Gallimaufry.

Gallimaufry….   isn’t that the BEST word? That’s because I have the BEST words. I sometimes even use them. (I bet Donald Trump doesn’t know this word. Hell, I had to Google it.)

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It’s finally happened — I’ve been insistently propositioned by a man young enough to be my son. I have started playing trivia at a dive* (not a sports bar, not a gastropub, but an honest-to-God dive) near my house on Mondays night. Playing by myself (get your mind out of the gutter) I’ve never finished lower than fourth (out of usually eight teams with multiple players). Once I finished third, winning a small pitcher of beer, which, since I have to drive myself home, I’m never going to use.

This past Monday, a boy (27, tops) from the perpetual second-place finishers walked over to my table in between rounds and said “you should join  our team,” as though he were doing me a great favor. I replied, smiling but quite firm, “No.” “Really, you would be a great addition to our team.” (Oh, I just bet.) Once again, I demurred. Finally he said, “Well, I’m sure next week, you’ll join our team.” (Not bloody likely.) The next round was going to start so he sat down, pointing to his eyes and then to me in the sign for “I’ve got my eyes on you.” He was cute — at least before he opened his mouth and proved himself an entitled, self-absorbed ass — but I am a lone cat who walks by her lone self.**

And this was all before I won the “Sex” round.†

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I have learned (re-learned, really) the hard way that being late to class can have consequences. The one day I ended up late to one of my classes, my classmates had convinced the professor to replace the midterm with a project. Damn. I can ace midterms (even in relatively difficult classes, let alone easy ones‡ like this) with minimal studying; projects take time and effort.

Stupid college students.

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I have a fifteen page paper I should be writing. It’s the annoying type of paper, based on a book with many separate parts, and we are required to write about each part. I can’t bullshit my way through this one.  I have ten days to do it, which might seem like a lot, but I have a lot of other work (school and otherwise) in the meantime. Not to mention spending hours obsessively reading Facebook.

On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t be doing that last one, and not just to so I can get my schoolwork done.

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And it’s not like I need Facebook for my political news anymore; I broke down and got a subscription to the Washington Post. That it was free to Amazon Prime members (for six months at least) might have had something to do with it. I’ll probably keep the subscription after the free period runs out. I enjoy being able to read pieces past the first week of  each month, which is how long it was taking me to exhaust my ten free articles.

I might have subscribed anyway, because Donald Trump hates them, and because I love their new motto, “Democracy dies in darkness.” Damn straight it does. Trump hates the “failed New York Times” even more, so I should get a subscription to that, too.

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I  wonder how many people who claim to be strict constructionists when it comes to the Second Amendment won’t be when it comes to the Emoluments clause, anymore than they are for the Fourth Amendment.

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I never thought I would feel nostalgic for Richard Nixon.

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The answer to “But Obama had the Russians to the White House dozens of times!” is “That’s because he was the effing President, that’s why. He was actually doing his job, and putting his professional responsibilities over personal feelings. Imagine that! He wasn’t putting himself in a position possibly to be blackmailed, or colluding to corrupt the American electoral process.”

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Two of the increasingly long list of  “things I need to write about”: the effect of the Trump Administration’s decisions on American tourism (it ain’t good), and an appreciation of the late Antonin Scalia. (No, really. For all the decisions I found absolutely appalling, there were others I treasured. Some of his Fourth Amendment opinions, and his dissent  (joined by Stevens!) in Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, for example.) But I haven’t any of them, yet. See: Facebook, above.

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Sometimes I think we have fallen so far down the rabbit hole that the Red Queen is just waiting to lay an axe to our necks.

At  least I am already mad. I just need to get a top hat (cost: ten shillings and a sixpence) and I will be all set.

*The Not-So-Little Drummer Boy loves this place because of its actual authenticity (as opposed to “authenticity”). It’s the sort of place where, although they have decent drinks, food is limited to chips and hot dogs and microwaved pizza. You get young tech guys in there and older men for whom the word “grizzled” was coined. It’s a great place. I know the bartender’s name (it’s Mikey), and he knows to make the one Dark and Stormy I drink really strong. I’ve watched two out of the past three Super Bowls there.

**I do worry about any women who have to deal with this jerk on a daily basis. I looked up “arrogant sexist bastard” in the encyclopedia, and there he was. (And hey, Rudyard Kipling shoutout!)

†This is “Trivia for Adults”: there is a “Sex” round, and everybody swears a lot. To quote the emcee after I won last week’s “Sex” round, “Buy her a drink, or five, and maybe you’ll learn something.” Not likely; I won the round by deductive reasoning and educated guesswork. On the other hand, I did have a different guy hit on me three weeks ago. (I think I had come in second in the “Sex” round that game.) He was quite a bit older than me, not as cute or well-spoken as the young idiot, but a lot sweeter. And humbler. And he took no for an answer.

‡Ah, you ask, if it’s so easy why are you bothering taking it? Because it is a mandatory pre/co-requisite to the difficult course which was the one I really wanted to take, and through which I am sweating bullets.

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