she dated a black man) and sexism and mccain means status quo &lt;br /&gt;Katie: LOL&lt;br /&gt;Me: then she went off on some lunatic tirade about blue laws and jesus coming and i lost my rosy glow of admiration&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom also thinks that Mr. Smuggy McDrugSalesrepPants in the elevator at the hospital was checking me out. He had very large biceps, that's all I saw, mostly because I was blinded by his giant ego. "Oh don't worry about the door closing on me...I'm skinny *snicker snicker*" Oh watch me swoon and die...not. Then I heard blah blah blah "I have the best job in the world." I think I threw up a little bit in my throat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At home I was so tired from the medical extravaganza that I lay in bed with my snoring dog under the covers and read an entire issue of Cosmo. I hate Cosmo for everything that it is. But I can't stop reading it. I feel so knowledgeable about men's body language and power purses now. Cool thing I will NEVER put it to use. Finally I extracted myself from the dog bed-- she was literally under my covers-- and went to spin class. I tried really hard to reach endorphin euphoria but then my hip starting stabbing me and I was basically filled with a mild rage. We were split into "teams" for one drill ("I Will Survive" blaring in the background, just to set the scene) and I was in the 25 and under category. The poor girl next to me, whom I had been really competitively trying to out-pedal (as pathetic as that makes me...I am fully aware of that fact) because I thought she was younger than me turned out to be not really a girl but in the 26-35 bracket...which I found out when she turned around and gave me the most terrifyingly hopeful grin that I was in her age group when annoying spin class lady was splitting us up. And every time I politely said, "No, I'm not 26," she got even more desperately smiley. I think she wanted to be friends. Too bad I was in a rage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At home I finally got to watch American Idol, my one and only true tv love, then Miss Guided, 2 documentaries (Liberian democracy and women in science), and Letterman. My tv allotment for the semester rolled into 1 night. And yet more career-related existential angst.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my life. Wahoo spring break.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-377681746411126357?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/377681746411126357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=377681746411126357' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/377681746411126357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/377681746411126357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/03/spring-break-08-my-pathetic-life.html' title='Spring Break 08 / my pathetic life'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-2209349219284482779</id><published>2008-03-17T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T10:49:37.066-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I got the blog job!! For a $175 stipend, I will write an entry every other week as an SU Journalist. Talk about an awesome supplementary/resume building gig.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-2209349219284482779?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2209349219284482779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=2209349219284482779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2209349219284482779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2209349219284482779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-got-blog-job-for-175-stipend-i-will.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1907772963224605877</id><published>2008-03-12T08:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T18:18:28.724-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R9iAj9R9dyI/AAAAAAAAAD8/w9WRE8LtXt8/s1600-h/frog+man.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R9iAj9R9dyI/AAAAAAAAAD8/w9WRE8LtXt8/s320/frog+man.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177029126896056098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A month or so ago my roommate gave me this little chocolate man in a box that says "ideal date" wearing heart boxers and possessing large biceps...and this morning he fell off the shelf and broke his pelvis. This felt like a symbolic moment to me. I can't even keep a chocolate man. I mourn the loss of my paraplegic sugar daddy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1907772963224605877?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1907772963224605877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1907772963224605877' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1907772963224605877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1907772963224605877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/03/month-or-so-ago-my-roommate-gave-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R9iAj9R9dyI/AAAAAAAAAD8/w9WRE8LtXt8/s72-c/frog+man.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1325605672588501622</id><published>2008-03-11T13:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T13:33:18.033-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rambley McRambles strikes again</title><content type='html'>Something I'd really like to figure out is why I find it so hard to be affectionate. My mom tells me that when I was a baby I didn't mind being held, but when I was done I was done and would let the holder know that. Affection was ok in small doses. I'm still that way...I find it hard to verbalize my feelings for people and especially to touch them. I may feel so intensely about a person but find it incredibly hard to say that. I have a hard time saying "I love you" to anyone, even my family whom I love more than anything in the world. I have a hard time letting someone give that first kiss. Hugs are the one exception to my tendencies. It's not that I don't want to be touched, so I don't understand why I am so afraid or hesitant or nervous about it. The exception as far as what I say is when I write it...I can write anything to someone as long as I don't have to watch them read it. Something about immediate reactions freaks me out. Also, when people are upset, I know I should hug them and say comforting things, but I always just stand there and wish I wouldn't have such a hard time reaching out to them. On the complete flip side, once in a relationship I am very affectionate and have no problem at all being that way. Why can I do that but not say "I love you" to my mom and hug a grieving person?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1325605672588501622?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1325605672588501622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1325605672588501622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1325605672588501622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1325605672588501622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/03/rambley-mcrambles-strikes-again.html' title='Rambley McRambles strikes again'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6955872711984438817</id><published>2008-03-02T08:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-02T08:32:34.296-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm applying for a job at school as a blogger. How suhweeeet is that??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I apparently make an attractive tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think I want to study in Brazil!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6955872711984438817?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6955872711984438817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6955872711984438817' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6955872711984438817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6955872711984438817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/03/im-applying-for-job-at-school-as.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-4208936960872162260</id><published>2008-02-25T18:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T21:37:55.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Buff lions</title><content type='html'>In light of my earlier post, merely 2 hours later, further commentary practically fell in my lap. And by fell in my lap I mean was spoken to me across a table at lunch. Whilst crunching on  dehydrated broccoli and what I think was chickpeas with Gisele and Javier, good ole Jav began to make fun of a very very skinny soccer recruit kid. Before I could even scold him for proliferating gender stereotypes, he said, "Look at the lion and lioness. Who gets the lioness? The strong lion. Do you want a lion who doesn't try to look good for you? Huh huh??" I said of course I want an attractive and buff lion but that I wish I didn't feel that way. He just gave me the "haha I win the debate" look. I tried to explain the suckiness of gender roles...but he's right...I have an unfortunate obsession with the most attractive of lions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Totally new subject...I finally turned in my scholarship app today. Finally. What was striking, though, was the way that I actually sounded like I knew what I wanted to do with my life on paper. In the "what do you want to be when you grow up, little girl" section of the app, I wrote, "Double major in Communications and Anthropology, minor in Psychology. I plan on attending graduate or law school and would like to have a career in journalism or law with an emphasis on social justice awareness and advocacy." Good thing my writing hand seems to know my desires better than I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-4208936960872162260?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4208936960872162260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=4208936960872162260' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4208936960872162260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4208936960872162260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/buff-lions.html' title='Buff lions'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6115216422603575867</id><published>2008-02-25T08:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T18:38:10.649-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Feminist Manifesto Part 9000</title><content type='html'>I make no bones about my school being the bomb diggity, but I have a big problem with the extortionist nature of facilities and services. I just paid $5 to fax my resume! They are soooo lucky that I was desperate. Where does all our money go? All $33,000/year. Honestly, $8/gross meal, $4 for laundry, none can be spared to fix the recycling system. I have half a mind to request to see where all the money goes. The pres probably wouldn't even be surprised...Last time I had a meeting with him, he said, "Good to see you....again..." But he did compliment my rainboots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In social problems today we watched a documentary called "Tough Guise" about the construction of gender behavior, particularly as influenced by the media. As broken record as the subject sounds, somehow this discussion seemed fresh and thought provoking. The images of Rambo/Rocky/John Wayne/GI Joe with 26 inch biceps to scale (as opposed to Mark McGuire's 20 inch biceps) put some things in perspective. There is so much focus on girls' unrealistic body images, but how often do we talk about boys'? Boys are just supposed to be tough, unemotional, in charge, brawny. Or what? Or they're called wimps, pussies, girls. By other boys worried about being a wimpy, pussy girl. What sucks is that women reinforce this stereotype by fawning over roided-up macho men, as if they are the ideal. I even have to shamefully admit to myself sometimes how attractive a macho man can be. But there always seems to be a hint of danger, an edge about men who assume this persona. They're tough and brawny and radiate violence. Even if they don't actually hit anybody, the point is that they seem as if they could. Which means they're "a man." In evolution terms, it makes sense. Like so many other things, though, evolution and modern society are at odds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My prof brought up an interesting idea too, about how modern women hesitate so much to label themselves feminists. In essence, feminism means equality and appreciation of femininity. The stigma now, though, is of seeming like a wild, hairy radical. I, the crazy enviro, very much hesitate to call myself a feminist even though I very clearly am. I guess I'm afraid that macho macho men will avoid me if I do? That's pathetic. In a more stereotypical vain, why do women find it so necessary to put on a sexual display for men? Super scandalous outfits, kissing girls in public, dancing and prancing around with pouting lips. Sort of seems like a baboon flashing its big red butt around so that a mate will  be ever so attracted. Again, I even feel this draw, this desire to be seen as sexy. But where is the line between sexy mate-snagging and slutty exploitation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd really like to do an interview study of gender views someday. I'm super curious about my friends' own gender identities and peeling back peoples' layers of gender based behavior.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6115216422603575867?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6115216422603575867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6115216422603575867' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6115216422603575867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6115216422603575867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-make-no-bones-about-my-school-being.html' title='Feminist Manifesto Part 9000'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7211438016636866702</id><published>2008-02-24T10:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-24T10:29:14.005-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Weekly reality check time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Self,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please stop wasting your time. Life is way too short to wait for someone who obviously isn't treating you right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Your brain and probably a lot of your friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some advice from India.Arie:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because you never know where life is gonna take you&lt;br /&gt;and you can't change where you've been.&lt;br /&gt;But today, I have the opportunity to choose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was always too concerned about what everybody would think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;But I can't live for everybody, I gotta live my life for me.(&lt;/span&gt;Yeah)&lt;br /&gt;I pitched a fork in the road of my life and ain't nothing gonna happen unless I decide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Chorus:]&lt;br /&gt;(And I choose) to be the best that I can be.&lt;br /&gt;(I choose) to be authentic in everything I do.&lt;br /&gt;My past don't dictate who I am. I choose. (Yeah)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From this day forward I'm going to be exactly who I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;I don't need to change the way that I live just to get a man. (NO!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even had a talk with my mama and I told her the day I'm grown,&lt;br /&gt;"from this day forward, every decision I make will be my own." And hey!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because you never know where life is gonna take you and you can't change where you've been. &lt;br /&gt;But today, I have the opportunity to choose. (Hey ey)&lt;br /&gt;I used to have guilt about why things happen they way they did cuz life is gone do what it do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;And everyday, I have the opportunity to choose.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7211438016636866702?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7211438016636866702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7211438016636866702' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7211438016636866702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7211438016636866702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/weekly-reality-check-time-dear-self.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5041938845848574802</id><published>2008-02-23T07:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T08:28:14.437-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Barack the Vote</title><content type='html'>I should soooo be doing homework right now, but my horoscope said that I should blog the "weird, cool ideas" in my head. So I must obey. I can always rastle up a few weird, cool ideas, especially since I've been a terrible person and have been too lazy to blog for a long time. Look at all those good stories I might forget!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I woke up thinking about today was my theory that men bounce back faster than women in relationships. I swear it's got to be statistical. Screw the law of odds or whatever the crap it is that says that odds even out over time. (Math is not my strength. Or logic apparently.) Every guy I've ever dated found another girl significantly faster than I found another guy post-breakup. Maybe other people haven't had the same experience, but it always seems to happen to me and seems to have happened to a lot of other people that I know. Are girls just too picky? Or do guys just bounce back quicker in general?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I was convinced to go to the Obama rally in Austin. Now, mind you, I am still on the fence about the primary. But I decided that being a political nerd and the historical nature of going to a political rally at this age were reasons enough to go, despite any misgivings. I think the effect of 5 girls in ADPi sweatshirts with a baby in tow would make quite a spectacle in bucking of stereotypes too, so all the more reason. We decided the line to get in was too long, so we didn't mess with that but did end up in about the 7th or 8th row back from the barricade in the crowd outside the bowl around the stage. After a quick run to Quiznos, we had to push back through the crowd to the rest of our group, suffering the insults of disgruntled Obamarama attendees. My personal favorite: "Are they even old enough to vote??" Whatever, jerk, we were here first. And I probably know more about politics than he does. At 9:00, we finally got some Obama action. The sound system was fantastic and the crowd alarmingly respectful. I was even able to put  my parents on the phone and let them hear the whole rally. I will admit that the timbre of his voice is very soothing and nice to listen to. He said some good sort of policy-related things amidst the usual canned kissing babies and one-legged lepers spiels, along with way too many MLKJ, Barbara Jordan, and Kennedy references. But it's a rally...so I guess that's the point. I got pretty into the spirit of things anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R8BIoFVriBI/AAAAAAAAADk/lDG04oPhSnQ/s1600-h/P2220078.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R8BIoFVriBI/AAAAAAAAADk/lDG04oPhSnQ/s320/P2220078.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170212225686407186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R8BJE1VriCI/AAAAAAAAADs/kN4kkR-9g3g/s1600-h/P2220100.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R8BJE1VriCI/AAAAAAAAADs/kN4kkR-9g3g/s320/P2220100.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170212719607646242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R8BJFVVriDI/AAAAAAAAAD0/dHDkjzK_auk/s1600-h/P2220109.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R8BJFVVriDI/AAAAAAAAAD0/dHDkjzK_auk/s320/P2220109.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170212728197580850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went to bed at 12:30 on a Friday night after reading some more Subtle Knife. Yeah college.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5041938845848574802?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5041938845848574802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5041938845848574802' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5041938845848574802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5041938845848574802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/barack-vote.html' title='Barack the Vote'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R8BIoFVriBI/AAAAAAAAADk/lDG04oPhSnQ/s72-c/P2220078.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6968039128491399166</id><published>2008-02-21T17:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T17:23:00.375-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Donkey power</title><content type='html'>Oh, I'm such a politics nerd. At 7:03, when I discovered that my room does not get CNN, I nearly had 5 heart attacks as I grabbed all homework-related possessions in sight, did some forbidden running down the stairs, catapulted over the couch, and hijacked the lounge tv from a foreign exchange student watching Disney channel. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holla atcha girl, Hillhill. And maybe Obamarama. I don't know. I'll probably go to his rally tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How did some stupid 10 year old kid get tickets to the debates and I didn't?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6968039128491399166?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6968039128491399166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6968039128491399166' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6968039128491399166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6968039128491399166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/donkey-power.html' title='Donkey power'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5319393392154609680</id><published>2008-02-13T06:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T06:36:52.