I DID NOT GET MY GOODIES, DAMN IT.

So today I went to my college orientation (Illinois Institute of Art at Chicago). The only reason I was able to tolerate the old men making speeches on the merits of not skipping class was the thought of getting the absolute mother of all school supplies... a $420 kit from the school's art supply store. I've always loved getting new school supplies. They gave us a list... a half-page list in single-spaced 8-point font. That's how much stuff I'd be getting. All to hoard and write my name on everything in black sharpie and look at and snuggle up with at night. Life would be good.

BUT NOOOOOO. We can't get our stuff until we get our vouchers for the kit, and we can't get the vouchers until we get our student IDs, which we don't get until the week before classes start. As in, THE LAST WEEK OF SEPTEMBER. A MONTH FROM NOW. I'm squirming like an itchy bear cub over here. I want my goodie bag, damn it, and I want it now. Bitches, all of 'em.

At least I have most likely gotten out of Computer Literacy... actual proficiency test questions:

Which of the following is not an image file?
A) .jpg
B) .gif
C) .tiff
D) .exe

Approximately how many bytes are in 2 kilobytes?
A) 20
B) 200
C) 2,000
D) 2,000,000

What does ROM stand for?

And so on and so forth. I will fucking shoot myself if I do not test out of this class. I can't sit through this shit.

---------------------(rant divider indicating abrupt subject shift)---------------------

So Colin (my boyfriend- The Radome is his blog) informed me today that he's told his best friend about our love life (or rather, lack thereof) and now gets endless shit from said friend. For reasons still unknown to myself, I still have some serious hangup about going below the waist in a private setting. I had absolutely no compunctions giving Rimi quick handies on the bus home last year, and I can barely keep my hands off Colin's package when we're at Denny's, but as soon as we're alone it's like OH GOD KEEP THE PENIS AWAY FROM ME. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me but I'm SURE AS HELL not doing it on purpose or to be a prude or anything. I KNOW I'm not a prude... I probaby just still have leftover issues from Acid Steve (one of two Steves I've dated... they were both so alike that I differentiate them by their drugs of choice. I dated Heroin Steve sophomore year, and Acid Steve the summer after. Acid Steve and me did not end prettily and we'll leave it at that.). And I hate knowing that I am known as the girl who's still barely touched her boyfriend's dick after six goddamn months, as if I'm just doing it to piss him off. And now when I do go down on him it'll just feel like I'm validating our relationship, not expressing love or anything like that. Come to think of it actually, one of the main reasons why I've never gone down on him is because we've never made out anywhere but on the couch in his family room. If he'd clean his goddamn room so we could go up there and not have people coming home and walking in on us, shit would be different, let me tell you.

---------(edited at 11:57)---------

For a while I've considered 17 to be my "special" number.... it's always had a kind of nameless significance for me, I like the way it sounds, and on the 17ths of June, July, and August in the summer I was 17 I had dreams that told me I am on my 17th life. Now on to the point of this edit.

At Center Stage we listen to this radio show (Steve Dahl on 105.9 FM) that has a prize wheel- people call in and the first caller every hour (or whatever- I can't remember) gets to pick a number. They spin the wheel and they get a prize no matter what, but if it lands on their number they win a vacation to Mexico. The other day a guy picked 17. Guess what? He won.

Weird.

(Comic Book Guy voice) WORST WEEK EVER.

Sunday: Uneventful. The calm before the storm.

Monday: Overslept. Even though I wasn't late, my parents said that if my dad hadn't woken me up I would have been late and grounded me for the week. Because I MIGHT have been late, even though I wasn't.

Tuesday: Had the day off. Also uneventful.

Wednesday: General shitty day at work... I should have blogged this earlier; I can't remember anything that happened at work, but it definitely sucked. Busy as hell. And then I got home from work and my mom informed me that my dad has cancer.

Yes, I said fucking cancer.

