Hump Day!

I've been thinking alot lately about the reasons people go to college. Most people go to college to further their academic success, and open gateways to bigger, better things. Some people come to college to be social, play sports, get drunk and hook up with chicks. Others come to play Rockband, drink tang, and write internet-based diaries about their day to day adventures.

I, however, came to college for one reason, and one reason only. To hand-write assignments in an illegible fashion SOLELY to PISS my teachers off.

Today, I got an assignment back from my Health teacher, whom I am convinced is a convicted pedophile, so he automatically has a vendetta against me because I am not 16 or female. I recieved the assignment, i got a 40 out of 50, which isn't terribly bad, but it was the comment at the end of the paper that really made me smile.

Let it be known that I have turned in 2! research papers in this class, and the most extensive comment I recieved was "good."

But no...not today. Today, I recieved an actual SENTENCE from my beloved educator, as he wrote next to my score, "Your answers were good, some were too short. The syllabus clearly states that this assignment was supposed to be typed---it was painful to read."

P.S.- "Fuck you, you inconsiderate adolescent non-female. How dare you not wear revealing clothing to my class and flirt with me. Your actions are almost as selfish and inconsiderate as your handwriting, you bastard. Also, I hate you, but if you find a female counterpart to replace you, prefferably one that has a similar face to you, but is more slightly built, I will change your grade to an A." Love, your pedo-professor.

That last part may or may not have ACTUALLY happened, but the principle remains. The last time I was told my work was "painful" to look at, was in 3rd grade I brought a kidney stone to show and tell, and my teacher was just short of impressed. I'd like to think I have learned from my calcium deposits, er, mistakes, but apparently not.

Next, it was time for lunch, where I would venture to the beloved Mac's Snacks, where I am always going to find 2 of 3 things, awkward social interaction with the cashier, delicious food, and sexual inuendos on the chalkboard behind the register. Today, the food was terrible as always.

The cashier, who has awkwardly made comments to me all year, continued to do so when she called me handsome repeatedly and maybe threw in the term 'good-looking' a few times, then slipped me her phone number after making my purchase. Turns out it was a reciept, and she was actually saying 'good-cooking,' but I like to make up stories to improve my self esteem.

Either way, I took the awkward flirtatious interaction to be just another day in Mac's, until I looked up at the chalkboard, which read "Today is...WEDNESDAY! Hump Day!"

I thought this was normal enough, until I saw the writing to the side that read, "Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah."

Maybe it was because I was just verbally molested by the cashier, but I couldn't help but take that chalkboard to be remarkably sexually suggestive. The only thing that was missing was an extra line of text that read "GET IT!!!??? HUMP! HUMP DAY! OH YEAH! OHHH YEAAAH!!!"

Did I mention that the chalkboard was shaped in form of a GIGANTIC VAGINA?

Need I say more?

Today I was taking a test, and it became obvious to me the reason I am at college. And it isn't to play Rockband. It is to FLUNK tests!

Unfortunately, this can be nobody's fault but my own, because I went to the computer lab 30 minutes prior to my test with all the best intentions to study for the test, but instead of doing THAT, I went to the LAtimes website, and read about sports to numb my mind.

Then, once I actually got to the test, I proceeded to stare at the keyboard for a solid 5 minutes, looking at the various stains, wondering how they got there, and trying to formulate a strategy to take this test, but never actually touch the keyboard.

That task proved impossible, and despite the 5 minutes space-out, I finished the test first, and glanced around the room in a very uncomfortable fashion, wondering why the hell I finished before everyone.

Probably because I have no idea what I am doing.

I accidentaly made eye contact with the professor, the one who wiped his ass with my index cards, and his eyes pierced through my soul, into my heart, and out of my asshole as I was sure he was planning a plot on how to kill me.

I felt an immense amount of guilt, like I just basically said to my teacher, "Hey faggot, this test was too easy. Look at me, it's just been 10 minutes and I am already done. Yeah, I read about the Laker game instead of studying, and I stared at the keyboard for a good 5 minutes, but I WIN. I WIN!"

He looked at me like he was saying, "Just wait 'til you get your grade, you aarogant freshman."

