Our First Time Together *blush*
Well, I'd like to do a "strictly ballroom" knee slide across this page to start with, but unfortunately I'm trapped like rat in a ballroom in Van Nuys listening to advice for massage schools. I'm ballsing out an 8 hour day for 6 ceus(continuing education credits) the 11am-12pm class was about state licensing for massage therapists. That's it, from 8:30am-4pm that is the only part of this day having to do with me. I'm just sitting here waiting for the day to end. They can't say shit thought, cause I was here the whooooooooole time, front bloody row.
The sad thing is I've followed the whole thing. I can shop online, do homework, email friends, and still ask questions here in real-time. That's how bored I am. I used to do shameful amounts of shopping in World Lit. class at Chapman, and I made an A+. I also used to attend class absolutely shnockered on Reisling and rage at my journalism teacher. The journalism students I hung out with used to emerge from our investigative journalism class pissed at the world. Our teacher had an amazing ability to say the worst thing at the worst time. She was overworked, underpaid, and a little too pissy about it to be endearing in any way. Her only student pets were professional ass kissers who switched to advertising as soon as possible, souless little snowbunnies who were destined to be trophy wives. The rest of us were a bunch of disgruntled barrel scrapers who wrote hard news and worshipped John Stewart for actually finding a way to communicate real news to the public at large. We would leave class, and stalked like a herd of wet cats to Papa Hassan's, the Lebanese restaurant next to the college. They were great. The waiters would see us coming. They'd uncork 2 bottles of reisling, and set the table with salad and lentil soup on the way for however many of us sat on the patio. They loved us. We were friendly, and tipped well. I don't know how many times I ran to World Lit from PH's, sat down, and realized I was three bloody sheets to the wind. Soooooo, embarassing to be in your 30s and realize you are toasted by 3 in the afternoon. I'd excuse myself and go sit in a stall in the women's restroom for a few minutes until the spins stopped. Did I mention I made an A in this class? Crazy, right? I swear to goddess, nobody did their damn homework. We did, drunk as skunks and we're the only ones who weren't staring at the professor like lost labradors. The discussions were priceless.
For all you potential college students out there here is a life tip: in lit class everything ever written pertains to death, the passage of time, or the author's genitals. There you go. Every lit theory paper summed up in 3 subjects. If it pokes up (tower, missile, tree) it's a dick, if it's a hole or looks like one (a pool of water, a canyon, a mirror, etc.) it's a pussy. I should teach, huh?
I graduated cum laude. I have no idea how, but unchecked vitriol must be pretty impressive.
The sad thing is I've followed the whole thing. I can shop online, do homework, email friends, and still ask questions here in real-time. That's how bored I am. I used to do shameful amounts of shopping in World Lit. class at Chapman, and I made an A+. I also used to attend class absolutely shnockered on Reisling and rage at my journalism teacher. The journalism students I hung out with used to emerge from our investigative journalism class pissed at the world. Our teacher had an amazing ability to say the worst thing at the worst time. She was overworked, underpaid, and a little too pissy about it to be endearing in any way. Her only student pets were professional ass kissers who switched to advertising as soon as possible, souless little snowbunnies who were destined to be trophy wives. The rest of us were a bunch of disgruntled barrel scrapers who wrote hard news and worshipped John Stewart for actually finding a way to communicate real news to the public at large. We would leave class, and stalked like a herd of wet cats to Papa Hassan's, the Lebanese restaurant next to the college. They were great. The waiters would see us coming. They'd uncork 2 bottles of reisling, and set the table with salad and lentil soup on the way for however many of us sat on the patio. They loved us. We were friendly, and tipped well. I don't know how many times I ran to World Lit from PH's, sat down, and realized I was three bloody sheets to the wind. Soooooo, embarassing to be in your 30s and realize you are toasted by 3 in the afternoon. I'd excuse myself and go sit in a stall in the women's restroom for a few minutes until the spins stopped. Did I mention I made an A in this class? Crazy, right? I swear to goddess, nobody did their damn homework. We did, drunk as skunks and we're the only ones who weren't staring at the professor like lost labradors. The discussions were priceless.
For all you potential college students out there here is a life tip: in lit class everything ever written pertains to death, the passage of time, or the author's genitals. There you go. Every lit theory paper summed up in 3 subjects. If it pokes up (tower, missile, tree) it's a dick, if it's a hole or looks like one (a pool of water, a canyon, a mirror, etc.) it's a pussy. I should teach, huh?
I graduated cum laude. I have no idea how, but unchecked vitriol must be pretty impressive.
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