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Southwesternorts strikes again</title><content type='html'>Just had a very thinly veiled attempt by my subconscious to tell me to talk to my adviser again about my career path. In my dream, good ole Ronny Weasley and I took a little trip to another land to visit Hermione at her subpar and unfulfilling job. We couldn't find her at first, but she popped out of a tree in a green robe and threw herself at us with joy. She then chattered on about how she was sick of her job as a tree guard, but what else could she do with her useless degree in Sweets. We all chimed in with how useless our degrees were too. The reason I take this as a hint and not just a Harry Potter-esque gab fest is that I am frequently identified with Hermione, the overworking fireball whose actress counterpart is my identical twin with brown eyes. If she could end up at a subpar, unfulfilling job in a green robe, I could to. I need to &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;avada kadavra&lt;/span&gt; that idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5319393392154609680?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5319393392154609680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5319393392154609680' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5319393392154609680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5319393392154609680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/southwesternorts-strikes-again.html' title='Southwesternorts strikes again'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7192454887395287987</id><published>2008-02-11T23:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T23:03:08.114-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have come to several sad-ish realizations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  I will probably have to break down and study Comm to get what I want.&lt;br /&gt;2. I will probably have to vote for Obama.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7192454887395287987?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7192454887395287987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7192454887395287987' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7192454887395287987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7192454887395287987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-have-come-to-several-sad-ish.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8257466373914006660</id><published>2008-02-07T13:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T13:37:30.536-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blue skies for everyone</title><content type='html'>In driving back from an anthro field assignment coffee shop observation, I was struck with a sudden sense of full-body-mind-soul euphoria. Could have been the chai, could have been the perfect blue sky, or the great mix of songs on my XM radio. But it also just might have been the overwhelming sense of purpose and perfection. I am really really good at anthro. I love watching people, analyzing them, talking to them, making connections. I also really love my school in that it allows me to explore so freely this new dimension of myself and helps me to articulate my strengths through application of them. I even love Georgetown, in all of its small town pomp.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8257466373914006660?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8257466373914006660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8257466373914006660' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8257466373914006660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8257466373914006660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/blue-skies-for-everyone.html' title='Blue skies for everyone'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-9194768629160607512</id><published>2008-02-05T14:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-05T14:49:22.008-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've been MIA, but I have very good reasons. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That I'll tell you later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-9194768629160607512?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/9194768629160607512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=9194768629160607512' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9194768629160607512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9194768629160607512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/02/ive-been-mia-but-i-have-very-good.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7416654560772291049</id><published>2008-01-17T14:53:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T14:54:04.562-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"You're pretty Nala. She's hardcore, and she owns Simba."&lt;br /&gt;- My amazing new roommate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rush tonight ahhhhh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7416654560772291049?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7416654560772291049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7416654560772291049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7416654560772291049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7416654560772291049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/youre-pretty-nala.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6205464379485810902</id><published>2008-01-16T17:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T17:40:27.711-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am not normally one to say this but....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FUCK.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6205464379485810902?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6205464379485810902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6205464379485810902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6205464379485810902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6205464379485810902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-am-not-normally-one-to-say-this-but.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5213360637070465922</id><published>2008-01-14T20:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T20:24:40.944-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sometimes I'm so consumed by my need to write that I can't even do my homework....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The supernatural is really freaking me out right now. I've been having such a challenge with this complicated decision that I turned to the oracle cards my aunt gave me. I was almost alarmed when they said "follow your true heart's desire," "change to a new activity or class," "be bold and take a chance," and "expect a miracle." Then my horoscope told me to listen to family and friends' advice and to sift through a decision carefully. How do these things happen??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One good side benefit of this mini crisis is that I've coined new philosophical phrases to live by in my head, namely:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You can't keep doing something forever just because you've always done it."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5213360637070465922?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5213360637070465922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5213360637070465922' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5213360637070465922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5213360637070465922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/sometimes-im-so-consumed-by-my-need-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3052862824122210020</id><published>2008-01-14T19:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T19:52:52.547-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2 days of mammoth proportions</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was mostly one big nervous spasm. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I managed to get out the door ridiculously close to on time (9:07), and listened to the bluegrass gospel train show on my Sirius radio for the better part of 3 hours. Even managed a pit stop at my favorite gas station/convenience store/trucker bar when I had to pee. Peachy, right? Until I got back to campus and had to turn right back around and drive into Austin. And fight the insane Austin traffic. And navigate one way streets. Why do they make one way streets? Driving, especially in the city, stresses me out enough already, and then they add in confusing streets of doom for the directionally retarded (me). Fortunately Jack and Adam's new location doesn't suck like their old one, so I found it with comparative ease. Jack himself helped Ben pick out his new bike. The experience was disconcerting in a semi-pleasant way when Jack kept asking my professional opinion as a bike store employee. I just agreed with him for the most part. (Umm, yeah, the more carbon the better, right?) Somewhat cool to be asked for a second opinion by an expert. Ha...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two hours and $1200 later, we discovered we didn't have reverse directions. Good thing for us all of the non-numbered streets run parallel to I35, as far as I can tell. I finally ate a meal when we got back but had to get in my car once again to drive to HEB for provisions, since my friend wouldn't relinquish her parking spot. I tried to finish unpacking after that, but my back was so seized up from the intensity of the day that I was walking around like an old woman. Our hall meeting was a different experience now that I live in a girls' dorm. People are all smiley and clappy and giggley. People are still ridiculous, male or female, however. When I introduced myself, a girl immediately said that we should watch The Little Mermaid. Hardyharhar, how original. Getting in my comfortable bed in my quiet room with the pleasant and wonderful roommate was the highlight of my experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strange dream again, though. I was the first female president, at age 18. Somehow I caused a deluge of rubber torpedoes to smother a room full of models, yet no one suspected me. The secret service wasn't even escorting me or questioning me. I was just walking around with my mom, wondering why no one cared that I was the president. A family was just standing there smiling and I told them, "I've been awfully busy, being president, you know..." and they just gave me a look of indifference. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was the first day of class. Social Problems is on the 3rd floor of a very old and creepy building, far far away. My very good friend Robert is in it, though, and it seems really interesting in an I might want to actually do my homework kind of way. Sociology is very quickly capturing my interest. Then a meeting with my violin teacher, who told me not to quit violin because she didn't want to lose me as I was "blossoming."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there I got my mail-- 2 Time magazines that I didn't know I was subscribed to, a small paycheck, and a letter saying I'd made dean's list. Psychology was in a room far too large for the class size or to hear the professor's uncompassionate and snarky remarks. From there, lunch and a meeting with my adviser. He told me to quit violin and focus on other things. His philosophy was that I shouldn't do if I couldn't live without it. How much I agree with that I'm not sure, but he was rather encouraging with his typical ego-puffing talk. This time he told me I'm one of "maybe 12" amazing writers on campus. Twelve was probably an arbitrary number, but I get his point and sure hope he's right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Triathlon class followed, and I'm pretty excited about that. The first few weeks will probably be a bit slow and frustrating, but the reward is worth it. After class I popped into the training room to have them look at my hip, thinking it would be just a quick little exam...Little did I know I'd have an appointment for an xray in Austin tomorrow...or that I'd spend all afternoon dealing with insurance. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Orchestra proved even more confusing than my previous two opinions on the violin situation. The good news is that my teacher gave me the wrong grade and that I actually still have a 4.0. The bad news is that that makes my choice have less of a foundation. Her words aided my confusion further...She first said that she quit softball in college in order to play her flute more and that sometimes we have to make those kinds of choices. Then she said that I should learn the Alexander posture method so that I could keep playing, handed me a lady's information, and told me to go to class. Well, thanks for the no help at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT DO I FREAKING DO?!??! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom's advice: sometimes you have to just yell "shit!" and jump.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a completely different topic, I'm quite sure my roommate and suitemate know every pop culture reference ever. Every actor, every movie, every book. It's uncanny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck tomorrow...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3052862824122210020?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3052862824122210020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3052862824122210020' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3052862824122210020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3052862824122210020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/2-days-of-mammoth-proportions.html' title='2 days of mammoth proportions'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6089200458490863216</id><published>2008-01-11T20:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T20:59:52.311-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I don't even go back to school for 2 more days, and I'm already physically homesick...like, worse than August. School is so fun, so exciting, in such a better location, so much to look forward to. But I want to stay here! I'm actually crying right now, as I type this through blurry eyes. It really doesn't help that I'm having my irrational guilt problem. My family keeps saying how much they'll miss me and how weird it will be...and I'm so obsessed with pleasing people and so in love with my family that it makes me feel bad for leaving them. Everyone is having such a hard time right now, I just feel terrible. I'm really bad at grieving. I wasn't even really homesick last semester. I've heard this part is worse though...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6089200458490863216?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6089200458490863216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6089200458490863216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6089200458490863216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6089200458490863216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-dont-even-go-back-to-school-for-2.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1219531404946705380</id><published>2008-01-08T21:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T21:43:09.206-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>And I got some! This face makes me happy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R4ReMW58TEI/AAAAAAAAADc/1kzknM4zsXM/s1600-h/hillary+face.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R4ReMW58TEI/AAAAAAAAADc/1kzknM4zsXM/s320/hillary+face.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153347440018738242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AP photo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suck this, Obama.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1219531404946705380?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1219531404946705380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1219531404946705380' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1219531404946705380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1219531404946705380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/and-i-got-some-this-face-makes-me-happy.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R4ReMW58TEI/AAAAAAAAADc/1kzknM4zsXM/s72-c/hillary+face.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3950757075668065936</id><published>2008-01-08T21:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T21:42:12.361-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Brain stuff</title><content type='html'>I've been having awfully vivid dreams lately...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the first one I can remember from this week I was 9  months pregnant and more content than I've ever felt in my life-- except for in all of the other pregnancy dreams I've had, of which there are many. I insisted on going to the hospital on the due date rather than when the baby was actually coming and was pretty frustrated. I'm not even sure who the father was. Suppose that dream has a meaning...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next one was kind of fun. At first I was hesitantly stepping into a ferris wheel...which then turned into a water slide...which turned into a pool and a triathlon. So this new triathlon I invented in my dream was a ferris wheel/water slide/swim combo. And I was racing just this blonde girl. I jumped in the wrong lane and lost a lot of time...but it was, after all, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; dream, so I beat her in the end. I never lose in my dreams and always save the day. Sign of an egomaniac or strong confidence?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funky feelings again...Remind me that this is why I don't watch tv. All of the shows involve twisted minds and tragedy, things I just don't want or need to think about. I need some comedy or at least some New Hampshire primary election news so I can have real things to think about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3950757075668065936?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3950757075668065936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3950757075668065936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3950757075668065936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3950757075668065936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/brain-stuff.html' title='Brain stuff'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3980086896921199234</id><published>2008-01-04T21:29:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T21:29:09.889-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm emotionally retarded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3980086896921199234?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3980086896921199234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3980086896921199234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3980086896921199234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3980086896921199234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/im-emotionally-retarded.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-49003567394104464</id><published>2008-01-04T13:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T14:08:41.447-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Journalistic Inquiry</title><content type='html'>A question for all of you veteran journalists: Is the term "make out" an accepted, appropriate journalistic term? I read it on the 2nd page of the Chronicle today. Granted, it appeared in the trashy crap celebrity section with regard to Lindsay Lohan's penchant for a little (lot of) bubbly and fine Italian men. (On couches in dark corners, nothing sketchy...) Somehow making out just doesn't seem like something you see in the hallowed pages of the Houston Chronicle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After several days of short viewing sessions and today leaving work after only two hours thanks to my feverish mother, I finally finished Almost Famous. Turns out people are right about its cinematic brilliance. Cameron Crowe is now also pretty much my hero. What kind of kid becomes a Rolling Stone writer at 16, then goes on to make some of the best movies of all time? Oh to be him. Journalist turned timeless director. Thank you, Cameron, for your genius, but no thanks for reminding me that I probably should start writing for the Megaphone, i.e. pathetic campus newspaper.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-49003567394104464?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/49003567394104464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=49003567394104464' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/49003567394104464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/49003567394104464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2008/01/journalistic-inquiry.html' title='Journalistic Inquiry'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5122335854226727836</id><published>2007-12-31T17:09:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T17:09:55.448-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I kind of forgot to add to the last post that I had my 18th birthday in June! I don't have any pictures, though, because they were gone when my computer died a terrible death in September.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5122335854226727836?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5122335854226727836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5122335854226727836' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5122335854226727836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5122335854226727836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-kind-of-forgot-to-add-to-last-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-4233344428311133679</id><published>2007-12-31T14:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T17:01:22.438-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='http://bp1.blogger.