Let it be known that NO WORDS were actually exchanged, but as far as I am concerned, we had a full conversation through our 2 seconds of awkward eye contact.

The test results are pending, but I will be sure to post them online once I find out, because I am sure you cannot wait.

Or maybe I will Twitter it. Which, for the record, might be the worst thing to happen to America since the Lakers loss in game 4 v.s. the Houston Rockets.

But the good news is...today was HUMP day, so that means the rest of the week is easy. Or it means the rest of the week wants to hump you. And by "rest of the week" I mean "lady working behind the cash register."

To college.

Muscles and Lunch Lady Miscues

Team pictures came out today.

And I still find myself asking the same question.

Why does EVERYONE flex in every team picture that is ever taken.

I'll tell you why.

It always starts with the first guy. And it always happens to be the skinniest dude on the team.

He lines up for his photo, and grips his hands tight enough to shatter a human skull, pokes his shoulders forward, and tenses up his neck as if to say "Yeah I'm 185. 185 pounds of STEEL."

So the next guy steps up to the camera, and thinks, "Shoot, if that guy is looking buff, if I don't flex, i won't look buff, and if I don't look buff, I won't look buff!"

So, guy #2 promptly flex's his little heart out, and indeed, he looks buff.

Then there's the guy who has mastered the art of picture-taking-flexing, where he flex's but does so subtlely, so people who look at the picture wonder "Is that guy flexing, or is he just buff?"

Don't be fooled. He flex's, just like all of us.

Then there's the guy who actually is buff, and he flex's and makes it totally obvious, because in the picture his veins are popping out, his face is beat red, and he accidently left his daily dose of 'roids in the background of the picture.

But dang he looks good.

Occasionally you'll have the guy who doesn't care. This guy has mastered the art. He just wears a T-shirt.

I'm sure there's some deeper meaning to this, like an alpha-male complex and the fear of being inferior to the fellow male population, but for now, I'm gonna blame the skinny kids for making everyone else feel pressured to look ripped.

When it's all said and done, everyone looks pretty stupid anyway, mostly because our uniforms weigh 10 pounds and have texture similar to cardboard.

No bulging bicep can cure a unie that runs 3 sizes too big.

As a side note, the lady who scans my card every morning is undoubtedly miserable.

I don't know her name, and I don't want to, but what I do want is for her to get fired, and stop complaining about how much of a dick her boss is.

Card lady: Um...did you just hear him?

Me: (eating cheerio's) No...

Card lady: He is SUCH a DICK!!!

Me: (Uninterested) Who?

Card Lady: My Boss! Did you hear him? I'm gonna quit. He already has 2 lawsuits against him from other people working here. Cuz he is such a DICK!

Me: I think i put too much brown sugar on these Cheerios. Do you agree?

Card lady: I hate my life.

Me: This table smells like chinese food.

Card lady: My son broke his arm playing football, so I'm late, and he is just such a DICK!

Me: This oatmeal is pretty good. You can't really mess up oatmeal though.

Card lady: You need to be more lively in the morning.

Me: You need to get a real job and stop complaining about your life to 18 year old kids. I'm trying to read the sports section, and right now, you, card lady, are making me want to gouge my eyes out with this spoon, and put my face in this scolding hot oatmeal.

Ok, so that last part didn't happen, but the moral of the story is...this lady told me she graduated from EOU.

So this is me officially announcing I am changing my major from Communications and Journalism, to Card Scanning.

She sometimes does it wrong-side-up, and sometimes she forgets entirely that I even have a card to be scanned, but it's a tough job, and somebody needs to do it.

It's getting late, my suitemate just came in while I was blogging and complained/bragged about the hickies on his neck, and asked me if I have any make-up.

He's dating dracula and he finds this hilarious. I, however, find it distruptive to my blogging.

Yeah dude, I'll hook you up with some cover up. Just don't take fucking 40 minutes in the shower tomorrow morning.

I need to go to bed, cuz I have to wake up at 7 tomorrow to get cardboard flavored eggs from some lady who can't scan a barcode, hates her life, but loves telling me about it.

"Enjoy it kid, this is the best time of your life."


Fuck.