I graduated?

So... apparently I graduated in December and no one told me. I was under the impression I had to apply for graduation so the people in the office wouldn't have to do their jobs (which is usually the case) or it wouldn't go through in time or some nonsense like that. Considering I had to fight for TWO semesters to have my ballet class count as a PE class, I expect the worst when it comes to anything that might be bureaucratic.

I went to the main office today with two goals- be officially accepted into Phi Theta Kappa and apply for graduation with a paper that says I'm in the nerd club. For the record, I really don't care about being in phi theta kappa. I really really don't. The scholarships are cool and people who care about gpa and other nonsense will be impressed that I'm "super smart." In reality I started college with no life and am generally a good bullshitter, evidence to follow.

Why would I find the need to be accepted now? Because my dad already thinks I'm in. He'd be crushed if he found out I'm not a documented super nerd. In truth, I have been invited almost every semester, I just never paid. If this sounds like I'm bragging, I'm sorry. It isn't my intention. This is just to provide validity to this story.

See, what had happened was I snuck into the PTK commencement ceremony a while back. The computer the announcer people were using completely died and the pamphlets already had left several of the *actual* paying member's names off. The opportunity presented itself and I went for it. Someone said my name, I walked, I signed the book, and I am in photos. Originally, I went to support my friend who was there for the legitimate reason. She off-handedly commented how disorganized everything was and how someone could lie about being a part of it. She created a monster without realizing her mistake.

The next day I tried to pay and fix my lie, but the woman in charge told me there was no record of me paying (duh. I then lied about having issues with my bank and being willing to pay at that moment) and she basically told me the deadline was over and fuck off.

I dropped the issue and was content with only having my story and various evidence of my bullshit. I told mom (and my brothers, everyone thought this escapade was hilarious), but then she said dad can't find out or he'd be disheartened.

Today I paid and am officially in the nerd club. I talked to the graduation control woman and she said I already graduated. It took about five minutes to clear the confusion. The school just computes the classes you've finished in whatever degree you registered with and if you passed. I'm retaking my last class, but since I passed last semester the computer decided I was done.

The bummer of this situation is that because I hadn't paid last semester while I was still technically a student, I don't get the fancy PTK stamp on my diploma. The good thing is I can still wear all the decorate crap when I walk at the graduation ceremony... which they only have in May.

This kinda killed my thunder for graduating. There is no excitement. Granted, I hadn't expected an emotional outburst, but still... I don't have any discernible reaction. There should be something, but I don't know what. I know I don't have it though. I'm going to get my actual diploma in the mail, supposedly end of next month- like a late birthday present!

None of this will feel real until I actually do the whole "walk across the stage in a long, boring ceremony where everyone wants to go home." Even then...



[update: I just got my diploma in the mail today. The school timeline is far different than my own.]

Ferris Wheel Day

Commonly, today is Valentine's Day, V-day, Singles Awareness Day, Let's Get Fat Day, Let's have Crazy Sex Night, whatever. I feel somewhat obligated to voice my opinion on the matter.

I am not a romantic, so loving Valentine's Day isn't an option. I'm single, so I can't say I hate it (or that I don't even like it) because then it's an automatic assumption that I'm just bitter, perhaps even a bitch.

For the most part, I am indifferent. I have moments during the day where I either love or hate it, but neither feeling stays long enough to make a significant effect. The only times I've even been measurably happy is when a special outfit or fancy food is involved. Case in point- a super cute skirt one year in high school when everyone thought I was weird and no guy had the slightest interest in me. I looked very pretty the first year with my ex-boyfriend; the following year I made a kick-ass cheesecake for us. Last year one of my best friends took me on a picnic because we were both single and she decided she would be my valentine in a non-lesbian way.

Bad V-days are pretty generic, so none of those stories matter. They all just blend together. I've never been dumped on this day, so at least there's that.

The only clear-cut good thing about Valentine's day is my dad. He always- without fail- gets me one of those heart shaped boxes of chocolates and a cute card. Even terrible V-days have that one bright moment.

So this year, as with every year, I'm going to end up eating too many chocolates at once so I get a stomach ache and make some cavities. I suggest doing that.



Today is also Ferris Wheel Day. I prefer that.

Great Awesome Resume Time

So I've never had the balls to send off the kind of resume I have always wanted to write. This is pretty much what it would look like:

Lauren Wait-For-It [Last Name]

Objective
It should be obvious I want to be eye candy for your business. I mean, seriously, just look at me. I'd totally take me home.