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mBBm58S3I/AAAAAAAAAB0/VsDgP-hEyaw/s320/butt.jpghttp://bp1.blogger.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mBBm58S3I/AAAAAAAAAB0/VsDgP-hEyaw/s320/butt.jpg'/><title type='text'>2007 in Review</title><content type='html'>Time for the sentimental year in review post. It's kind of funny...I came into 2007 apprehensive because I had read some Chinese zodiac prediction that 2007 would be a bad year for me. Stupid, I know, but I was still nervous. The year turned out to be pretty epic, though not bad overall. Sure bad stuff happened. Bad stuff can't be avoided, really, in any year...And so I present: the highlights of my epic year.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The first big event was the Academic Decathlon state competition, where I got straight 10s from 1 judge in the speech portion and somehow managed the highest math score on the team. Several teammates got stellar scores in some events, including Jack and Audrey's near-perfect speech scores. Of course the best part was realizing how close we'd grown as a team. Through 1000s of pages of semi-useless information, countless study sessions, lots of pretending to study when Mrs. Jay caught us not studying, and the best lunch table ever, my AcDec teammates became my best friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3l0vW58SzI/AAAAAAAAABU/K4BxxutWvm0/s320/nerd+pose.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150276005826153266" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In March I walked into a little bike shop that had just been built, searching for a helmet, and met Philip. From there, my triathlon life was changed as I began to ride every Saturday morning and basically got a cycling makeover from the king of style so that I'd no longer be an embarrassment. That chance turned into friendship and a job.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mBBm58S3I/AAAAAAAAAB0/VsDgP-hEyaw/s320/butt.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150289513498299250" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Spring break at the "bay house" aka stormy adventure with my favorite people was super fun. ProGrad style show was another great night. My group looked so good! After one of the practices, however, my car attacked by a crazy man who leapt into the road. I called the police, but I don't know what ever came of the situation...I just know I'm terrified of driving at night now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3l_bm58S2I/AAAAAAAAABs/tf9lxZbCRTo/s320/good+bay+house.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150287761151642466" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mBB258S4I/AAAAAAAAAB8/pwrV05_UnYg/s320/style+show.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150289517793266562" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then there were the college visits. Tromping around Texas with various family members in tow, I set out to find my collegiate true love. I had been accepted to UT Plan II honors, Trinity, Rice, and Southwestern. Southwestern asked me back for an interview for a full ride, the culmination of my two years of slave labor to qualify. My interview went super well, and I had my hopes up very high...A week later they were crushed, a blow that almost made me act like a huge baby and turn down SU. In the end, after months of agony, I decided 5 days short of the deadline to go to SU, in large part due to my desire to run for Coach Smith and because the school felt more right than all of the others. My dad was not at all pleased, and a lot of people asked incredulously, "You turned down Rice?????!?" Yes, I did. And I'm so glad!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the spring, I received several honors...words can't describe how grateful I am. Scholarships from Memorial Hermann, The Optimist Club, AcDec, and English Honor Society were huge blessings. At school I received English student of the year, Most Driven, Most Likely to Succeed, and Miss Elkins HS. The last 3, and in particular the last one, were big surprises that I will treasure forever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Prom, of course! Getting my dress was an agonizing experience. My mom dislocated her finger in the store due to poor design and lighting, thus prompting us to buy a dress far too quickly that did not fit properly (i.e. allow me to breathe) and months of litigation. The big day involved my best friends, my date being one of them. When the stretch Hummer limo arrived, I was a bit astounded, but I decided to be a trooper and not freak out. Dinner at Churrascos was divine, and the dance was made perfect by Erin and Arthur, who I am SO GLAD I actually did a successful matchmaking job with. There was one little detail I'd rather forget about dancing with the valedictorian and mortifying the principals, but it's worth mentioning...The beach house after party was also a blast. 3 am marshmallows on the beach I will never forget. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mB8m58S5I/AAAAAAAAACE/rxKWMj6Vyi8/s320/prom.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150290527110581138" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mB8258S6I/AAAAAAAAACM/fCruZqQiQ4g/s320/prom+with+erin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150290531405548450" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mCuW58S7I/AAAAAAAAACU/gJhvReUjMrM/s320/prom+beach.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150291381809073074" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Graduation was a surreal experience. To walk out 7th in my class of 500 into the Toyota Center was overwhelming. (So was standing for an hour while the other 493 filed in.) I'm pretty sure my principal cried when she handed me my diploma and gave me this ridiculously big hug. After the ceremony, we were unceremoniously herded out to the parking lot in the looming storm clouds. In that moment, I felt like I had been kicked into the "real world."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mCum58S8I/AAAAAAAAACc/phNzx5FAUQ0/s320/grad.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150291386104040386" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mD4m58S9I/AAAAAAAAACk/ive5LMMStdE/s320/magna+cum.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150292657414360018" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Immediately after graduating I flew to DC for T4T, which ended up being a lot more about my urban education than learning how to be a sprog trainer. "Dammnnn, them veggie eaters is HOT!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All summer I nannied two 1 year olds, an autistic 5 year old, and at times a newborn. I also was a swim coach and swim lessons teacher. Mike's visit to Texas was a huge bright spot of the summer. And getting our puppy, Stella! In July I drove out to Louisiana (no AC, worst car ride ever) for a week in the woods with my favorite life changing people. Being a trainer was hard work, and I almost lost all my limbs to mosquitoes, but everything is worth it for sprog! Simulation day was the bomb as Gupta. After a beautiful week of floating down rivers, teaching the most important knowledge I hold, and sharing everything with amazing people, I went with the trainers to New Orleans. I hadn't been there since the hurricane, and it was still such a mess. So sad...I also learned when I was on Bourbon St that my favorite swim lessons family had been in a near-fatal car accident. Some miracle kept them all alive, though very injured. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mLgW58S-I/AAAAAAAAACs/Kn5W8GbNK3g/s320/stella.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150301036895554530" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mMC258S_I/AAAAAAAAAC0/tyGHsQJ1gwA/s320/trainers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150301629601041394" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Leaving for college was a dramatic experience. I think I spent so much of the summer freaking out that I wasn't even that homesick once it happened...Pirate training was a good time occupier to avoid angst. About two weeks in, though, the summer camp feeling wore off. I held up significantly better than expected, however. My roommate situation was less than optimal due to polar opposite lifestyles, but I learned to sleep through noise. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Going to college, I quit team swimming, a part of me for 12 years, and became a runner. Cross country was the definite focal point of my 1st semester. Only my 2nd season of xc, it went remarkably well. I held the #5 spot despite losing my training partner to an injury. I'm not sure what I would have done without xc as my sanity. The highlight of the season was a PR at conference by over a minute, on home turf. I didn't do as well at freezing cold regionals in VA, but the trip was still a really good experience. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mMU258TAI/AAAAAAAAAC8/t1PuCH8eN5U/s320/xc+conf.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150301938838686722" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A poorly timed 2 month relationship also occurred in there somewhere. Definitely a huge learning and growing experience. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First classes survived (comparative politics, intro to hinduism, intro to anthropology, fys, orchestra/violin, enviro history), as well as first exams. Grades were almost better than high school. That still surprises me, even though people said it would happen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My trip to Power Shift in Maryland with SEAK on a whim was another one of those growing type experiences. I learned to have faith and to be resourceful, and saw how deep my friendship is. Plus I got to do this super stellar panel with the DC rep and was in the presence of the great Nancy Pelosi, along with 6000 incredibly inspiring activists.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mM8W58TBI/AAAAAAAAADE/eLexIzWNcmc/s320/power+shift.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150302617443519506" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;December brought some changes and sad news. First, I got a new roommate and am very happy with that situation. You also learn who your friends are when moving your stuff in the rain to the 3rd floor of another building. As far as sad...after a year of searching for an answer, we learned that my sister has rheumatoid arthritis at the age of 16, and on Christmas Eve learned that her heart has syncope. She's on a lot of medicine now and is doing better, but it is still a precarious situation. Being home with my family for a month has been a huge blessing, though.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2007 was full of big changes and big discoveries. I started the year a kid and wound up somewhere in limbo between childhood and adulthood. Here's to a 2008 full of new experiences and tons of fun!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3mNXW58TDI/AAAAAAAAADU/bUwIzgqcz7w/s320/sunshine+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150303081299987506" style="cursor: pointer; " /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-4233344428311133679?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4233344428311133679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=4233344428311133679' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4233344428311133679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4233344428311133679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/2007-in-review.html' title='2007 in Review'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/R3l0vW58SzI/AAAAAAAAABU/K4BxxutWvm0/s72-c/nerd+pose.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-130143129262748505</id><published>2007-12-28T23:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T17:11:39.451-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>If ever I believed in God, I believed tonight.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tonight was actually one of the best times I have ever had. I was supposed to have a night with girl friends, but it fizzled out...At the last minute, my dad told me he had 2 tickets to a concert, so I asked to leave work early, called up my very good friend Jack, and we went out to Verizon. We were the only people there under 30, but you know what? It was so much fun. I still have no idea who Joe Ely is, but he sure sings good songs. Watching drunken parents in leather jackets was a huge plus too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We left the show a little early because we were so hungry and went to Katz's to eat at 11:00. I was pretty un-veggie tonight. Sometimes I get these huge meat cravings and just have to eat an entire meatball sub. It happens. When we were too full and tired of dancing in our booth while watching people eat, we drove back and sang Dixie Chicks on the top of our lungs. Jack spent the entire night talking about this new girl he likes, a state we like to call "twitterpation" (as in Bambi). We listened to sappy songs to honor the feeling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What was so brilliant about the whole night, though, was the almost cliche perfection it captured. Last week Jack admitted that he liked me, though I didn't reciprocate. We managed to talk about it indirectly by marveling at how things really do happen for a reason. He has now found someone so great for him. And it looks like I have too! As soon as you just let go of forcing things, you find what it is you always wanted. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The even more wonderful thing was the overwhelming sense of being ok with the past that I felt on the drive home. I felt, at least in that moment, so over my first love. For the past year, I've struggled with the loss, but tonight I hit a big milestone. Jack and I even went to the theater where Scott and I saw our first concert, ate at his family's favorite restaurant and the site of our most meaningful photo booth pictures, drove down the major street that runs by his house, and heard a song that he used to play for me. All of this on his 21st birthday. But I was completely ok. No tears, no anger. I was purely happy for the memories and happy for him! We finally pulled up to my house with "God Blessed the Broken Road" blasting on the stereo. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Perfection.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-130143129262748505?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/130143129262748505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=130143129262748505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/130143129262748505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/130143129262748505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/if-ever-i-believed-in-god-i-believed.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8212382005128000463</id><published>2007-12-28T14:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T14:35:34.038-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In ONE HOUR of swimming today, I managed to get my tanlines back. That is annoying on one level and scary on another because it shows how much my skin just sucks up UV rays.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8212382005128000463?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8212382005128000463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8212382005128000463' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8212382005128000463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8212382005128000463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/in-one-hour-of-swimming-today-i-managed.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-2018146634251161292</id><published>2007-12-27T16:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T16:44:41.446-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Laws of the Universe</title><content type='html'>There are some laws of the universe. Some are pretty basic, like: what goes up must come down and your socks will get lost in the abyss of the dryer. Others I am just now learning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance, you can work at a store from, say...12:00-7:00 and not see anyone between 12:30 and 6:50. Invariably a herd of people will crash through the door as you were getting up to lock it, requesting to see three different models of bike for each of their five children. Or they'll do my favorite, "I'd like a bike." Well, good first step. Good thing you're in a bike shop. Then you have to spend ten years attempting to figure out what they want the bike for, ("Oh, you know, riding..."), etc. Then they will ask you for every item you don't have readily available on the floor. By the time you finally rid yourself of them, you must run to lock the door and try not to feel bad that there's someone in the parking lot moseying toward the shop at 7:15.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another rule is that you can ask your manager all day long for something to do, as you are just sitting there doing nothing, which means checking Facebook every twenty minutes, donating 8000 grains of rice from playing freerice for two hours, and organizing paper clips. Then, at the same time the herd of elephants appears, the manager will say, "Oh yes, I have a thing for you to do and it will suck." Except they don't warn you it will suck, they just tell you to make a list of the prices on 40 pairs of sunglasses. I'm not complaining, really. I have a very chill job. Sometimes I just wish the stampede would come at 3:00 so I'd stop eating pita chips. I'm slightly afraid my eyeballs will fall out from staring at this screen for so many hours.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-2018146634251161292?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2018146634251161292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=2018146634251161292' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2018146634251161292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2018146634251161292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/laws-of-universe.html' title='Laws of the Universe'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5142210513145546946</id><published>2007-12-26T13:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T15:57:01.769-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas</title><content type='html'>I love when the "what you want is right under your nose" thing comes true. Don't want to get my hopes up, but there is a lot of potential for one of those under-nose situations right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was something else I was supposed to write about but forgot...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh ha. Christmas. Lack of brain function due to getting sick on Christmas Eve! Fantastic timing is just one of my many attributes. We spent xmas eve at my grandparents' house, where we ate sandwiches (very seasonal, &lt;em&gt;non&lt;/em&gt;?) and watched some scrumptiously corny Lifetime movie that I absolutely insisted on finishing in my feverish haze. Christmas morning was beautiful, crisp, and full of waffles. (And in my case, a stuffy nose.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sentimental maturity moment time! For the first time in my holiday history, I truly was much more excited to give than to receive. Seeing my mom's shocked delight at the long-desired naked goddess statue I traversed the state and took years to find for her was such an awesome moment. I put so much personal effort into the presents this year, partly due to lack of funds but mostly due to that magical thing that happens when you leave home and realize how much you love and miss everyone. My presents were great too, though...I'm pretty excited about my new Sirius radio for my drives to and from school!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner was a comical mix of interests. Ham for my grandpa, brisket for my dad, and Tofurky for the vegetarians. Tofurky, you may wonder, is a potentially edible looking meat substitute loaf with stuffing in the middle. It tastes rather like a fake hot dog. Remarkably appetizing with pineapple glaze. I'll post pictures when available...Probably a food to stock your bomb shelter for nuclear holocaust. Later that night we went to see Juno, a movie I completely reccomend. Juno has that "realness" factor and a lot of humor. Cute, artsy, and offbeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Halleluah, I just noticed that my nose feels really clear!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;5:57 edit&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been sitting behind this counter for 6 hours now...But it's pretty really cool when your boss says, "I'm really dreading when you go back to school."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5142210513145546946?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5142210513145546946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5142210513145546946' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5142210513145546946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5142210513145546946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-love-when-what-you-want-is-right.html' title='Christmas'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7765490280467628859</id><published>2007-12-23T09:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-23T09:42:50.209-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Conscientious conundrum</title><content type='html'>Time for my periodic reality check. From my conscience to my brain (with love): respect yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also feeling pulled, once again, between the twin forces of awareness and blissful ignorance. Working in retail now forces me to confront it everyday. Product after product comes in a little plastic package- type 4 and therefore not commonly recyclable even if receptacles are available, which they are not- that I have to take off, throw away, forget. Forgetting is the problem. Every little plastic package that I throw away is a personal dilemma and actually kind of physically hurts me. All of the items on shelves that, in all likelihood, will never be bought by anyone, are just a waste. