Saturday Night’s Alright for…… Administrative Planning Project Planning!

Haha, I rock with that title right there.

I’m updating sooner than usual to give my working friends (Jay and Sara–hmm, both work in Maryland, meaning my biggest fan base consists of working IC ’03 grads in Maryland) something to start off their work week with on Tuesday. I’ll be starting my new job officially on Tuesday, so I’ll be joining your working people ranks.

So while I was doing my administrative planning project planning (which just means I’m now being graded on the manic planning I do for everything–like, honestly, I was doing these project definitions and work breakdown structures back when I was 10 and attempting to start my own reading club. I’m not lying. Next time I’m home I’m going to go look for that stuff–over the course of my childhood I planned out the makings of about five clubs for me and my friends, complete with t-shirts, hats, badges and elaborate membership structure. I was obsessive-compulsive with the administrative planning as a child, and I’m only now realizing this. Is this why I didn’t have many friends?) I had to look up statistics on various schools in the Rochester MPA (Metropolitan Planning Area, a term I had a 20 minute discussion with Jen about this morning really randomly). And I give you this fun news: in the area of attendance rate, School of the Arts (my alma mater) has every Greece high school beat. Haha! Hahahahahahahaha! Haha! And Wheatland-Chili, Churchville-Chili, East Rochester and Rush-Henrietta. HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! And every other city school, but does that need to be said? Plus, at 94.2%, SOTA is smack in the median of every other school (it looks like the average is 94.9%) Excuse me while I laugh. We rock. Comparably in most categories of statistical analysis, SOTA is on par with most suburban districts (except for West Irondequoit, Webster, Brighton and Pittsford, the big 4 schools that beat everyone at everything). So try telling me I got an inferior education in the Rochester City School District. The statistical analysis proves otherwise.

This class is fun, can’t you tell? I like grad school.

-On another educational note, I think I’ve figured out where BU produces the money for my scholarship: the parking fees they charge on Red Sox game nights. My last two admin planning classes have coincided with Red Sox games, and while walking from Kenmore station to class, I noticed that every parking lot on that side of campus has been converted for that night to Red Sox game parking run by Boston University Parking Services. At $25 a car, they are rolling in the dough. So thank you public-transportation-avoiding Red Sox fans for allowing me to go to grad school in this fine sports-loving town. (I could use some more living money though–I want to stop just eating whatever’s on sale at the grocery store–so if you wouldn’t mind forking over a few more dollars…)

-Another sign that I’m beginning to acclimate to Boston: I have now established a dependency on a Dunkin Donuts product. My willpower has diminished when it comes to the Vanilla Chai. This is not good. I told myself that while I’ve always liked them, I can’t let myself to give into this habit in the probable case I do move back to Western New York next year.

-In case I didn’t accost you asking you the laundromat prices in your area of the country on Friday night and tell you the following story, I had my first Boston laundromat experience on Friday afternoon. It’s ridiculously expensive. Someone buy me a wash board and Mom, send up my drying rack. But besides that, I shrunk socks. Now, mind you, I’ve been doing my own laundry for quite a while now. And with the exception of a pair of jeans and a sweater, I’ve done quite well for myself in the past few years on the shrinking front. But no, I shrunk three pairs of socks. They now resemble baby socks. I took a picture as evidence, and when I develop this roll of film, I’ll try to find some way to post it so you can all revel in this randomness.

This is further evidence that I need a film crew following me, creating a reality show about klutzy happy-go-lucky Katherine attempting to live in a big city. Especially after I expressed excitement to my apartment-mates earlier that I went into a Macy’s on Friday for only the second time in my life and that I saw J.Lo jeans. I mean, it’s Macy’s!!! And J.Lo jeans!!! We don’t have such things in Western New York. And this whole crossing the street even if the light says “Don’t Walk” because the cars are way off in the distance–woah. This is all new territory for me. I must look like a deer in the headlights at some instances, like when the subway randomly shuts off at Copley or realizing that everyone here is a Red Sox fan (I keep seeing people in Red Sox gear and saying to myself, “Wow, there’s another one here! I wonder if everyone else make fun of them too…oh wait. I’m not in New York State anymore.”) Yeah. If you’re a reality show producer, I would really jump on this while I’m still painfully naive. I could give those rich girls a run for their money. Well, not the real Rich Girls from MTV–they’ll always rock in my book. But like Paris Hilton and Jessica Simpson. This is funnier than that, and I’m a poor grad student, so I’m more likeable. But then again, I’m not a blond bombshell, so I might lose the target demographic of men ages 10-18, 19-24, 25-30, 30-40, 40-50, 50-60…

-And on that living note, I made a really good meal tonight. (Yes, I know, you all can’t believe I didn’t start the place on fire.) I felt downright Rachael Ray-ish (besides the fact that my father and brother are convinced that I am her.) So, without further adu (Freddie?), I present you with my first real self-created recipe:

I Can’t Eat Pizza Every Night, So I Just Made it into Pasta

Bow-tie Pasta (I think ziti would work too)

Canned stewed tomatoes with basil, chopped, along with the juice (you need the juice to create the sausiness of the sauce, so pour it in along with the tomatoes)

Fresh Spinach, chopped into bite sized pieces

Mushrooms (I used canned stems and pieces, but next time I’ll use fresh)

Fat-Free Ricotta Cheese (my secret ingredient in everything I make)

Optional: Fancy Olives (like from the olive bar in Wegmans, or, if you are like me and Wegmans deprived, try the hoity-toitiest supermarket you can find), chopped. I didn’t use them tonight, but I should of.

Make the pasta. While you’re cooking the pasta (I would recommend after you put the pasta in the water), heat all the other ingredients in a frying pan and cook it together, making sure to keep stirring it so it doesn’t burn. Once it starts bubbling, turn down the heat, wait a minute, and then turn off the burner. Once the pasta is done and drained, throw it in the pan with the sauce, mix it all together, heat it up for like five seconds if need be, and serve.

My parents would be so proud. I took a picture of it to show them as proof that I’m not going hungry.

-If you haven’t heard of Gavin DeGraw, I urge you to. His CD is pretty cheap right now because he’s slowly getting big, so get it before it’s $15. Listen to the song “Crush.” That is the story of my life right there, just reverse the sexes. It’s about having a crush on someone, and then trying to tell them and totally messing up or totally getting rebuffed. And, here’s the kicker–it uses sports analogies to tell the story!!! “When my pass came in, you dropped the ball/It didn’t change the way I feel.” Haha! I love it. (Not that that’s happened lately–I’ve learned not to ask guys out anymore. But I used to. Actually, on the romantic front right now, I’m without any prospects, seeing that I just moved here and the only guy I really have a crush on right now doesn’t live here. But that’s okay. Just give me time.)

-Guess what? The team with the second hottest hockey player ever–the Calgary Flames–won again! Where’s my puck-shaped candles? Come on, guys, prove me right. Just let me see another game–I’ve missed the past two.

So I was thinking the other day, I should have a Hot Athlete Hall of Fame. To be under consideration, I have to have thought you’re hot for at least 2 years. And, of course, you have to be a professional athlete. So the next time I’m bored on the subway and have nothing to think about, I will consider this and devote an entry to the founding class of the Katherine A. Hasenauer Hot Athlete Hall of Fame (the Kah-Hahof?).

Hmm, actually, maybe I’ll just go to bed and let the deliberations for the Kah-Hahof take me to sleep.

Yeah, I like that idea.

(I need a life.)