F is for...

Frank! Freud! Francis! François!

Ford!

Uh...

Filbert!

Frankenstein!

Okay, I was stretching it with those last two.

"Last two?" says my inner heckler.

My mind is clogged and can't think of any more boy names that start with the letter F.

Fred!

There, just thought of another. Bitch and ye shall receive.

During lunch I played the Twist-The-Stem-Off-The-Apple game - the game where each twist is a letter of the alphabet, and the letter you say when the stem snaps off represents the first letter of a boy's name who... um...

... is thinking of you?

... secretly has a crush on you?

... luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuves you?

I don't remember the exact level of affection the magical stem foretells, but the twisting game is still a habit I fall into now and again.

Sorry boys, but if your first name is near the end of the alphabet you are so screwed. Poor William. Poor Zachary. They only get to like/crush/luuuuuve the girls that have mutant apples for lunch, mutant apples with stems that have the fortitude of a bungee cord.

Nowadays I just twist and say the alphabet and then amuse myself with whatever letter I come up with. (Fabio!) When I was much younger, however, if there was a letter I wanted the apple stem to "magically" break off at, I'd have to be careful. If I wanted to get to a letter near the middle of the alphabet I had to employ the tiniest of quarter twists.

"Jayyyyyy..."

"Kayyyyyyy..."

"Ell-"

*snap*

"Poop!"

Yes, I'm sure I said poop back then because I was young and innocent and didn't know "Shit!" or even "Crap!" was so much more satisfying to say. Now, of course, I am old and corrupted and savor a good curse like a Pillsbury crescent roll fresh out of the oven

Today's apple was delicious, much like a Pillsbury crescent roll would be but I don't have any so why did I have to go thinking about yummy crescent flakiness because now I'm hungry again and I didn't bring another apple... crap!

So yes, the apple was delicious, if not fulfilling, but who is this F fella and does this crush of his involve buying me candyPillsbury crescent rolls and sending me notes during first period?

Stick a tenedor in me, I'm done!

Tenedor is the Spanish word for fork. Which I learned in Spanish... 002? So 2 quarters ago. Or is that 3 quarters ago now that SPN004 is actually over?

Anyway... the point is that I already forgot the word and had to look it up. Go Go Super Brain!

It doesn't matter though because I'll never use Spanish again! Well... not until the next time I visit with the HB's parents.

Ahem.

It doesn't matter though because I don't have to take Spanish 005! Yippee!

That's right. No more classes for me. I'm now a college graduate! After many years of college, and just as many non-years of college, (aka The I'll-Take-A-Break-For-Just-This-One-Quarter Syndrome) I'm finally done. Done done diggity done.

A quick timeline:

• I graduated high school/started college in '97
  
• moved at the end of the third school year in '00
  
• went to a new school that fall
  
• took the following winter quarter off
  
• aliens abducted me
  
• next thing I knew several years had passed
  
• screwed in the 'hey this would be a fun major' light bulb above my head in august of '05
  
• went to a jc that semester while I scrambled to enroll at the UC
  
• started classes there in the winter of '06
  
• took my last class in the summer of '09

Great googly moogly! It took me awhile, didn't it?

SPN004 was a summer school class, and since there was no way in hell I was waiting for the end of the upcoming fall quarter to spend 50+ bucks on a 50 cent grad gown (what a crock) I opted to attended the commencement ceremony at the end of the spring quarter, which happened to be last month.

I got my fake little paper diploma and gorgeous flowers from the HB and a special dinner treat from the parents and all the warm fuzzies that come with pretending you're now somehow more special than you were before you walked across the stage to shake some stranger's hand whom everyone kept referring to as the Chancellor.

Like I gave two hamster craps about that guy. He's just some random dude to me, and new to the job at that! I didn't have time to build up my admiration for him to the elusive Three Hamster Craps level. Let me shake hands with the lady who sold me the best egg sandwiches in the world from the little deli attached to the records office. Now there's a gal who improved my college experience. Seriously. Those egg sandwiches were magical. Magically delicious.

It was a nice enough ceremony even though the Special Guest Speakers thought we, the audience, wanted them to speak three times as long as we had the attention span for. I got a little giddy every time I thought, 'wow, I'm actually here, I'm actually graduating,' but it didn't feel real. It wouldn't until it was official, until I took that one last requirement during summer school.

The weekend after the grad ceremony I was up visiting my parents for a big family gathering. Everyone gave me verbal high fives with a few 'finally's thrown into the mix. Yes, yes, I finally graduated. Go me.

A couple conversations went as such:

"So you're finally done? Time to celebrate!"

"Uh, not really. I still have one more class to take."

"But that's just summer school. You're as good as done!"

"Ok. Sure. Woooo. Celebrate time."

But it was a half hearted woooo at best.