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it bugs me when people sit around bemoaning the declining state of society. That's wrong and counterproductive. Every era can be argued as the time when people really lost their morals in some way, and every coming time period is the previous generation's foreseen nightmare. However, I find myself more and more exasperated by the current culmination of just plain ignorance. And by that I don't just mean people who don't realize what is going on, although that is a significant problem, but especially those people who do know who just are too lazy or scared to do anything about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could probably write a manifesto on the subject, but I have to go stock shelves now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7765490280467628859?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7765490280467628859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7765490280467628859' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7765490280467628859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7765490280467628859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/conscientious-conundrum.html' title='Conscientious conundrum'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-9024384156690108326</id><published>2007-12-20T21:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-20T21:50:49.384-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In honor of my 51st post, I actually filled out my profile. I think 50+ makes this officially a legit blog. Alas, no longer am I an accountant from Afghanistan...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-9024384156690108326?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/9024384156690108326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=9024384156690108326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9024384156690108326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9024384156690108326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/in-honor-of-my-51st-post-i-actually.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-2858892613760855191</id><published>2007-12-20T19:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-21T19:03:01.540-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beware the overly-hyphenated blog entry</title><content type='html'>In retrospect, I didn't really do all that much today, but it feels like it was eventful. I actually went to spin class for the first time since this summer. Jorge, my greatest cheerleader, was there of course, and Joel with his overly earnest personal trainer attitude and decent arsenal of pump-up hip hop tunes and motown. There is a surprising amount of euphoria packed into the 45 minutes spent going nowhere with an overly joyful, endorphin-hyped (and invariably spandex-clad) personal trainer screaming, "CLAP YOUR HANDS! FEEL THE BURN! PUMP PUMP PUMP PUMP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Endorphins meet psychosis. Then I did a 15 min ab class, on a whim. Once again it consisted of 3 people and a really really bubbly instructor. In between instructions on how to wrench and contort our abdomens, she would giggle and gush about decorating for the holidays, crazy unintelligible movie references, and comments on her sister's small hands. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work was more mind-numbing than before. Probably because NO ONE worked in the front with me. So basically I spent the day sorting more boxes and organizing all of the pants in the store. (I'm not even kidding...I took them all off the rack and arranged them by brand and size, the way I'd want to shop.) Several not so great customer experiences occurred too and a lot of me being an idiot. Apparently I'm not even good with primitive technology, keys for example. I'm usually so good under pressure...Good thing, though, that I now know the difference between a size 20 and 24 bike. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to go back to school. What I like best about home is that I can be a hermit in my room, which I can't do at school with all those people around and in my space. Antisocial much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the spirit of my list obsession and pensive mood, I present...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I Want To Be&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Trendy but unique-- No thanks to Vogue and Elle and Seventeen for making me feel fashionably inferior. I want to be that girl with the cute, unusual look, but I'm broke and tired. &lt;br /&gt;2. A writer -- Romantic life dream:  live in a quaint, vintage cottage in a naturey surrounding with my perfect husband and beautiful children and write witty things while I sip chamomile and look out the window. Yeah, that thing writers who have actually achieved that always write in the endings of their books and magazine articles.&lt;br /&gt;3. 5'10"-- so my mom will stop saying and magazines will stop making me think, "If only you were 10 inches taller, you could be a model..." I really need to stop scouring magazines for this project...I always scoff at the general "girls hate themselves because of unrealistic expectations from the media," but I am now a victim. Stupid stupid stupid.&lt;br /&gt;4. Unforgettably quirky-- but in a good way&lt;br /&gt;5. Loved-- I don't want cop-out rebuffs. Yes, I am loved by the people who count. But you know what I mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in summary, I would like to be Christie Brinkley cut out of a Vogue ad, sitting at a typewriter with an adoring TDH (tall/dark/handsome) hunk. Thanks a lot stereotypical magazine-inspired unrealistic life view. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too bad I'm supposed to go to law school and take down megacorps for harming the environment. Or something like that. And a certain aspect of my life consists of geometric configurations that end unfortunately lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, Debbie Downer. I'm not actually in a bad mood, I promise. I just can never decide what to do with myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, I forgot to add one glorious highlight of the day. I finally, after years of failure, achieved the poof! The most useless hair ever finally bent to my will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-2858892613760855191?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2858892613760855191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=2858892613760855191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2858892613760855191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2858892613760855191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/beware-overly-hyphenated-blog-entry.html' title='Beware the overly-hyphenated blog entry'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5300715555334081114</id><published>2007-12-19T12:16:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T12:24:57.620-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Still feel terrible. I actually got so down at one point that I started crying to the dramatic music in Hobby Lobby. There's nothing like a bottle of modge podge and some Muzak to bring out one's emotions...The universe does have a way, though, of reminding me that life can't be approached as intensely as I do all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there I was in Hobby Lobby, super bummed. Cue Universe. First, my grandpa called me and asked me to go to lunch with him. Then a lady told me to get in front of her in line since I had less items. Then the white van that I felt creepy parking next to turned out to be driven by two very nice ladies. (That last one just sounds dumb, but it was a reminder to me not to judge things.) Whenever things get really overwhelming, the universe always reminds me that it's there. Things happen for a reason. That's a foundation of my spirituality, and I need to remember that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also have a half naked statue in my trunk. See? Life is funny.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5300715555334081114?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5300715555334081114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5300715555334081114' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5300715555334081114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5300715555334081114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/still-feel-terrible.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3477015144476749464</id><published>2007-12-18T19:17:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-18T22:21:42.325-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ambiguity is kind of exciting, but mostly it just sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, today was my first day of work- and I am exhausted. First I learned to use the cash register and answered the phone 9 billion times. The rest of the day was primarily spent sorting through two giant boxes of merchandise, attempting to match a jumble of labels to the different items. I think I did a pretty darn good job too, so you're welcome to whoever gets to finish that task now that it's super organized. A certain coworker also made me go to Chipotle with them, which felt somewhat like something I shouldn't be doing, but it was ok. Chipotle is good. Back at the shop, this one little girl with face paint totally made my day. She rolled by on a little pink bike and said, "Hello! I'm a kitty! This bike is perfect, my daddy says, because it has training wheels," and talked to me for quite a while. I love kids. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I got to sit through a band concert at my old high school. Funny how the memories flood back and sometimes don't feel so good. But I somewhat actually missed the school? My principal was ridiculously excited to see me, and gave me such a big hug. My good friend's mom also attacked me with joy and told me I had to go to India with her. A typical day in the life of me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm just icing my hip-ish area, which I think I might have strained. So much for my winter running program.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;12:21 am edit:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, Itunes, for soundtracking my misery. No matter how hard I try to make people happy, I always seem to find a way to hurt them in my earnesty. In fact, the harder I try not to hurt them, the more I usually do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3477015144476749464?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3477015144476749464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3477015144476749464' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3477015144476749464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3477015144476749464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/ambiguity-is-kind-of-exciting-but.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1753220833991106842</id><published>2007-12-17T14:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T15:19:45.908-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing catch-up</title><content type='html'>Winter break!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The room switch was a great success overall. There was concern for a while though! I was sent a list of potential roommates a little over a week ago, but there were very few on there that I knew. So I did what any other college kid would do and facebook stalked them. My search was depressing at first. Highlight: someone listed Ann Coulter and George W. Bush as interests. Yes, interests. I'm sorry, but I can't live with Ann Coulter aka Spawn of Satan. There were several other "very conservatives" that were quickly ix-nayed. I'm open minded, but hypocrisy will abound when it comes to living with certain people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally I found a few potential candidates and one in particular to whom I sent an awkward "hey I think I pick you let's meet" email. (The trick is smiely emoticons and exclamation marks to not allow your awkwardness to blaze through.) She fortunately responded very positively the next day. We had dinner and other than the first few embarrassing moments hit it off rather smashingly. Turns out she lives in Pearland, has a mom who used to stand in front of bulldozers, sleeps at night, likes English and music, and is very athletic. It felt sort of like a blind date, with us interviewing each other over crackly Commons spaghetti. At the end she burst out, "So do I pass your test? Do you want to live with me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a change! Someone who wants me there, who wants me to live with them, who is flexible and not paranoid. She was totally fine with me moving in the next day on hardly any notice at all. And what's more....You really find out who your friends are when you have to move your stuff to the third floor of another building in the pouring rain at night. To those 5 people who offered to do that: you have my absolutely undying gratitude. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I basically spent 2 days packing/unpacking/packing again to go home. My new room is so much cozier though. It's old, but it has character and a really good vibe. And I got sleep for the two glorious nights I was there! My roommate sleeps! Motion wakes her up, but she's ok with that. She even laughed with me when our curtains didn't fit and we just left them diagonally hanging in the window. Kindness and understanding and a sense of humor, what a concept!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One tiny downside...she's been bff with our suitemate (across the bathroom that has a DOOR!), so it's a little hard for me to break into that dynamic. I don't speak YouTube quite as fluently as they do. But I like them both. Things will be ok! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had two exams last week...Comp Politics was a biiiiitch to study for all day and was a very thorough test, but I felt very good about it. Anthopology was super easy as expected, and I'm glad I didn't put too much effort into studying. After my tests, I just had a day and a half to organize my room and hang out, since it was storming in Houston. Leah and I wandered around, drinking tea, helping people burn old work, not wearing bras, and other general mischief. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I drove home! It was a semi-frazzling affair with my bike flapping in the breeze. I made it home on 6 crackers and a bottle of Gatorade, but make it I did. Didn't get lost a single time, not one. My time at home has generally been spent working out (my grandpa kicks my butt at racquetball and weight lifting), bothering Sugar Cycles people, and running errands. Oh yeah, I have a good suggestion. If you ever need a massage, go to the Relax the Back store and pretend you are interested in buying things while you try out the massage chair for a full 14 minutes. Then tell them you'd like to try something for your scoliosis, and they will invert you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Golly gosh, this is getting long. I'm behind. And procrastinating! Saturday night I went to see my sister in the court of a quincenera, which was cool for approximately 20 minutes in the middle where we ate and the kids danced. My parents, being white and eager, showed up far too early, so we had to sit there in the bright fluorescent lights of the community center watching them practice for about an hour. I also was one of the only people between 16 and 40 in attendance. But I will say that I looked pretty darn good in my black dress. Good thing all of the boys there were 15 and wouldn't dance with me anyway. The Spanish hokey pokey was my cue to leave. I ended up just going home and sitting there, though, watching tv with my dogs. Wahoo for me and Saturday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last few days have apparently been official compliment Ursula days, though, which is cool. Some lady I don't really know and who was probably a bit tipsy told me last night that she hopes her future hypothetical children are me-- look like me, act like me, do what I do. Today a mechanic told me that I have beautiful eyes. (Which adds on to the getting hit on by the high school aged HEB cashier yesterday over a container of Cool Whip.) So that's pretty cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've gotten most of my grades back, and all is well except for orchestra! ORCHESTRA. I'm not even kidding. That bitch ruined my 4.0. What do I have to do???? I did more than necessary, and she still kicked me in the face. I even made a straight A in Comp Poli! I'm more inspired than ever to quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, the fluorescent yellow storage closet from hell (aka my room) is coming along thanks to my grandma. It still looks like a monster vomited my belongings everywhere, but there is marked improvement. I should probably get back to that...At least I have a wonderful view from the 7 foot wide window! (Well, a view of the neighbors' pool and some rooftops, but it's practically Parisian and the sunset is nice.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1753220833991106842?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1753220833991106842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1753220833991106842' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1753220833991106842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1753220833991106842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/playing-catch-up.html' title='Playing catch-up'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6604038992145111618</id><published>2007-12-15T21:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-15T21:09:30.595-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Did you know the Hokey Pokey and Achey Breaky Heart came in Spanish???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6604038992145111618?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6604038992145111618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6604038992145111618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6604038992145111618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6604038992145111618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/did-you-know-hokey-pokey-and-achey.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7274906772932781967</id><published>2007-12-09T07:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-09T07:08:00.655-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! My friend forgot to wake up (as usual) and her phone is off (surprise), AND THEN my bike tire went completely flat and I can't fix it. So I gave up and went back to the one thing I always know how to do and no one can fail me at...homework.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning sucks, but last night was an awesome night of discovering Austin. Trail of Lights run was neat, with over 7000 people there! Then I went to Mozart's dessert place, home of exorbitantly priced desserts, for the Tri Delt recruitment event. The best part though was making a getaway in a car with the ADPi's! We ate at Magnolia Cafe, yet another Austin favorite. Thank God for finally getting some decent veggie food. Last stop was Book People to giggle over a certain set of books until they politely kicked us out for closing time. I absolutely adore those 3 girls I went with. It's so nice to finally be really excited over girl friends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think I might have found a new roommate!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7274906772932781967?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7274906772932781967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7274906772932781967' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7274906772932781967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7274906772932781967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-9197697082934089078</id><published>2007-12-07T10:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-07T10:30:39.019-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>For the 50 quardillionth time...HOW DO PEOPLE SPELL MY NAME WRONG AFTER I'VE SIGNED IT IN AN EMAIL, SPELLED CORRECTLY, AND THE ONLY TIME THEY'VE SEEN MY NAME IS ON EMAIL....SPELLED CORRECTLY!!!!  ????????? The only answer is that people don't pay attention at freaking all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I just stabbed my hand with a fork while trying to eat cheesecake. I think this scenario also notes the kind of mood I'm in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-9197697082934089078?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/9197697082934089078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=9197697082934089078' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9197697082934089078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9197697082934089078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/for-50-quardillionth-time.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6987268071689496043</id><published>2007-12-06T13:57:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-06T19:38:40.363-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It's beginning to look a lot like...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone's eyes are glazed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pretty allergic to cats. There is currently a cat sitting on me. I think it wants to eat my hands as they type. I don't have the heart to make it go away. Breathing is good though...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6987268071689496043?