Cool Shit I Can Do

• I have a mesmerizing smile. Reread that "eye candy" part.
• I can name all 50 states in under 30 seconds. Alphabetically. Suck it.
• I can bake like you wouldn't believe- bread from scratch. I made cinnamon buns that were so fucking awesome my brother thought they were store bought.
• Need someone to make ugly faces? Look no further. I made my nephew cry.
• I can be so awkward I scare annoying customers off. I will only use this skill for good though (you know, with great power comes great responsibility).
• I'm responsible.
• I know the difference between your and you're; their, there, and they're.
• I can cuss like a champ when I'm pissed off.
• I make awkward faces when I laugh that make other people laugh. My laugh is also very loud, which makes the workplace seem better than it really is. Or more uncomfortable. Whichever.

My Amazing Life Thus Far
Research Assistant

• assisted with research...
• looked up facts and important things. From books, not just google. BAM!
• entered that info in computers in between facebook and youtube

Secretary

• put papers in places
• had conversations with people on the phone AND in person
• sent non-death threat emails

Retail (no one cares what kind, it's all basically the same thing)

• sold stuff
• pretended I cared
• smiled and looked pretty

Still Not Convinced?

That's ridiculous. You already know I'm hands down the best- nay, the ONLY person for this job. Burn all the other resumes. They are not wanted. Ever. Tell those people they will never match my level of awesome and they should give up their hopes and dreams.

I'll be back tomorrow so you can hire me on the spot. Btw, I look great in red.

Clubbing Adventure

This is quite possibly the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me.

So, Marvin and Naomi took me out clubbing for my eighteenth birthday- my first ever clubbing experience. It was the usual scene- crammed with people, women dressed like skanks, men with too much cologne, a plethora of drunk people, etc...

We got on the dance floor and after a few minutes this guy came over and danced with me.  I think he showered in cologne; there's no other explanation as to why he would've thought it was a good idea to wear that much. He kept trying to get me to put my hands on the back of his neck so he could be even more uncomfortably close. I went with it just so I could control my personal bubble and make sure he wouldn't get all up on me. After a song or two, I couldn't decide if he was really sweaty or if he had too much hair gel.

A minute later I decided it couldn't be hair gel. It just was not possible. That left him being the sweatiest human being alive. It's at this point he tried talking to me. Notice I said talking, as in regular conversation level talking. You're lucky if you can have a shouting conversation in a club where the people involved don't have to repeat themselves several times and still only have a vague idea of what was said.

To make that worse, he is talking to me in spanish. I can pick out a few words on a good day... assuming I can hear it. I kept yelling NO HABLO ESPANOL. I wasn't even sure if I should say hablo or habla. That's how bad it was.

(whisper spanish)
NO HABLO ESPANOL
(more spanish)
NO HABLO ESPANOL
(spanish)
NO HABLO ESPANOL
(more stuff)

I gave up. I couldn't get over how incredibly sweaty he was. He was like a damn fountain.  I was getting more and more grossed out by him. I was about to wipe my hands on my pants when I glanced at them and realized they were far too dark for my pasty skin. I really looked down- My palms were covered in blood.

For serious. Blood. My hands (heel to fingertips) were covered in blood. I couldn't make that up if I tried. Blood all over my hands. I just stared for a very long few seconds unable to comprehend it. I looked at him, looked at my hands, looked at him, looked at my hands. I held my hands out to him, speechless, as if to say "WHAT. IN. THE. FUCKING. FUCK?!!!"

My friends looked over at that moment, just as confused as I was, if not more so. I don't even know if they saw the blood. They probably just thought that guy was a douche and I was telling him off. I stormed off to go wash my hands and filled them in on what happened. Then I saw that he had also gotten blood on my shirt... a lot of blood. All down my hip, in fact. They both kept asking if I was alright; I made sure I didn't have any cuts or anything. I have no idea where the blood came from, but the important thing was that it wasn't mine.

This was literally within the first fifteen minutes of being there. I opted not to leave, purely out of stubbornness that I wouldn't have this be my only clubbing experience- it would just be an unbelievably bizarre story. Okay, it was also about the $20 admission and I was strapped for cash... We just avoided that side of the club for the rest of the night. The plus side of the rest of the evening was Marvin taught me how to salsa.

So now, anytime I go out and have a miserable time, I always tell myself "At least no one bled on me."