Don't flood my haloscan account with sympathy notes; as things stand right now he's not going to die. The biggest threat is the loss of, ahem, manly functions (it's prostate cancer). Not that I'm downplaying that at all, but he's not on his deathbed. It's 100% curable and hasn't spread. The thing that sucks (besides the fact that he's going to have to go through radiation and have to use a catheter for three days through three weeks depending on the type of radiation therapy they use) is that Cedar Point most likely will not happen... I was looking forward to going there this year with Dad and Colin, and here's fucking cancer. God damn it.


Thursday: Today I had to be at work at 6:00 AM... I woke up at about 6:30. I got to work at 7ish and it was busy as hell. Evaldas had been running and presenting for both drive-thru and front counter. I felt like SHIT.

Friday: Worked at Center Stage with Erin who is uber-cool (she likes the same music I do- we listened to Skinny Puppy, Lost Highway soundtrack, Orgy, and Coal Chamber all day XD ), and Colin stopped by to visit on his break since we haven't been able to see each other all damn week. Lots of stuff to price and put away. It's getting dark as hell in the store with all the crap hanging from the ceiling blocking the lights.

Saturday (today): DEAR FUCKING GOD.

I got a new clock radio on Wednesday... today I was woken up by "All My Life" by Foo Fighters. I HATE THAT SONG SO FUCKING MUCH.

I worked at Center Stage 10-3 today with Jacleen from school (I got her the job there) and priced more stuff that we had no room for... we now have three boxes of plastic tommy guns in the back room, which is stuffed full as it is. A couple of suits came in and asked for FOUR HUNDRED PLASTIC HARD HATS. FOUR FUCKING HUNDRED. By THURSDAY. We had ONE in stock, and the plastic-pretend-hard-hat people are closed on weekends so we can't call them until Monday, and they (the suits) wanted something custom on the hats (I couldn't hear, I was putting Statue of Liberty hats up on the other side of the store) but couldn't exactly tell what they wanted. URRRGH.

I hustled out of there at 3 so I could get to work at McDonald's at 4... and then I found out that I had read the wrong person's schedule and wasn't supposed to be in until 5. Whoopee, a fucking THREE HOUR SHIFT.

So I get back at 5, and it is DEAD. No one there. I was about to ask to get off early when Evaldas put me in drive-thru to present. Then he took a break and all hell broke loose.

I swear, if this fucking dumbtard doesn't learn to schedule, I am going to get everyone who has had to wait ten fucking minutes for a CHEESEBURGER and whoop me some Lithuanian ass. He's been doing schedules for two months now and can't seem to figure out that we need more than one person on counter, one person taking DT orders, one person running AND presenting for DT, and two people in grill (putting burgers together and stuff) while he sits on his lily-white ass and munches his Select Strips. (Those are dry as fuck. Don't get them.) And wouldn't you guess that we had a SHIT TON of huge-ass orders today... orders like 5 Big Macs and 3 grilled-chicken sandwiches. There were two people putting sandwiches together and cooking the meat. There's supposed to be 10 or so. I about hit the God damn roof when Evaldas sent one of them off on break. I don't know what the blue hell is wrong with this guy, but he needs to realize that serving off an order before it's even been assembled does NOT make the process go faster even though the times look better on the computer. It makes it take LONGER because the drive-thru person (me) doesn't know what the polka-dotted fuck goes in each order and the grill people don't know we still need the food, so I have to yell back and tell them in my broken-ass Spanish that we still need the damn double cheeseburger even though Evaldas is un pinche we (I think that's how you spell that) and already served it off. I have never actually felt bad about going home before... I don't even want to think about how bad it is back there. Poor grill people.

Sorry about the lack of updates... (grovel grovel) I'M SORRYYYY!!111!!!11!eleventy!!111! I do better next time. And happy birfday to mah homie Cassie Spelbring in Belleville... happy 16th, beeyatch. X3 I lost your number so I'll send you a birthday email right now. T_T I sowwy.

(Edited at 9:20ish) I haven't been posting due to the fact that I am semi-grounded off the comp... I accidentally shut off the anti-virus when I was checking my email. Whoops.

Oh yeah... fucking Gaia... always fucked up.... Lanzer, fix your fucking crippled servers before you go add more shit. Christ on a cracker. This isn't difficult.