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6987268071689496043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6987268071689496043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6987268071689496043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6987268071689496043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-beginning-to-look-lot-like.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5633509758348432234</id><published>2007-12-06T11:19:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-06T20:47:08.339-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hillizle and Billizle</title><content type='html'>I had forgotten how weird my thoughts can be when I swim (and at other times too) until today. After a lovely morning of paper editing in bed, I plunged into the icky coldness of the nat pool and just sort of swam without much of a plan. And then...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hillary Clinton in a do-rag appeared in my head. She was sitting on a stoop, hunched over, rapping about being "misundahstood." Then Bill, with a demonic smile, popped up every few lines in rhythm. This scenario probably says many things about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I could potentially be crazy.&lt;br /&gt;2. My imagination is extremely wild.&lt;br /&gt;3. I need to make youtube videos.&lt;br /&gt;4. I am a politics nerd. And I love election time way too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also thought somewhat more mundane thoughts. Like how I want to start an SUUU club!!!!! Because I just keep meeting other Unitarians, and that is very exciting! Also how I won't ever have time ever again if I do all of the things I want to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things to blog about:&lt;br /&gt;- Mind manipulation and horseradish&lt;br /&gt;Last Friday I went to our weekly performance on campus, which this time was a "freak-out artist." Basically he did some mind reading, inanimate object animation, and thought manipulation. It was a little bit really alarming. At first I wasn't very convinced, but after he stated random people's childhood addresses, boyfriend's names, locker combinations while blindfolded. These people were not in on it at all either. And I know that because I was one of them. It was kind of hard to explain but basically he somehow got me to say horseradish, a word he had written down yesterday, simply by telling me to think of a condiment. It sounds dumb, but I think he messed with my mind. I can't explain it. Sorry that is a bad story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Musical dilemmas&lt;br /&gt;So latest dilemma...Orchestra hurts my back, makes it so I can't nanny part time next semester, and is not as great as I wish it was. The problem? I'm on scholarship. What I want is to switch to voice lessons, but I'd be losing the scholarship. And there's a small chance I might not feel so great about quitting what I've done since I was 6 years old. (But you can't do the same thing forever just because it's what you've always done, right?) My dad is staunchly against it, my mom just wants me to be happy, I'm the slowest decision maker ever...If I do it next semester, it might be rash, but my back will not stop hurting over that semester. And maybe I can make enough money babysitting to make up for the scholarship? I could wait until sophomore year, when I will be even more busy than now, but I just don't know if I want to wait that long...Ugh. Another uninteresting story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Sororities&lt;br /&gt;- Anti-stress&lt;br /&gt;- Names&lt;br /&gt;81713728599&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5633509758348432234?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5633509758348432234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5633509758348432234' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5633509758348432234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5633509758348432234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/12/hillizill-and-billizill.html' title='Hillizle and Billizle'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-644944199898731938</id><published>2007-11-28T20:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-28T21:14:34.131-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Big butts</title><content type='html'>So on a less serious note...I remembered a good story from Thanksgiving break that I forgot to tell. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom wants to put this picture of a naked flying lady with a bicycle on my wall at home. It's actually a nice picture, French and stuff. Anyway, she told my dad to buy the picture, and he did, but it was too small, so she told him to get a bigger one. Just to be a pain in the neck, he bought a big one. A REALLY big one. So when I got home last week, I was greeted by a 4 foot by 6 foot painting featuring a rather prominent giant naked butt. Framed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also been invited to a drag ball. This school is so perfectly ridiculous. Nowhere else would I read 74 pages on Hindu death rites in the same day that I read about fish sex changes and get invited to a drag ball. But speaking of reading, I think my eyes are getting worse. I read 100 pages a day on average!!! And the other day I couldn't even see past 5 feet with my glasses on!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We now have a Christmas tree in our room. Just guess how much it cost!!! My roommate was so proud of herself. It's actually very nice, though it managed to miraculously displace my stuff from its shelf.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-644944199898731938?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/644944199898731938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=644944199898731938' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/644944199898731938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/644944199898731938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/so-on-less-serious-note.html' title='Big butts'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1556541052741579937</id><published>2007-11-28T12:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-28T12:29:18.492-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm discovering that it's possible to be too aware.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically to be as sustainable as I'd like to be, I'd have to live in a tent, ride a bike, and subsistence farm a very small patch of land. Maybe I could have a dog. But only if it ate homegrown carrots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Understanding that welfare for human beings lies only in their unity, and that unity cannot be attained by violence. Unity can only be reached when each person, not thinking about unity, thinks only about fulfilling the laws of life. Only this supreme law of love, alike for all humans, unifies humanity." --Tolstoy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what is the cost of sacrifice?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'll talk about that more later when I finish reading 9 billion pages.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1556541052741579937?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1556541052741579937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1556541052741579937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1556541052741579937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1556541052741579937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/im-discovering-that-its-possible-to-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1151742240412148521</id><published>2007-11-27T22:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T22:12:51.493-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You know you're out of the swimming groove when...6x100 on 1:25 is a workout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my thighs touched for the first time ever while kicking. It was kind of weird. That's what running does.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1151742240412148521?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1151742240412148521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1151742240412148521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1151742240412148521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1151742240412148521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/you-know-youre-out-of-swimming-groove.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3983417305309342063</id><published>2007-11-27T08:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T08:01:04.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>More nightmares and more bad sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3983417305309342063?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3983417305309342063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3983417305309342063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3983417305309342063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3983417305309342063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/more-nightmares-and-more-bad-sleep.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5750003985073432961</id><published>2007-11-26T21:20:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-26T21:20:44.290-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Holy mackerel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peace out, Environmental History. I think Dr. Loomis must love me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5750003985073432961?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5750003985073432961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5750003985073432961' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5750003985073432961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5750003985073432961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/holy-mackerel.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-4198254416620062197</id><published>2007-11-25T16:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T17:16:06.302-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Back to the old getting my secondary education concept....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's funny how when I left on Tuesday, I got out of here at precisely the time I planned, but when I tried to leave today, I was 45 minutes later than the already late time my mom convinced me to leave at. Silly family. After a whole lot of carrying on about laundry and tire inflation, I finally got on the road, in the pouring, cold rain. I was feeling pretty good, finally got the ipod working, totally going the right way...Had to pee so bad for about 60 miles and stopped in Brenham at a janky looking Exxon. I rushed through the door but stopped still when I was faced with 15 truckers and farmers in a dark bar, all turned to look at me. I just frantically looked around and dashed to the back of the store without a word, busting through the bathroom door. It was a rather nice bathroom, actually, with license plates all over the wall and pictures of cow slaughtering houses. (It's Texas, what can I say...) Hoping not to seem so frantic but also remain unseen, I sideled through the back of the store to pick up some snacks, which were alarmingly cheap, I must note...and ran out the door. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hit the road again and was doing well...until I missed the dang exit in the same place as last time and had to come screeching to a halt in a vet's parking lot with all my stuff flying around the car. Of course when I turned around I managed to get stuck behind a procession of 3 mobile homes being moved and a long line of agitated college students (denoted by stickers on our cars). Eventually I figured things out and even saw some sunshine. Almost thought I got lost another time but it was a false alarm. Thennnn I got stuck behind an RV for the last 20 miles on what would have been gloriously open road. Foiled again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did eventually get to school and froze as I tried to get all my crap inside. Unpacking took over an hour thanks to my mom's laundry packing scheme, so my roommate and I watched Hairspray while I sorted. Which is an alarmingly good movie. Dancing and singing out the door in my furry crocs, I forged through the cold night to eat some mystery morsels for dinner (since lunch had consisted of crackers and iced tea). Upon leaving the salad bar, I ran into none other than....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Dun dun DUNNNHHHHH*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ex. In an elf hat. We had pleasant, friendly conversation, mostly about how sad the cafeteria makes us, and I offered to go find a table for him and our friend and me, but....then just as he started rattling off his excuse about going to eat in his friend's apartment, I noticed the styrofoam take out box in his hand and realized I would be eating another lonely dinner. Turned quickly on my heel with a short good bye. Ended up eating "stir fry" then peanut butter with a spoon all alone in a big booth. (Yes, with a spoon, plain.) My Tracey Turnblad-induced euphoria crashed down with me into the cushy plastic seat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is no one back yet???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dunno what I'd do without Jack though. I've realized how truly awesome my high school friends are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-4198254416620062197?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4198254416620062197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=4198254416620062197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4198254416620062197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4198254416620062197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/back-to-old-getting-my-secondary.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3556296439928287981</id><published>2007-11-24T20:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-24T20:59:42.015-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving things</title><content type='html'>#1 comment made during my week at home: "Oh my gosh, your butt has gotten so much bigger!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, it's supposed to be a compliment. Even my grandpa said so. Even my swim coach, who always eats Thanksgiving dinner with us, had to make a really obnoxious comment about it. I don't think I've ever had a normal experience with him around anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only managed to get lost twice on my way home. 36 is a tricky exit in Brenham...So I took the "scenic route" home. I ended up taking the Texas Independence Trail through nowhereseville til I got to Belleville and found 36 again, which is actually the capital of nowhersevilleland. But I made it. I also discovered that there are lots of nice people at gas stations and Goodyears. I just walked in and asked how to go places, and people were super helpful. (The ones that spoke English anyway...Me: Do you sell maps? Lady: Uhh map? No speak English. Me: I don't speak Spanish. Lady #2: Well, you're even then!) First big trip by myself wahoo! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week reminded me of how insane my family is. Whiney but hilarious. I've also realized that I eat a lot healthier at school than I thought. Preeeetty sure I'm subsisting on beans and rice, spinach, soy milk, and bananas. There is no chocolate to be found at home though for the most part....quite unfortunate. We played Wii last night for a long time. I KO-ed everyone-- sisters, mom, grandma, grandpa-- and only lost to my dad in the last round on a judge's decision. That practically doesn't even count, so basically I won. My arms were so sore! Wii is an amazing workout. Speaking of workouts...hahahaha! Other than Turkey Trot, I blame the weather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of Turkey Trot....I hadn't run in a week really due to being sick, so I wasn't expecting much. Ended up doing pretty well though. Caught up to this little 16 year old twit who kept glancing at me. We were chatting a bit and I said I was in college blah blah blah and she says, "I know. We talked last year." And that's when it hit me that she was the girl who came up to me last year to tell me that her dad said she was supposed to run just like me and that she could never keep up with me and that I'm basically her hero. (I love coming back to The Bubble, because weird stuff like that happens and for some reason everyone knows me?) So a year later....she latches on to me, after a while finally being nice instead of elbowing me. The whole time she was saying she was tired and just trying to keep up...and then in the last few yards, because I can't sprint worth crapola, she got me. She got me! My whole race felt good and she couldn't keep up, yet I couldn't find some umph at the end. I actually ended up getting 3rd by a few seconds, since I didn't know another girl was in my age group....Kind of a bummer, but I still got a trophy and ran a 36:00 for 5 miles. Pretty decent for recovering from the flu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't talked about this yet, but my sister just got diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. She's pretty miserable and can't really write much at school anymore. They put her on super badass medicine that seems to be working though...My mom practically threw a party last night over being able to see her knuckles. So if you pray, please pray for her. If you send good vibes, send them. If you are an activist, support the cause. The quest to free Molly's knuckles! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to go back to school. They sent out an email about a bad roads advisory saying not to go home if you were under it. Except I'm not. Boo on crunch time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some reason, as my mom and Molly and I were shopping today, we noticed that about 90 trillion guys were out. Was it official Guys Go Shopping Day? Not complaining, just saying...I bought some super awesome...FURRY CROCS! I'm in luuurve. (Will take picture when back at school.) I also got knock off Sperry Topsiders, some Grasshopper brand nonsense but tres tres comfy. And some sweaters. Since it's cold! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, I am not employed by Sugar Cycles, so look for me next month! Pinkgurugal, I need to talk to you about a very important matter!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3556296439928287981?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3556296439928287981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3556296439928287981' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3556296439928287981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3556296439928287981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/thanksgiving-things.html' title='Thanksgiving things'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1434747315929521127</id><published>2007-11-18T21:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T22:01:38.370-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lamey McLameo</title><content type='html'>I'm about as el lamey lameo as they come. Woke up yesterday at the crack of not dawn for once!! and literally ran across campus, looking like a complete lunatic (to the squirrels, since no one gets up on campus til the crack of afternoon anyway). I made sure to walk very carefully over the evil gravelly train track spot this time and then tried to figure out how to use the acorn shaped door jingley thing on the Mr. and Mrs. Babysitting Clients at White House (henceforth known as BCWH) door. I guess plans changed, because it was just Mr. BCWH who needed to work and his wife was in Florida...and the baby was asleep. So it was just me and a precocious 3 year old boy sword fighting and eating grapes. The baby eventually woke up and snotted all over me for a while, but it was an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable morning/ $20. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the afternoon slipped away as I talked to Ben about some financial issues (stupid internet not trustworthy to document that life hurdle) and then did a super dumb workout at the gym. Venturing out into the dark, rainy night I went to babysitting at the purple house. I was greeted at the door by a quite naked 6 year old autistic boy, his equally naked 3 year old sister, and their barely robed mother. That job was pretty much spent raiding the pantry, watching princess movies, and chasing the boy around making sure he kept his pullups on. The girl was determined to convince me that she was supposed to have Coke, popsicles, and peanut butter cups and was going to have her way if it took a screaming fit. Toooo bad for her! Both kids were actually relatively easy to get to bed, which allowed for a good amount of time for me to do homework while jumping at old house creaky noises. A note on the house: it is so old, there is only 1 bathroom and no shower that I could see. The best part about the whole night was the quite pleasant, probably tipsy, return of the parents with a nice wad of cash-- $75!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;$95 in one day. That is what I make in 2 weeks at school. My new official backup plan is to be a professional babysitter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ended my day of being an independent, moneymakin woman by...doing more homework. I'm the only person I know who was reading a book on environmental justice litigation at midnight on a Saturday (in bed at least). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I woke up and ran with PiC for a little bit, which felt great until a few hours later, after brunch with unexpected awkward guests, when I suddenly could barely move my body. I was so physically weak and exhausted. I can't remember ever feeling that thoroughly unable to move myself to do the simplest things. After a full night of sleep and a light workout, even. After a week, the flu doesn't seem to have left me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pretty proud of myself, though, because I managed to push through that feeling to wash the dishes, go to work, read my whole book and anthro articles, and write 1/3 of my huge final paper. Excellent work, self.