School and things

I officially have a week of grad school under my belt. Woohoo! Adjusting to the new program will still take some time, but being thrown into everything all at once has been good for me.

The truly exciting thing about being here is that instead of living in the microcosm that was music school at IU, campus here is small enough that I am forced to traverse it everyday. Differents are out in full force left and right, and I have never seen so many closeted men in rollerblades in my damn life. If this is some god forsaken hipster trend, I'd like to know right fucking now so I can put an end to it.

Also here to greet me on my first day was the taken middle-aged man standing on a ledge proclaiming that we're all sinners. I really wanted to ask him he had anymore shirts like the one he was wearing. "Accept Jesus or BURN." The font of "burn" was at least eight times larger that the rest and was in red. Loved it.

Aside from a lighter yet still intense class load, I'm looking forward to the conducting and playing I'll get to do. I've already gotten to work on so of Ravel's Ma Mere l'Oye with the orchestra here, as nervous as I was rehearsing with them. I am hugely privileged.

That and my teacher kicks ass. She's hugely intelligent and is the type of ridiculous I want be someday. For example, her ringtone is Rene Pape laughing. Brilliant. The studio was also invited to dinner with her and husband, Sam Adler, the other night. Winning.

As sarcastic as this post wasn't, I thought it was high time to inform y'all how things have been. For whoever the hell may be reading this... Whatever.

A tout a l'heure!

p.s. Bite me if my French is incorrect.

Little Blogstrette on the Prairie.

Today was a monumental day at the Bunny Ranch. Channeling her inner Betty Crocker, Liz ventured to make bread, because rations on the Oregon Trail seemed to be low...

Whatever.

The other high point of this day was seeking out the bunnies' special hay and food. If you thought only cats or small children were picky about their food, then you are terribly mistaken. The bunnies... *ohsweetjesus* the bunnies will only eat a specific type of hay *and* food. Oxbow Timothy hay and pellets to be precise.

...

THEY WILL SHIT ON ANYTHING ELSE YOU SET IN FRONT OF THEM. LITERALLY.

Naturally, to obtain their hugely necessary provisions,  a visit to the Petco twenty miles away from Bowling Green was made. Because *heavens* forbid they be forced to choke down anything else that is graciously provided for them. They hay was in stock, but...

no pellets.

...

shit.

As conniptions were had by all, Liz contacts the nearest salesperson to explain her first world problems regarding the bunnies. A minor setback, but they will carry said godforsaken pellets if we ask. Nicely.

To cap off the night, Gary and Liz made a fabulous curry with a slough of veggies obtained from a local farmer's market on the way back from Petco. For now the bunnies will have to survive with only hay and fresh greens...

I, however, am attempting to catch up on every episode of "The Office" while jamming over a thousand years of music history down my throat. Guido d'Arezzo can take his hand and shove it up his ass.

Yours fabulously,

Lady J.J.

Glassware and false eyelashes

Surrounded by a list of terms ranging from Musica enchiriadas to Bela Bartok, bunnies, and empty bottles of sangria, I begin an adventure of writing at it's most *eloquent* state. Soon enough I will begin school again pursuing a master's in conducting; something that will surely get me a job immediately after I graduate. For now, however, I get to explain my glorious life to you - my loyal, fabulous readers. In the first time in roughly ten years, I get to live with my sister and her partner Gary. Meow. What this fantastic journey may bring, I do not know. So far, it has brought much laughter and other sentimental crap that I need not mention.

Thus far at the bunny ranch, my life has consisted of organizing my crap, throwing out a bunch of it, and nearly calling Hoarders on this entire household. The tip of the iceberg was when I discovered a fake eyelash on a glass in a tub of glassware my sister had moved from her old place. Obviously this was the natural place to store something of most paramount importance. I discovered this among the seventeen blue tubs of crap that littered the music room.

...

"We'll only need to bring, like, one more car load of crap over."

Three trips later, Liz's old place is finally vacant, and after much organization (on her part), we have a home. Home crap home. The bunnies are acclimatizing (2 points for me) to the new place pretty well (as far as we can tell.) Their fortress is secure and their little diva asses are generally happy. A newly painted gold bookcase houses my scores and other bits of random music, graced by white orchids that I had been eyeing at the local Home Despot.

Needless to say, life is fabulous, ridiculous, and filled with beer runs to local stores fifteen minutes before closing time. I hope this small ray of sunshine and bitchery lights up your life.

From the bottom of my cold and jaded heart,

Mme. J.J.