Sure, I celebrated. And sure, I was in happy happy joy joy mode. But I didn't feel done. It didn't feel real. (Does that even makes sense?) And then, last Friday, I took the final for SPN004. The last test I will ever take. Ever. Unless I go back for my masters. But that's another story all together.

This was, for all intents and purposes, the LAST TEST I WOULD EVER HAVE TO TAKE.

I sat there and stared at my finished test longer than I should have. I just kept looking at it for any errors I might have made, without really looking at it. Then I thought, 'what the hell am I doing? It's good enough to pass!' I got up, handed it to the prof, thanked him for whatever, walked out the door, down the stairs, and out another door and into the fresh air.

And then it hit me.

That was it.

That was the last test I'd ever have to take.

And I got giddy. Like real giddy.

I balled up my hands into fat little fists of joy and if I'd been in a movie I would have thrown them up in the air and broken out into song.

But I wasn't in a movie so I reigned that shit in and called the HB instead.

I got teary eyed as I walked to my car, waiting for the call to go through. I almost started crying for crying out loud. What's up with that? It's just a stupid test for a stupid class for a stupid degree. It's not like I had to fight insurmountable odds and struggle through adversity to graduate. They won't be making a Lifetime Made-For-TV-Movie about my journey from Slackerhood to Graduationville. And I certainly can't wear my achievement like a Girl Scout badge. (Though that's an idea for another day though...) No, I just graduated. And got emotional about it. And for some silly reason I felt silly about that.

And no, dear inquiring friends, I don't know what I'm going to do with my BA in Creative Writing.

And no, dear inquisitive family members, I'm not going to quit my job and write a novel.

Not that I haven't been tempted.

I'm just going to... enjoy not being in school for awhile. And enjoy not paying for school for awhile. And make it up as I go.

I should probably have a plan. That'd be the smart thing to do. And I'm a graduate now! I have teh smartz! So yeah, I'll have to work on that. But I'm not going to feel bad for not having one yet. I'm not I'm not I'm not.

Another Question

Why?

Why did this bra manufacturer feel the need to place a flower-shaped petrified rock/bow combo in the middle of the bra?

Because, seriously...

It looks like I have a third nipple.

So. Not. Wanted.

In other, happier, non mutant-third-nipple news:

I'm in love with Pandora, especially the Jack Johnson channel. The station does tend to play too much Dave Mathews and Coldplay and John Mayer at times, but we're still in the honeymoon phase of our love affair so some things can be overlooked.

Unlike my recently acquired third nipple.

Which shall hence forth referred to as Señor Nip.

Until, of course, I get home and find a pair of scissors.

Then its hasta la vista Señor Nip!

I Has Question

Man, this place has been neglected like a sandy vagina. Let's remedy that, shall we?

Because you see, I have this question. Not an IMPORTANT question or even an INTERESTING question. Just a thing that made me go HMMMM.

If I send an email to someone requesting something, and end it with a "thanks for the help", do I need to send another 'thanks' email in reply once that someone follows up with the request? It seems a bit redundant. I already said thanks; I don't want to beat them over the head with it. But not saying it makes me feel guilty. Especially since it’s a work related email because those should be handled differently, than, say, my friend Jack sending me a picture of kitty porn.

Not that I can't find that stuff for myself mind you.


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Here's an example of a recent email exchange between me and a vendor I deal with at work that inspired this awesome post.

From: Moi
To: Person I Need Help From
Subject: Dude, where's my invoice?

Hello Person I Need Help From. Could you email me a copy of an invoice from FOREVER AGO. Blah blah relevant info to aid in your search for the desired invoice. Thanks in advance for the help.

To: Person in Need
From: Person With The Goods
Re: Dude?

Here it is. I thought I'd never find it! :-)
Nicey nicey warm wishes.

I thought about responding with a "Thanks!"...

...then thought, "but I already said thanks"...

...and then thought, "she was nice about it... and quick too"...

... and then thought about responding to her 'finding it' comment with a "I know OMG its so old lolololol :) :) :)"...

... and then I felt nuttered for even thinking that.

The internets. They have warped me.

Sigh.

Maybe I shouldn't include the preemptive 'thanks' with the original email; that would save all this pondering. But then the email doesn't sound nice enough. And I want it to be exploding with niceties because I'm asking someone for a favor. Maybe I should send them another email and clutter their damn email box with thank you's and smilie faces and all around warm communicative fuzzies.

I don't know what it is exactly; I have this paralyzing fear of being cute in my work emails. And the ones where I send Jack kitty porn don't count. Which reminds me... Jack is due for an email!


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So why not just be boring and respond with a plain, "Thanks"? Good question Self. You're an idiot. Excellent answer Self.

Am I making an email faux pas by not replying back with my humblest of thanks and praise? Inquiring neurotics want to know. Because if so? I have a lot of emails to reply to :(