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yes, I almost forgot...I've been having very vivid dreams lately. The other night I dreamt that people were turning into zombies, and a very blue eyed one named Wendy informed me that if I lost the game, I'd die. The game had something to do with Christianity, but I'm not sure what exactly. Last night I actually had a nightmare like I used to have all the time in elementary school about loved ones dying. It started out alright, just hanging out with an ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend...then for some reason my dad was intent on breaking the sound barrier in a car. Whatever the exact details were on the rest of it, I just know it was a terrible dream and I frantically tried to get out of it. I almost couldn't sleep the rest of the night, but I guess my power over my mind is better than I give it credit for, because I'm always able to control leaving a dream right when the really bad part is about to happen. My mom thinks my allergy medicine is messing with my dreams, but I don't know. I think some of it makes sense with what my brain has to work out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jiminy cricket, my computer makes terrible noises when running a CD....The entire thing is rumbling, and I think that's probably a bad thing. Why me, God? Why do electronics hate me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swear swear swear that I will write days 3 and 4 of Power Shift very soon, over the break.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1434747315929521127?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1434747315929521127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1434747315929521127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1434747315929521127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1434747315929521127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/lamey-mclameo.html' title='Lamey McLameo'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-9004874684822643524</id><published>2007-11-15T19:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T19:56:23.708-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures with Excitable Red Sweater Boy</title><content type='html'>As I was walking back from a perfunctory violin practicing session, a very excited blonde guy in a red sweater leapt at me, saying, "Do you know where the new auditorium is? I'm on a tour here and want to see it!" (Except imagine that all as 1 word.) I about-faced and took him back through the building, all the while listening to his chatter about being a sophomore at St. Ed's, wanting a change of scenery, how SU looked like New York (??), how he was in business classes, asking me tons of questions. He had that business guy affectation of using your name over and over again. "So, Ursula," *smooth grin* "I think that's a violin, judging by the case, or a small guitar hahahah." "Well, thanks, Ursula, I know you're busy." Etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally managed to extract myself from him while he sprinted off to look at the metal work exhibit (inciting oohs and exclamations of beauty from him) and further puruse the building that I'm not entirely sure he actually would have a purpose in. He doesn't actually do anything related to fine arts, at least as far as I could extract from him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But anyway, other than being holed up in the library for hours, attempting to work on the enormous research paper I've put off all semester (not at all by my volition but rather by the constraints of all 500 bil hours of other hw that were more urgent), tonight was Thanksgiving dinner night in the cafeteria. Best pecan pie. Ever. I can't WAIT for next Tuesday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-9004874684822643524?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/9004874684822643524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=9004874684822643524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9004874684822643524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/9004874684822643524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/adventures-with-excitable-red-sweater.html' title='Adventures with Excitable Red Sweater Boy'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7622069103206948751</id><published>2007-11-15T09:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T09:59:03.871-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ethnography cont</title><content type='html'>Day 2 of Barber Shop Research:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite our best intentions of going in with a plan, we still managed to be really awkward upon entering the shop. It's sort of like stepping back in time when you open the door...You're immediately confronted with a solid row of mostly middle aged to elderly men in a long and narrow room replete with 1961 barber chairs. We started with an awkward introduction to the nearest barber, asking if the owner was there. The 3 barbers hardly looked up at us and between the 3 of them managed to piece together that he wasn't there, might be back tomorrow, and they thought it was a death in the family. We asked if we could sit and talk anyway, and they supposed it would be fine. We quickly shuffled to the back of the room, taking the 2 seats (with Lili crouching on the floor), and regrouping ourselves. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, the barber near us, the youngest of the 4, was a bit friendlier and more willing to talk. Lili boldly asked him questions about how long he had been there (a year), where he had worked before (another shop in town), and if it was his favorite place to work. We also got that the shop opened in 1988. He supposed it was (since it was a good, convenient place to work.) We also asked his client if he was really happy with how he got his hair cut, and it first he said nothing, but finally he wryly cracked a joke that he wasn't going to say a word with a razor so close to his ears. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a little while, the tension melted away a bit, and the man next to us got really chatty. He was there with his 4 year old grandson, an adorable boy named Ryan with platinum blonde hair. Ryan refused to talk to us at all, instead hanging his head down the entire time. Bob, his grandpa, however, actually wanted to talk to us. He told us how he had gone there for, I believe, over 10 years, since it's convenient and they do a good job. "We're not like you girls," he said. "We just get a little off the top, that's all we need." Upon my remark that $11 was a really good price for a haircut but seemed like inflation from prices in years past, he said, "My wife pays $75. I told her I got mine for 5." He also talked about how he and his wife had grown up in Temple, that they moved to Pflugerville and then Georgetown, that his kids had gone to Georgetown High School, that Ryan's dad was in Minnesota working on putting together wind turbines. When he wanted to make comments about sports (usually when we had lulled into silence), he almost always directed it to our Ryan, an interesting gender note.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Bob wanted to ask me a question and I wasn't looking, he would just kind of lightly whack my shoulder. His gaze and demeanor were somewhat unnerving, but that is my own inherent nervousness. He behaved and spoke much like many other 40s generation Texas men I know. Slight accent, saying things such as "golly," "you know what he said, he said..." and that somewhat gruff but friendly body language that most of the men in the shop displayed, moreso an affectation of age than anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another man next to our Ryan was also pretty chatty. His reasoning for going to the shop for 11-13 years (he couldn't remember, but it was after he out of the military) was that it was convenient but also that they were the only shop he knew of that still shaved necks, in particular with a single blade razor. That was a good point for he and Ryan to wax nostalgic on. He also appreciated that they took their time. He was pretty sure that Ken, the oldest barber, had been there "forever," which seemed like a true statement based on the long line of men waiting for him. Bob had pointed out that they take numbers when they walk in the door, no need for appointments, and just wait for their number. Many men, however, would skip their turn in order to wait for a specific barber. Not as many wanted the newest guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was very interesting to watch the almost therapeutic trance the men went into while getting their neck lathered (by warm shaving cream from the electric warmer and dispenser that I remarked on so delightedly, thus prompting a round of exclamations of appreciation by the men) or the back of their heads buzzed. The ambiance was cozy, and it actually seemed like they got used to us being there. I was hoping that would happen, so it was nice. There is a good vibe in the shop, so I can see what keeps the men coming back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we walked out, we said we'd see them tomorrow, and they actually very pleasantly said good bye and smiled and seemed perfectly fine with our imminent return.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7622069103206948751?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7622069103206948751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7622069103206948751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7622069103206948751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7622069103206948751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/ethnography-cont.html' title='Ethnography cont'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-136710312198531924</id><published>2007-11-14T23:07:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T23:07:52.639-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My roommate needs to stop fighting with her boyfriend....I never get any sleep....It's 1:13!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-136710312198531924?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/136710312198531924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=136710312198531924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/136710312198531924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/136710312198531924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-roommate-needs-to-stop-fighting-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-5083244280913003886</id><published>2007-11-14T21:01:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T21:39:47.772-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Cultural phenomenon du jour: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;friend (noun) --&gt; friending (verb)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so for yesterday's glorious realization that doesn't seem so glorious anymore. First of all, I am pretty really good at being single. It's kind of a skill of mine, being a bitter (but hopeful) Bridget Jones type. But that's not what I wrote yesterday. This is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably induced by sunshine, decent sleep, and endorphins...My life is so much freer and on track without a stupid boy holding me back. The old, familiar feeling is actually a good one. Fate/universe/whatever is giving me tons of signals that it's in control and I'm on the right track (or close enough). Now is the time for seizing opportunity, getting my education on track, finding internships, and going on adventures with friends. I want to capture this tingling excitment and keep my satisfaction of self.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End quote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last line highly relevant!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've managed pretty well to sustain it for most of 30ish hours. But that hopefulness is kind of back to its overbearing state, where everyone I see is potential. I have, however, noticed that this school is a lot more attractive than I ever noticed before. But my little daydream plan is to find a lovely Austin boy for maximum relationship goodness- not too close, not too far. At the same time, I'm attempting to just not even think about it at all, because you always meet people when you aren't looking. Except it's a bad habit. But at least I am excited that it could be anyone, anywhere, any time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Went to Cookies and Pis tonight, a sorority cookie decoration for charity extravaganza. I've been attempting to keep an open mind about the whole sorority thing and was formerly very opposed...but I think I'm actually...don't freak out...going to rush. I'm not even going to justify that decision, because I don't think I should have to, no matter how much it surprises people and makes them call me a sell out. I want to do it because I do. It's different here at SU anyway, not the stereotype. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't recommend flu shots. They give you the flu. But hopefully it will help me avert disaster. I get the flu a lot, really bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New major idea: I think I might actually go with the create my own major idea. Why go to a small, weird, expensive school and not take advantage of its quirky offerings? Since I don't want any of them in particular, I can just take the classes I want to take. What's more, I could actually make my Capstone a documentary if I want to! How ridiculously cool would that be?? So the combo would be sociology/poli sci/film studies from English dept/enviro studies/econ/communications (for the one journalism class). That way I'd build a portfolio and still get the broad knowledge base. I figure that I need a good understanding of the world first and the technical knowledge can come later. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note to self: destigmatizing enviro-- "crunchy"; bike excursion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love." &lt;br /&gt;-Lao Tzu (as quoted by my free SU wahoo freshman need mental help planner)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-5083244280913003886?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5083244280913003886/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=5083244280913003886' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5083244280913003886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/5083244280913003886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/cultural-phenomenon-du-jour-friend-noun.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-2911293263402870217</id><published>2007-11-13T16:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T07:36:30.033-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Workouts and Babies</title><content type='html'>Thank you, Cosmogirl, for telling that my big eyebrows are in fashion once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flu shot gave me flu symptoms. Apparently one of those symptoms is a lack of ability to spell, as I've so far tried to spell it as flue and flew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite that, today started off really glorious. I was headed to the exercise bike in the gym, when I saw that the weight room was full of eye candy, so I decided to do med balls first instead. I don't think I've ever been so inspired to do so many pushups. ;) I finally did ride the bike...while reading anthro...Is it really possible to be such a nerdy jock? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't get to shower after working out, but I did eat, of course. Jumped on my bike (looking ridiculous with my giant backpack) and pedaled over to the house where I was babysitting. When I got to the gravelly railroad tracks, I decided to dismount, but lucky me! Just as I got one shoe out, my chain fell off, and I keeled right over with it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Falling off a bike is a very annoying experience, because you go down in slow motion, beginning your embarrassment from the top of arc of the fall, all the way to the bottom, after several seconds of mortification. It's a long, embarrassing way to the ground. Then there's always the part where you gouge your leg and start bleeding all over. I hobbled up to the porch, where I got to greet my employer in my disheveled state. I played it off like, "Oh look at that, a gaping wound on my leg...Wonder how that got there...Would you happen to have a bandaid?" Wouldn't want her to think that my lack of ability to ride a bike would mean I couldn't care for her 8 month old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzsScOr6SyI/AAAAAAAAABM/311c3kVl6mg/s1600-h/leg+scar.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzsScOr6SyI/AAAAAAAAABM/311c3kVl6mg/s320/leg+scar.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132716476506721058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her baby really is adorable though. I miss babies soooo much!! Good thing I have 6 more babysitting jobs in the next month. It was also awesome to meet this family because they have a lot in common with me. And the dad could be a really good career resource.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was highly efficient until now. Homework just wasn't really my thing tonight, I guess. Last xc practice tomorrow!! Too bad it's a freaking time trial...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note to self: write about the stuff scribbled in CP notebook when not delirious&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-2911293263402870217?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2911293263402870217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=2911293263402870217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2911293263402870217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2911293263402870217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/thank-you-cosmogirl-for-telling-that-my.html' title='Workouts and Babies'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzsScOr6SyI/AAAAAAAAABM/311c3kVl6mg/s72-c/leg+scar.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1747468558132090248</id><published>2007-11-12T22:36:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-12T22:36:50.612-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This whole fate and irony thing is starting to get creepy mccreepkins again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(But I'm not complaining.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1747468558132090248?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1747468558132090248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1747468558132090248' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1747468558132090248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1747468558132090248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/this-whole-fate-and-irony-thing-is.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3751286312936115584</id><published>2007-11-11T18:09:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-11T19:14:45.368-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cont.</title><content type='html'>Day 2: Saturday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We awoke at 7:00, extreeeemely tired and not too jazzed. Got dressed, ate a cold piece of pineapple pizza (our food foraging skills are ingenious). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/Rze5emTxokI/AAAAAAAAAAU/n0AOGeAKmEQ/s1600-h/PB030041.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/Rze5emTxokI/AAAAAAAAAAU/n0AOGeAKmEQ/s320/PB030041.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131774235742675522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Yes, that's my finger. I suck.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfCT2TxoqI/AAAAAAAAABE/OF860J0iKA8/s1600-h/PB030042.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfCT2TxoqI/AAAAAAAAABE/OF860J0iKA8/s320/PB030042.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131783946663731874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In yet another perfectly perfect deal of fate's hand we managed to slide in to the panels with perfect timing, despite our lack of direction and time. I was on the Cool Cities panel for 3 sessions, sitting next to the representative from DC (who made deliciously snarky comments). Basically all day I sat in a room and told my story about high school organizing, and it was remarkably amazing. I was flattered that they wanted me for all 3 sessions, and to hear people say that my story was inspirational was pretty indescribable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enter serendipity #4. My group managed to all leave me on campus while they went to eat lunch, and I was wandering along the street, hoping to find food somewhere, when I ran into another good SSC friend. Upon introduction, her companion burst, "You're Ursula???" much to my surprise. I affirmed that I was indeed Ursula, and she offered to take me to lunch. We drove up and down Baltimore Ave, trying to find food, and finally had to settle for a weird little Chinese buffet. It ended up being cheap and filling, so whatever. I dashed into my last panel, trying to discretely eat lo mein...