So the other night I was watching What Not To Wear until 2:00 in the morning. I watched the opening sequence over and over, glassy-eyed and bored. The next day, the not-so-subliminal messages of the show started to sink in. [must-be-feminine-must-be-feminine-must-be-feminine]. No, not that one. I, stuckupgirl, have only 8 more weeks to legally wear a miniskirt according Stacy and Clinton. Though by some measures I perhaps am already too late. What does "no miniskirts after 35" mean? M. thinks it means you can still wear them while 35. I jest, of course. This show is all about teaching women patriarchal norms about their bodies and how to be properly feminine (wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable by not being able to identify the oppressed sex class). But yet sometimes it's hard to look away.
On another note, I have about 6 weeks to finish a complete draft of the diss. This means finishing the results chapters, writing the discussion, and beefing up the literature review. In the meantime I have to write 30 pages of an article for publication for the professor I work for (said professor, by the way, is not nearly as impressed with me as I think he should be, which is annoying). But friends and family are buying plane tickets to come see me graduate in December, so I guess I better pull something out of my you-know-what so as not to disappoint them.
Oh and I have insomnia too. Lovely.
P.S. Dad turns 73 today.
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