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.
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.
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