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After everything was over, we had to wander around again in search of food. PiC and I finally found a convenience store on campus, where we bought some pretty shady shwarmas and sandwiches and ran off to get a seat in the stadium for the show thingamabob. A bunch of speakers, some musical acts...and NANCY FREAKING PELOSI! She actually stumbled over her words a lot, but after a lot of chanting from the crowd, she started chanting along to the calls for "80 by 50" (referring to the amount of CO2 reductions required by 2050 to avoid reaching the tipping point), which was considered a symbol of her commitment to the cause. I don't really understand why people were left disappointed by what she said-- I thought it was just pretty awesome that she was there! The spoken word poetry later in the evening was also AMAZING. PiC and I already had a minor slam poetry obsession but to hear the national champions was so so so cool. There was a somewhat amusing rapper guy later...and then Van Jones!! He is a pretty really cool guy who pushes the platform of green jobs to pull impoverished people up to the middle class. Not only is he hilarious, he's really well spoken and passionate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PiC and I decided, after much deliberation, to stay in DC with the rest of our old SPROG pals. I somehow managed to go to sleep amidst the raucous excitement in the house. This time I shared a pull out couch with 3 other girls. People were strewn about the house, on couches and the floor, under tables, everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have 2 days to write about, but I'm tired, and this all has taken 1.5 hours....I'll have to finish the rest in installments.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3751286312936115584?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3751286312936115584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3751286312936115584' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3751286312936115584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3751286312936115584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/cont.html' title='Cont.'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/Rze5emTxokI/AAAAAAAAAAU/n0AOGeAKmEQ/s72-c/PB030041.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8501718820025916235</id><published>2007-11-11T17:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-11T19:00:52.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Deep breath...</title><content type='html'>...and go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Power Shift&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 1: Friday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PiC and I pulled out of SU around 1:30, sun shining (very brightly in our eyes), music playing (Mr. Bojangles is a song??), and grimaces of trepidation. After we finally found parking in the freaking F lot at the airport, we got lost trying to find the shuttle...which happened to be 2 rows over from where we were. Great start, we figured. We eventually did maneuver our way to our terminal and had to go through security 3 times due to laptop issues, but got there nonetheless. This was when the first miracle from our guardian angel occurred.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were boarding the plane, I got a phone call from a girl saying that she could house us that night. You cannot even imagine the relief I felt at this bit of news. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/Rze_zGTxolI/AAAAAAAAAAc/y5D5d8ccyy0/s1600-h/PB020037.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/Rze_zGTxolI/AAAAAAAAAAc/y5D5d8ccyy0/s320/PB020037.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131781184999760466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got onto our plane without further incident, except for not getting to sit anywhere near each other. Due to the brilliant masterminds behind Southwest Airlines (we were desperate), seating is a free-for-all, and if you are in boarding group C you do not get to sit with your party because all of the people-phobic travelers of the world will always take the aisle and the window, leaving only middle seats open, straight down the plane. I proceeded to make some passive aggressive comments about how the phenomenon (hard word to spell). The plane decided not to take off for about 5 years but eventually got us to Baltimore. At that point we had to figure out how to somehow get across the state. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With a lot of wandering and asking only nice-looking women (who invariably always wore fleece jackets), we finalllllly found the bus stop for the B30 line. We scrambled to find $3, literally utilizing dimes and nickels, to get us somewhere. The first leg of the trip took us to the Greenbelt station. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfApWTxonI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZgkV4lcA4LA/s1600-h/PB020040.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfApWTxonI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ZgkV4lcA4LA/s320/PB020040.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131782117007663730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell you about this station. I had to get the permission of an armed guard to use the bathroom. A bathroom behind 2 sets of locked doors. On the plus side, I did see a guy who looked remarkably like Kanye West, who insisted on wearing sunglasses at night (which did indeed inspire a round of singing "Sunglasses at Night"). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfATmTxomI/AAAAAAAAAAk/svwfSVbDne8/s1600-h/PB020038.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfATmTxomI/AAAAAAAAAAk/svwfSVbDne8/s320/PB020038.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131781743345508962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We sat there for a long time and finally got on another bus, which had a really interesting cross section of culture. We actually overheard a man (of North/East African descent, I figured) ask the bus driver if he thought "the global warming" was natural or manmade. We couldn't scramble for our cameras fast enough to record the conversation, but it was pretty crazy. With the help of about half the bus, we eventually figured out where to stop on the U of Maryland campus (Library Lane!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what do you know but miracle #2 happens. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as we were beginning to panic about finding the dorm we were staying in, we ran smack into Nathan, a very dear friend, immediately upon disembarking. After a round of huge bear hugs, he was so incredibly kind as to adventure with us. We eventually got to our room, where we were delighted to find that we were staying with a bunch of freshman girls who were super super nice. The next dilemma was figuring out how to get to the SSC party, which was 1.5 miles away. The plan was to take a campus bus to one stop and walk a short distance from there. Turns out the cranky bus driver dropped us off in the totally wrong place and we had to walk 2 miles at 11:00 pm with no sidewalks. Thank God for Nathan. We finally finally found the party after an hour of traveling. I've never been so glad to see the SSC in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfBK2TxooI/AAAAAAAAAA0/PrtqL3etq0U/s1600-h/n1444980122_30086712_6470.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfBK2TxooI/AAAAAAAAAA0/PrtqL3etq0U/s320/n1444980122_30086712_6470.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131782692533281410" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The party was basically, in a word, superawesome. We ordered a pita/hummus/veggie plate (which turned out to be the last normal thing we ate all weekend) and devoured it, as we hadn't eaten all day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfBaWTxopI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WnQHXUUIaBo/s1600-h/n1444980122_30086704_4465.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/RzfBaWTxopI/AAAAAAAAAA8/WnQHXUUIaBo/s320/n1444980122_30086704_4465.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131782958821253778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we met lots of people, did some wild dancing (a table broke?), and generally partook in revelrie in the cold cold outdoors. I was so very glad to see some Shindiggers again, whom I hadn't seen for 2 years. Too bad they're all about 4 years older than me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a very long walk back, we snuck back into our room and PiC and I got ready for bed, attempting not to wake up the other girls. (PiC was a bit loud for undisclosed reasons.) We ended up having to share a single bed, and I had a bedskirt for a sheet. There were also 2 girls on the top bunk and another girl in another bunk. 3:00 am!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8501718820025916235?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8501718820025916235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8501718820025916235' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8501718820025916235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8501718820025916235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/deep-breath.html' title='Deep breath...'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wuBJ8raD5m0/Rze_zGTxolI/AAAAAAAAAAc/y5D5d8ccyy0/s72-c/PB020037.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7466459762385350980</id><published>2007-11-11T16:29:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-11T16:31:24.124-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I just spent 45 of my time at work, (which I am, btw, still at), looking up people on facebook from SU who are engaged. I was remarkably accurate in guessing which ones were joking and which were for realz. And it's kind of scary how many are real. And by that I mean there were 10. But hey, this school only has 1300 kids...That's a decent proportion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does that make me a stalker, or can I pass it off as sociological research?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7466459762385350980?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7466459762385350980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7466459762385350980' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7466459762385350980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7466459762385350980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-just-spent-45-of-my-time-at-work.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1933271219604186135</id><published>2007-11-10T22:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-10T22:53:46.048-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm sleepy.</title><content type='html'>I'm probably a terrible person, but oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just got back from Virginia and ate Tostitos and Halloween candy for dinner at midnight. It was that kind of day. We flew out to Virginia on Thursday, (which made 2 whole days I was in class this week and ooooh by the way, I didn't fail my midterm, which is excellent news), and took 942 years to get from Austin to Houston to Norfolk. Then we sat in the hotel for about 2 days...Well except for eating and looking at the ridiculous beauty that is a place that has real seasons, and we also finally convinced Coach to let us see Jamestown for an hour. Which was suuuuper cool for a history nerd. I got a smooshed penny that said James Fort (wahoo). I could baaarely keep my eyes open yesterday from the time I woke up until the late late hour of 11:30 that I pushed myself to stay up to. Woke up at 8:00 today and had a really terrible stomach but pretended it wasn't. The regionals course was FREEZING COLD. We all looked like snowpeople in our 5 layers of clothing. We played a few rousing rounds of Big Booty (with British accents! try it) and laughed incessantly. After freezing our bumtuskies off in our booty shorts and tank tops (i.e. uniform) and going through insane protocol, we took off on the course, straight up a vertical hill. The first time wasn't so bad, and I got a good start up the middle. Luuucky me, though, my stomach attacked me with a passion in the first mile, and I could barely move and started crying...the next mile was even worse, as I dropped really far back. The horrible wave passed enough at mile 3 for me to rocket power my way up a few spots. I finished in what felt like record time but what was in fact a whole lot slower than Conference, though comparable to the TLU meet. Coach ran up and hugged me while I cried on her out of pain, and she was amazingly nice, calling me "an incredible fighter." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We hung around far too long waiting for results (haha!) and fiiiinally left for the longest, worst plane ride of my life. It felt like having carbonated stomach acid for 6 hours. Somehow I got a remarkable amount of homework done, but on the last flight I just bought Seventeen (guilty pleasure) and learned how to have a great butt and select lip gloss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I'm here. And still haven't written about Power Shift. Yell at me to do so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1933271219604186135?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1933271219604186135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1933271219604186135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1933271219604186135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1933271219604186135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/im-probably-terrible-person-but-oh-well.html' title='I&apos;m sleepy.'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3514272936815204288</id><published>2007-11-07T08:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-07T08:39:27.109-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Perversely amusing things</title><content type='html'>The Christian fraternity on campus has apparently deemed me a dangerous threat. Despite their determination that I am a "nice person" and their desire to hang out with me all the time, they must constantly check in with each other to make sure I am not spreading the virus of my unconventionality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Better call up my coven for a good ole fashioned drum circle, consulting of the oracle bones, and a bit of voodoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I didn't love this school, I'd hate it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3514272936815204288?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3514272936815204288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3514272936815204288' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3514272936815204288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3514272936815204288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/perversely-amusing-things.html' title='Perversely amusing things'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-4943673757476883033</id><published>2007-11-06T20:24:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-06T20:24:59.445-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm on MTV!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1573629/20071106/index.jhtml&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-4943673757476883033?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4943673757476883033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=4943673757476883033' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4943673757476883033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4943673757476883033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/im-on-mtv-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-3235685209890154804</id><published>2007-11-06T09:26:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-06T09:29:33.222-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I must apologize, oh loyal readers, that the thrilling and lengthy account of the past weekend will be a bit late in coming. I have a mountain of homework to catch up on first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as a sneak preview and a reminder to myself:&lt;br /&gt;1. Transportation adventure with Partner-in-crime across states&lt;br /&gt;2. Bedskirts&lt;br /&gt;3. Serendipity&lt;br /&gt;4. Armed guards&lt;br /&gt;5. More armed people of the police variety&lt;br /&gt;6. Purple feet&lt;br /&gt;7. Nancy Pelosi&lt;br /&gt;8 MTV&lt;br /&gt;9. Metro authorities&lt;br /&gt;10. Career opportunities&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-3235685209890154804?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/3235685209890154804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=3235685209890154804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3235685209890154804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/3235685209890154804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-must-apologize-oh-loyal-readers-that.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-2418859413000122081</id><published>2007-11-02T08:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-02T10:26:02.540-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Doom</title><content type='html'>I am straight trippin about figuring out the transportation situation tonight. We just found out at 9:00 pm last night that we didn't have a ride from the airport anymore, so somehow we have to figure out how to get from Baltimore to Virginia to College Park and back to Virginia. That's 3 f***ing hours on the metro if we even can figure that out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something amusing did come out of this though....I was frantically calling people from the housing board on the Power Shift website last night, seeing if anyone had room on campus for us just for tonight, and I spoke to this one craaazy girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[All of her parts are said very slowly in a creepy monotone]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hi blah blah blah help please&lt;br /&gt;R: Well, you can stay here. But...I would suggest finding another dorm.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Uhh ok...&lt;br /&gt;R: Yes. A terrible thing happened here yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh really....*silence*&lt;br /&gt;R: Oh. Would you like to know what happened?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Umm I guess so&lt;br /&gt;R: A student passed...away...&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh dear...ummmmm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was one of the most awkward conversations I've ever had. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to freeze.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---- &lt;br /&gt;A wasp just fell out of my hair, onto my pants, was flicked off by a marker, and is now crawling up my wall.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-2418859413000122081?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2418859413000122081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=2418859413000122081' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2418859413000122081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2418859413000122081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/doom.html' title='Doom'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-4289532133388911045</id><published>2007-11-01T14:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T14:25:01.232-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>What a day of giving my all. Practice was really good, particularly core circuit. Coach told me to do pushups until I maxed out and eventually had to just tell me to stop because I'd "done enough" and wasn't stopping. That was a pretty cool feeling. Later I practiced violin for 45 minutes, which is more than I've practiced in a really long time. The great part was that I hardly noticed the time go by-- it's so great to enjoy playing again. I also had that contented feeling again, mostly reflecting how much I love having time to do errands and little tasks throughout the day. (Hooray for college!) It's also amazing how much better I do in classes I enjoy..novel concept.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frantic preparation for tomorrow!!! Huge thanks, though, to the mayor of Sugar Land for helping me out today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-4289532133388911045?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4289532133388911045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=4289532133388911045' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4289532133388911045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/4289532133388911045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/what-day-of-giving-my-all.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-2470652002166076019</id><published>2007-11-01T08:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T08:56:58.184-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Barber Shop Quartet</title><content type='html'>Day 1:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today my group attempted to make entree for our Intro to Anthro ethnography project. The assignment is to choose a public place in town and observe and participate in the culture of the place. We chose to go to City Barber Shop, a little hole in the wall shop that you can easily drive right by (and we did indeed). The 4 of us- 3 girls, 1 guy- walked into the shop with not much of a plan as far as what to do, hoping to just chat with the owner and see if it was ok if we used the location. As soon as we walked in, I knew it was the right place for our project. Upon opening the creaky old door labeled with a peeling "Men's Haircuts" sign, we were faced with a solid row of men, all ages, getting their hair cut by more men, while even more men sat waiting in chairs. Jackpot as far as the gender category of the report. The awkward factor shot through the roof, another reason why the location was so grand. (After all, what's an ethnography if you don't immerse yourself in a culture you don't feel entirely comfortable in?) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We stood there for a few moments, all four of us crammed into the little space there was, looking around and feeling completely overwhelmed. Interestingly, our only male ethnographer shrunk back behind the females, leaving us to do the talking. After far too many  moments of feeling ridiculously out of place, I stepped up to the closest barber, an elderly man with white hair and a semi-scowl, and gave my spiel about being a student doing a project and needing a place to just talk to people and observe their interactions. He let me get through my speech, which Lily chimed in on to back me up, and then grumbled, "You'll have to talk to the man in the back; he's the owner."