>Man, those ads used to be fun to mock, but I'm becoming that distressed woman in the commercial begging her bubble bath to magically transport her to a more relaxing plateau of existence. Except that I don't like bubble baths because, as my mom told me when I was a kid, they can "dry out your vagina,*" and I have enough problems already without a crusty, cracked cooter. Plus, my bathtub is pretty dirty and the amount of time I'd need to invest in giving it a full scrub down so I can sit in it and dry out my snatch is not worth it. Just thinking about cleaning the bathtub sort of stresses me out.

This week's been sort of full, what with the last minute temp job, the "phone screening" for another job (which went well; my interview with the hiring committee is on Tuesday), the running around trying to get my transcript in before the deadline** at an MFA program to which I applied, and general spazzing out about why the admissions office refused to process the transcript. This morning, I agreed to scope out an apartment that Brother-in-Law and his wife are thinking about buying before I go to work. Next week, I'm teaching a class and still need to finish the materials, have a breast MRI, and have two job interviews. It's funny, but the interviews are the least of my concerns. I guess normal people deal with this kind of activity all the time.

On another topic, I have a nice post over at BlogHer ranting about Caitlin Flanagan's latest crazy, hypocritical, and attention seeking solution to a modern issue. (To prevent girls from ruining their lives by becoming pregnant as teens, we should revert to Victorian era "protections." Right. Can someone protect me from Flanagan?)

*I believe she read this somewhere.
**Although I had transcripts sent back in October.

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