I'm all out of love

I'm not quite sure why, but I've had Air Supply tunes running through my head all day which means that I'm either (a) a gay ice dancer; or (b) exhausted to the point of delusion.

This little three-day work week has turned out to be quite the roller coaster. What kind of admissions director decides to take two days of vacation the week before four groups start? (A stupid one.) Does she not own a calendar? (Yes, she does. But she also owns a BlackBerry AND a brand-new MacBook Pro that will go through airport security and make her oh-so-accessible on vacation.)

I've discovered that the bad thing about three-day weeks is that you don't have a mere 24 hours worth of work. You still have 40 hours worth of work or more, you just have to cram it in the three days you're technically "working." And even then some of it spills over into your vacation time.

Yesterday my alarm sounded at 5:15 so that I could pack and put on a suit and meet my boss by 7 a.m. to drive to Harrison where I made small talk with strangers. I then drove through McDonalds for a regular cheeseburger with no pickles on my way to the office to frantically work on some files and freak out everyone in my general vicinity before driving to Fort Smith for the evening. Today I awoke at 5 a.m. to attempt creative writing, left the hotel at 7:15 a.m. for a downtown breakfast (more small talk with strangers), had a meeting, drove back to the office, pushed some more files around, ate Doritos and a 3 Muskateers for lunch at my desk, sped to campus for an admissions meeting, frantically searched for a network connection in a random office before I was kicked out at 6 p.m. while working on a "thing for the President if you have time," then finally finished and submitted my writing project that had to be done today at 8:22 p.m. I'm exhausted and still need to unpack and repack.

Lest you feel too sorry for me, I do feel the need to point out that in the past 24 hours I've eaten one of the best steaks of my life with Larry and Ashley, hung out with the very precious twins E and P Diddy, languished in a 30-minute whirlpool bath in a hotel room, talked to my awesome brother on the phone, and opened an unexpected check from my mortgage company. Tomorrow I have to stop by campus for a bit, then it's a day of massages and hair appointments (while my housekeeper cleans), driving to Tulsa, and boarding a jet plane bound for DFW. Can't wait to hang out with Lonnie and Jen this weekend. Woo-hoo! Just hope I can fit in sushi and Pappadeaux.

There is that pesky little conference call on Friday morning, but them's the breaks.

Oh, and in the words of Kat Ellis in "The Wedding Date" (seen 32 times per week on TBS) about Air Supply, "Everyone knows their greatest hits, but some of their ballads are surprisingly poignant."

Testing 1, 2, 3

I have a couple of recurring college-related dreams. In one, I oversleep and miss a final exam during my senior year and am unable to graduate. In the other, I sit down to take an exam and realize that the entire test is written in some foreign language and I can't understand a word of it.

Today I took such a test.

My plan was to sleep in a bit so that I'd be nice and rested for my marathon exam. The reality was that I stayed awake last night worrying about it and woke up again before 6 a.m. to fret some more. So I decided to take matters into my own hands and, since the disc with the practice exams that I got in the mail yesterday only works on a PC (there were three computers in my house, none of them a pc), I ventured to the office before daylight to commandeer a non-Mac.

After my first of three trips to Starbucks today, I came back to the house to find that the battery in the newly acquired computer was dead, and the powercord was nowhere in the bag. Bummer. So I opened up my study guide and feverishly tried to cram two months' of studying into two hours. My stress escalates.

I leave my house in plenty of time for Starbucks run #2 and to make sure I can find the testing center. I arrive 30 minutes early with ID in hand and sign in, where they make me lock up my very expensive Coach purse in a locker and show me to a computer.

After breezing through the extremely detailed instructions (i.e., how to use a mouse and how to scroll), I begin the exam. First question was an essay, which I write with relative ease. Second question, a persuasive paragraph of which I'm supposed to critique the effectiveness of the argument. Piece o' cake.

Then I move on to math and verbal. Uh oh.

In taking the practice tests, I felt confident in about 70 to 80 percent of the questions. When I took the ACT in high school, I could narrow down even the most difficult of questions to two answers. Today I guessed on at least 80 percent of the math questions.

An example: If x<0 and y>0, and s=t, what is the value of x/s? I've literally lost the will to live.... I guess B.

Next question is a paragraph that's about 14 sentences long and there's a diagram of four triangles with values and I'm supposed to compare the surface area to the circumference of the circle in the left quadrant. I realize that I could figure it out in about 20 minutes, but I only have 24 minutes left to answer 20 questions. I guess B.

The GRE exam is designed in such a way that the questions get more difficult if you answer the question correctly and less difficult if you answer the question incorrectly. That's how they determine your score. And halfway through the quantitative portion I'm questioning how I passed fifth grade math, my head is throbbing, and I'm guessing B over and over. And the questions aren't getting any easier, so I suppose I'm either guessing really well or my ability to reason has been compromised by my Starbucks high and the glare of the computer screen. I'm humming the theme song to "I Dream of Jeannie" for some reason.

After that torture is finally over and I stumble my way through the verbal portion of the exam by guessing on 40 percent of the questions, I reach the end. The computer asks me if I want my test scored. See, you can cancel at that point and no one will ever know how you did, including you. But I figure, hey... what the heck. I spent the 140 bucks and took a vacation day to learn just how stupid I am, so let's see the score.

I wait for the message, "You are too stupid to function." But surprisingly enough, I did okay. I won't be getting any scholarship offers from Harvard or anything, but I scored higher than the minimum at most graduate schools. So I guess everyone else is stupid, too.

Game over, we have a winner.

And on a much lighter note, after a celebratory Starbucks run, I stopped by my pal Brent's for his surprise 40th birthday party. Here we are. Between the two of us, we've lost 130 pounds. That's a whole person. Or two people in Hollywood.