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School started this week, much to my surprise.
I'd been under the assumption that all of my classes were starting next week, but realized on Monday, two hours before I was due for my English Composition II class, that I was wrong. This caused a flurry of activity involving me driving home, getting my old books, driving to the campus bookstore, selling the old books, getting all the new ones, having my disbursement card rejected, having to jog halfway across campus to the financial office (gothapotamus, indeed), jog back, round up my books again, then get to my class on the other side of campus. The majority of this flurry happened in just under less than half an hour, mind you. I was peeved.
My English Comp professor seems fairly decent, and she is as different from last season's professor than night is from day. Hardcore, yo. No late papers. No getting up and leaving class for no reason. Raise your hand to speak. Only perfect (and interesting) papers get an A. While it's a wee bit intimidating, I'm more than happy with it all. I like hardcore professors; it makes me work harder. The semester will be full of stuff. Two out of class essays, two in class essays, a semester-long research paper (we have to pick from a list of 66 different crimes/trials, sadly the West Memphis Three is not on there), and various other bits and bobs.
Last night, I had my other in-person class: Death and Dying (or, as I've been calling it: my D&D class, heh heh). Which was interesting and also appears to be gearing up to be an intensive semester. Tons of work to be done. I'm also not the only funeral student in the class, but after five minutes of speaking with the girl during our break, I've decided I don't much care for her. She seems too Lookitme! Lookitme! for my tastes. It got to be a bit annoying. Maybe I'm just being bitchy and There can be only one!, but I don't think so. She just rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it'll change.
She reminded me of one of those annoying Pagans who insists that their families have been practicing OMGTHEMAGICKS!!1! since the dawn of time, just absolutely full of shit to the brim.
She also tried telling me that I don't need 60 college credits to get into the funeral program at Mercer, but I am 99.9% certain that she is WRONG. 60 credits to enter the program, meaning two years of college. She also started yammering about how she's doing her associate's and her bachelor's degrees atDrexel Rutger's, Camden County? I couldn't figure out what the hell she was talking about.
Today's been fairly quiet, other than me constantly humming the Katamari Damacy theme to myself and some anonymous tool acting like a cockgoblin in my last entry. Seriously, who does that? What kind of classless lowlife goes into an entry where someone is obviously distraught and starts spewing? *
Not only that, but can you be anymore unoriginal? "Ohmigod, you're FAT! hee hee!" No shit, jerkoff! Was that nugget of enlightenment supposed to actually surprise me? While the idea of a "gothopotomus" is actually kind of endearing (hippos are cute, goth hippos would be even cuter), the level of thought that went into crafting such an insult is just subpar and very fifth grade. Get a little more fucking creative next time, eh?
Being called that doesn't bother me. It just makes me angry that someone would do such a thing in an entry where I was obviously very upset about the death of someone very close to me. And it boggles my brain that anyone could be so...crass.
No matter, I've other things to worry about. Like how much I don't feel like driving to my father's house tonight after work to fill out paperwork for him (he's having problems with his back and right arm and can't rightly hold a pen to write). I always love seeing my dad, but I just don't feel like making the drive tonight. However, I have to. I've rescheduled with him all week and it's got to be done. I also need to stop at the smoke shop and pick up some more tobacco to make cigarettes **, as I'm completely ass out. But, I don't think that's going to happen. That shop is in a completely different direction from my father's and again, don't feel like making the drive. Not both drives, at any rate. I'll just stop and pick up a pack of cigarettes for the night, then go to the tobacco shop tomorrow. hoom. I'll just head to my father's, get the paperwork done, then go home and start rolling things up into a giant ball.
* I have a good idea of who it was. IP address tracking is a wonderful thing.
** I've started making my own cigarettes. Not only is this cheaper than buying them premade, but I also get to swan about with a fancy silver cigarette case. And keep a wooden casket full of cigarettes on my coffee table. I am such a tool. hee.
I'd been under the assumption that all of my classes were starting next week, but realized on Monday, two hours before I was due for my English Composition II class, that I was wrong. This caused a flurry of activity involving me driving home, getting my old books, driving to the campus bookstore, selling the old books, getting all the new ones, having my disbursement card rejected, having to jog halfway across campus to the financial office (gothapotamus, indeed), jog back, round up my books again, then get to my class on the other side of campus. The majority of this flurry happened in just under less than half an hour, mind you. I was peeved.
My English Comp professor seems fairly decent, and she is as different from last season's professor than night is from day. Hardcore, yo. No late papers. No getting up and leaving class for no reason. Raise your hand to speak. Only perfect (and interesting) papers get an A. While it's a wee bit intimidating, I'm more than happy with it all. I like hardcore professors; it makes me work harder. The semester will be full of stuff. Two out of class essays, two in class essays, a semester-long research paper (we have to pick from a list of 66 different crimes/trials, sadly the West Memphis Three is not on there), and various other bits and bobs.
Last night, I had my other in-person class: Death and Dying (or, as I've been calling it: my D&D class, heh heh). Which was interesting and also appears to be gearing up to be an intensive semester. Tons of work to be done. I'm also not the only funeral student in the class, but after five minutes of speaking with the girl during our break, I've decided I don't much care for her. She seems too Lookitme! Lookitme! for my tastes. It got to be a bit annoying. Maybe I'm just being bitchy and There can be only one!, but I don't think so. She just rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it'll change.
She reminded me of one of those annoying Pagans who insists that their families have been practicing OMGTHEMAGICKS!!1! since the dawn of time, just absolutely full of shit to the brim.
She also tried telling me that I don't need 60 college credits to get into the funeral program at Mercer, but I am 99.9% certain that she is WRONG. 60 credits to enter the program, meaning two years of college. She also started yammering about how she's doing her associate's and her bachelor's degrees at
Today's been fairly quiet, other than me constantly humming the Katamari Damacy theme to myself and some anonymous tool acting like a cockgoblin in my last entry. Seriously, who does that? What kind of classless lowlife goes into an entry where someone is obviously distraught and starts spewing? *
Not only that, but can you be anymore unoriginal? "Ohmigod, you're FAT! hee hee!" No shit, jerkoff! Was that nugget of enlightenment supposed to actually surprise me? While the idea of a "gothopotomus" is actually kind of endearing (hippos are cute, goth hippos would be even cuter), the level of thought that went into crafting such an insult is just subpar and very fifth grade. Get a little more fucking creative next time, eh?
Being called that doesn't bother me. It just makes me angry that someone would do such a thing in an entry where I was obviously very upset about the death of someone very close to me. And it boggles my brain that anyone could be so...crass.
No matter, I've other things to worry about. Like how much I don't feel like driving to my father's house tonight after work to fill out paperwork for him (he's having problems with his back and right arm and can't rightly hold a pen to write). I always love seeing my dad, but I just don't feel like making the drive tonight. However, I have to. I've rescheduled with him all week and it's got to be done. I also need to stop at the smoke shop and pick up some more tobacco to make cigarettes **, as I'm completely ass out. But, I don't think that's going to happen. That shop is in a completely different direction from my father's and again, don't feel like making the drive. Not both drives, at any rate. I'll just stop and pick up a pack of cigarettes for the night, then go to the tobacco shop tomorrow. hoom. I'll just head to my father's, get the paperwork done, then go home and start rolling things up into a giant ball.
* I have a good idea of who it was. IP address tracking is a wonderful thing.
** I've started making my own cigarettes. Not only is this cheaper than buying them premade, but I also get to swan about with a fancy silver cigarette case. And keep a wooden casket full of cigarettes on my coffee table. I am such a tool. hee.
