Fat Freddy's Drop are the shiznit.

Its a miracle. I understand something to do with statistics. After studying it for the better part of four and a half hours, I think I may well understand the true nature of the correlation coefficient. It may well have something to do with my secret weapon.
A group of four from my research design class have got together to geek out, primarily because I said that I was going to find this all very difficult (damn those quantitative methods in the social sciences!) and was keen to buddy up, study wise, with some like minded people. The problem is though, I think the other three know way more about this shit than me. They are happily talking about linear regression, while I'm searching the vaults of my brain to remember the difference between variance and standard deviation. You will be pleased to know that I've figured that one out, but not much else. I'm not very clever. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to get into this university at all.
So we've got a study meeting tomorrow at 9am, by which time I hope to be able to understand multiple regression analysis. The way I'm going it may take all night, but now I'm all determined.
Once I've done that, and wowed my classmates with my amazing understanding of everything statistical, I'm off to pop my state fair cherry. It may suck completely, but I'll give it a bash. Apparently there will be a musician there who wrote "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" (which rings a tiny wee bell) and will be playing his fiddle. I feel a hoedown coming on!! And of course tomorrow is Labour day, which the Americans call "Labor" day (a throwback to the Great Vowel Shortage of '58), so every bloody knob in the state will be there.
In other news, my bed is pissing me off.
Yesterday in my hungover state I was able to ascertain that it was in fact Saturday, which means clean-sheet day (best day of the week), and being the perfect little housewife that I am, I flipped my mattress over, which is a thing you're supposed to do now and then. Ever since though, the bloody thing has been squeaking like a mofo. I've been sitting on it all day studying and when I make the slightest movement it yells at me like I ran over its pet kitten. Stupid bed. In my vast knowledge of all things structurally engineeringy I tried jumping on it, thinking that may fix the problem, but alas, it just yelled some more.
Shit.