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we all shuffled back to the somewhat more lively man in a pink shirt with short gray military-square hair. He immediately shot, "What are you selling?" We emphatically denied that statement and explained again. He listened, hardly even nodding, and we waited tensely to see his reaction. I think he might have mumbled that it would be alright after asking a few more questions, such as how long we would be there. I'm not sure how much the fact that three girls were approaching him or our being in his very much males-only shop in general bothered him, but he eventually gave us permission.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man who was getting his hair cut by Willard (the owner) chimed in, in mostly incoherent tones, that we didn't look like we were in college. He pointed to Lily and I and said, "Those two in particular. You look like freshmen in high school." We were a bit confused because we didn't understand most of what he said, but we laughed nervously. He then told us how he used to teach. We managed to extract a little more intelligible information from him, such as that he was an elementary school teacher, mostly 5th grade, who taught all over the state. He also said something about San Marcos, but we weren't quite sure what it was. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was interesting to watch how the barbers could do something as delicate as cut someone's ear hair while carrying on a conversation (albeit stilted) and give wary looks at the same time. Some of the patrons were actually much younger men than we expected, including some 20s-type Hispanic men and a middle aged man in hunting gear. (I'm going to have to note race, as this is an ethnography.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe we made a mostly successful entree. I'm very grateful for our chat with the retired teacher, as I feel it gives us a little bit more legitimacy in our mission and also allowed a beginning to our rapport. Willard could see that our intentions were pure and that we could interact with his customers, and he seemed to relax a bit. In the future, we are going to go in smaller groups, and the girls are going to try to go with a guy in order to avoid any excessively uncomfortable situations. This set up will also allow us to spend more time there in a more natural manner, as we can wait for the said guy to get his hair cut while we chat with customers. I think it will be easier upon our return to the shop, as Willard will know who we are. I have this ideal vision of him growing accustomed to us and maybe even looking forward to our visits. I don't know if I'm allowed to say that in my field notes...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-2470652002166076019?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2470652002166076019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=2470652002166076019' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2470652002166076019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/2470652002166076019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/11/barber-shop-quartet.html' title='Barber Shop Quartet'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-1549025672429193503</id><published>2007-10-31T19:56:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T20:21:01.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning: very long but hopefully worthwhile</title><content type='html'>Today was "one of those days." I don't really even know what that means, but it's true. Practice was ok...everyone was in a pretty bad mood, but we ran alright. The weather was nice...Oh! highlight of day! I got my anthro midterm back and got a 49/50 and an "excellent" on what I thought was a pretty shoddy essay at the time! Yahoooo. I attempted to nap, as it is Wednesday, and that is nap day, but I was unsuccessful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that I got a migraine and had to go through Enviro History (in which I expounded upon the frivolities of the suburbs) and orchestra (oh my gosh). Then I tried to nap again and was allllmost asleep, when Marge came crashing into the room and flipped on the overhead fluorescent lights. She paused for 10 seconds before realizing I was on my bed, turned on a different light, and continued slamming around the room. In that moment, I decided I was definitely moving. I also confronted her as politely as possible about making my business everyone else's business and then promptly walked to dinner, which I wasn't even hungry for. Fortunately some friends were there to eat and bitch with, so that was excellent. And even more excellent was watching Charlie Brown and drinking hot chocolate with my fellow Halloween homework doers who don't party. Now I'm here, having just finished a response paper to the Mahabharata, an assignment I enjoyed far more than expected. So maybe it wasn't "one of those days" entirely. Bittersweetish?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I promised a recap of yesterday. I practically don't even care anymore, so sorry if it's not very fulfilling after all the hype.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically I studied til 2 am, overslept and missed practice, woke up in a panic at 9:00, quickly finished outlining essay questions, dashed to the gym to ride the exercise bike for 25 minutes while frantically studying, didn't even have time to shower, ran back to the room and..*pause* Then I ran over to Dr. Darth Vader's office, but I saw her along the way being very much not in her office, so I waited for her. We had an hour long meeting, and I told her many things...many things that sound terrible to say but ended up being good because I've they've been smoldering for months and now might cause positive change. Turns out she likes me and thinks I'm smart, though I never got that vibe. Oh yes, and this is where the yellow armchair comes in, because she had one in her office that basically required an ejection lever to get out of. (I ended that sentence with a preposition, which I'm now paranoid about, even though I think it's a silly rule).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I took the midterm. I have 4 letters for you, Comparative Politics midterm, and 3 of them are asteriks. Use your imagination...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the nest egg is my stress ball, that is indeed a "nest egg" given to me by my stock broker. And yes, I have a stock broker.  Thank you, crazy grandpa who makes me go to Lake Jackson to check on my investments in dirty energy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the doom-ridden midterm, Hinduism class was CANCELLED, which was the most amazing news (though I'm sorry Dr. Young PhD Student with Dreamy Deep Voice was sick). So I went to Target and bought things. Things that cost more money than expected but were mostly necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thennnn I went to a Careers in Writing seminar, which was a very good thing. Other than the part where it made me even more conflicted about my major, it made me realize for the trillionth time (good job me for having instincts that I only kind of listen to) that I neeeeed to go into writing. There is a severe lack of fiction in my life. I need to read novels and I need to write creatively. They cited blogging and writing everyday as what a budding writer needs to do, so at least I'm doing something right. One lady has my ideal job of capturing Americana themes in documentarian writing, so that was cool to see as something someone actually does. The journalist guy said that you can still be a journalist, even having gone to a school without a program, and emphasized the importance of economics, so I'm doing that right too...But then I became very concerned that I'm not in the right classes next semester. I'm taking a huge variety of stuff, but I don't know if it's right. I really wish I could have an English class, but there's no room in my schedule. Perhaps I can change it or just start on it sophomore year. I really need it though, for my sanity.  I keep telling myself to think about all of these things over Christmas, not now. I think that's what kept me awake in my first nap. Phooey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After thaaat I went to the dorm Halloween party very briefly. My floor dressed as "schoolgirls," which made me want to puke on myself. Mostly I grabbed fistfuls of candy and danced a bit, then jetted off to my meeting for Power Shift. Somehow I managed to fulfill all of my commitments yesterday, which I'm quite amazed at.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-1549025672429193503?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/1549025672429193503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=1549025672429193503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1549025672429193503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/1549025672429193503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/10/warning-very-long-but-hopefully.html' title='Warning: very long but hopefully worthwhile'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-8949319352378093808</id><published>2007-10-31T06:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T08:04:21.732-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bloodshot orange juice eyes and other body problems</title><content type='html'>I hate when I squirt oranges in my eyes, like I just did while peeling one. I'm pretty sure acid is bad for your eyeballs. Isn't that what we always learned in science class, don't get acid in your face? I made a 100 on my 8th grade science safety test, yes siree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that how you spell it- siree?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cold, unhumid weather as of late has dried my skin out so much that I can't shave my legs. Having been raised a swimmer, it doesn't bother me not to shave, but it's practically blasphemy not to in our hair-phobic society. Why are we so afraid of hair? Hairy girls are probably warmer and don't have to spend as much money on lotion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so freaking tiredddddd. My hallmates decided to camp out, once again, right outside my door and talk, laugh, and play Regina Spektor at supersonic levels. I can't put my contacts in due to bloodshot eyes, I can barely read my bulldozer article (yeah, I didn't finish that last night...), and running 4x1200 repeats this morning made me feel like a lumbering giant. Good thing today is Wednesday and that means nap day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-8949319352378093808?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8949319352378093808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=8949319352378093808' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8949319352378093808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/8949319352378093808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-hate-when-i-squirt-oranges-in-my-eyes.html' title='Bloodshot orange juice eyes and other body problems'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7753732698158394168</id><published>2007-10-30T20:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T20:07:06.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Psycho day that I must post about tomorrow, since I need to read about bulldozers right now. But be prepared! (It involves nest eggs, epiphanies, yellow armchairs, candy, and freezing my arse off.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7753732698158394168?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7753732698158394168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7753732698158394168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7753732698158394168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7753732698158394168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/10/psycho-day-that-i-must-post-about.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6628371372992611221</id><published>2007-10-29T22:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T22:03:52.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I drowned my midterm sorrows in Cheetohs and M&amp;Ms...I don't eat crap like that! I swear I must be a victim of those drugs they warn you to look out for in Halloween candy, because I'm wide awake, despite it being 12:09 and me being about halfway through studying. I think I've spent a cumulative 10 hours studying so far over the last few days...I'm desperate, what can I say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6628371372992611221?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6628371372992611221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6628371372992611221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6628371372992611221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6628371372992611221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-drowned-my-midterm-sorrows-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-7085761879268105852</id><published>2007-10-29T16:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T17:33:03.418-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have unleashed a monster onto the blogosphere with this brain of mine, always thinking of things to post. Pinkgurugal is right, it's a serious addiction. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And thank you to Jacob, my rather exceptionally loyal reader, for dubbing my blog "better than Gray's Anatomy." While it is debatable to some, I am flattered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day gets juicier. Around noonish, as I sat at my computer checking my email, my RA enters the room. I greeted her, as I do all people who come in the room, with the usual, "She isn't here," (she being my roommate). For the first time pretty much ever, though, she sat down to talk to me. She went straight to the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So Marge told me that you want a new, quieter room." I sputtered a bit, not quite sure what to think of this declaration of my intent that I never had any part in declaring. I replied that I hadn't really said that but that I wouldn't mind a quieter location. She immediately launched into an action plan of finding me a new room, possibly one even to myself. (Myself! Alone! Me! I could dance around in my underwear all day long!) Without me saying much of anything, it was determined that we needed to contact the dean of student thingers and that there was a potential empty room upstairs. I'm pretty sure she was just excited to have a rather RA-like thing to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conflicted, I decided to take a little field trip upstairs, to the land of girliness I had never entered, to investigate the empty room situation. After a bit of creepy lurking and employing the help of a random passerby, I found said empty room. All I can say is that I want it I want it I want it!! On the end of the hall, 2 beds, a bathroom with a door, a window I can open, and blissful, beautiful silence. Apparently the other girls had commandeered the room as a living room of sorts, but I'm sure that can be worked out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feeling a bit better, I strolled outside and came across Runnergirl, a good friend. I began to tell her my story, when Partner in Crime (PIC) walked up and interjected that she'd already heard this story. Flabbergasted, I asked how on earth she knew. She proceeded to tell me that three people from my hall are in her class and were talking about it, deciding many things about my feelings for me. (I'm glad I didn't have to go to the trouble of deciding my own feelings, because that might have been stressful.) All in all, I'm just quite perplexed at how this entire scenario occurred without me ever really being involved. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I said before, Mouthwestern is no myth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a somewhat better note, upon telling a friend about my travails, they proceeded to pray with me in the middle of the snack bar. I was a bit surprised, but it's always nice to know someone is looking out for you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;I rather enjoyed watching a budding romance from the back of orchestra today. A mysterious new fellow, Bass Guy (BG), and a certain string strumming blonde were all smiles and googley eyes. I kept smiling to myself- it was practically more than I could bear to watch, the way BG looked at her so lovingly. And they never knew that I had a sneakster eye on their whole affair. We shall see how this romance pans out...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should be studying for my massive midterm. Too bad I have to go listen to the president of the school blabber about nothing for an hour...I wonder if he'll notice me making flashcards? This time tomorrow, my test will be doney done doneeeeeee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. I realize that I am saying some things on the internet that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, but only a select few are privy to my thoughts, all but one of whom are far removed from the premises.&lt;br /&gt;P.P.S. If anyone can tell me how to make my blog unugly, I would greatly appreciate it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-7085761879268105852?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/7085761879268105852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=7085761879268105852' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7085761879268105852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/7085761879268105852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-have-unleashed-monster-onto.html' title=''/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-179360291381425526.post-6805021197792743749</id><published>2007-10-29T07:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T08:14:07.585-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you go to SU when...</title><content type='html'>...there are more Hispanic people, and certainly more white people, in ASIA club than Asian people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also...when people tell you that they heard via Tri Delts that you are dating someone and then proceed to tell you that if you keep your business personal, people will consider you shady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Welcome to Mouthwestern.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night at about 12:30, my lovely roommate decided it was the time to bring up how she thought I should maybe move out next semester. Now before this sounds too bad, she means it for my sake, not because we don't get along, because we do. But our sleeping hours and lifestyles in general are completely opposite, and I've gotten very little sleep with the amount of noise that continues until 3:00 or 4:00 every morning. She said she feels bad that I should have to sleep on someone's futon the night before my conference meet so that I would get sleep, and that I have to go in the hall on a nightly basis to (futilely) ask them to be quiet. The RAs don't particularly seem to be doing anything about it either. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story goes that a girl down the hall, whom we'll call Laverne, just for kicks, came to my roommate, (alias Marge), complaining that she and her roommate, Delilah, are not at all vibing in their schedules, or personalities for that matter. Laverne and Delilah don't really even talk to each other...Laverne is a wee bit on the (euphemism alert) serious side and prefers Gray's Anatomy to homework by far, while Delilah is an intentional social outcast English major. Delilah and I get along fine, though at times I find her to be a bit much. However, I, like her, do prefer Mr. Darcy to McDreamy. She also does happen to own a bicycle, which is more than I can say for anyone else on my floor. She's not even there half the time, especially now that she has a new boyfriend, who I believe is named Cake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I like my room! It's bigger and arranged just how I like it. I have my bed situated in a perfect little cave and just got all of my posters up. I don't think there's anywhere to put my bike in Laverne and Delilah's room (though there isn't really in here, as I crash into it 3544 times a day). Their bathroom situation is better, though...there's doors instead of curtains and a shower with a head that doesn't fall down and soak the floor. But...the room is right by the entrance to the hallway and the building! How is that going to be any better than the middle of the hallway where I am now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recap: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pros: &lt;br /&gt;1. Potentially, possibly, maybe quieter&lt;br /&gt;2. Roommate who sleeps normal person hours&lt;br /&gt;3. Roommate who is usually with boyfriend named Cake&lt;br /&gt;4. Bathroom with door&lt;br /&gt;5. Roommate has doormat with gnome on it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cons:&lt;br /&gt;1. Potentially not quieter&lt;br /&gt;2. Have to move stuff&lt;br /&gt;3. Smaller room with inferior furniture arrangement options (+ my bike may have no home!)&lt;br /&gt;4. Awkward roommate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Help?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/179360291381425526-6805021197792743749?l=ursulasbrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6805021197792743749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=179360291381425526&amp;postID=6805021197792743749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6805021197792743749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/179360291381425526/posts/default/6805021197792743749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ursulasbrain.blogspot.com/2007/10/you-know-you-go-to-su-when.html' title='You know you go to SU when...'/><author><name>Ursula</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12319781537304780964</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
