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.

There are things in this world...That I don't understand.

In college, there is an overabundance of down time. Particularly in the dorm life.

If you are picturing a-bun-dancing right now...we are on the same page.

Sorry that was cheap word play. I'm really Punny.

K promise that was the last one.

Anyway, after living in the dorms for what feels like 6 years, I've concluded there are several types of people that find ways to pass times in our luxurious, lavish living areas.

One of these kind of people are the people who live across the hall from me. I am convinced they live off of Tang and Assasins Creed. Except for one time, the kid across the hall told me all about this one time he played beer pong mixed with tang and it was "totally disgusting dude!"

My response to this was, "Get out of my dorm room. You smell like a sweaty Xbox controller."

The other night I was in my living room watching a Blazers game on a Thursday night, right after practice. I like to call this "me" time.

The kids across the call like to call this "It's almost Friday, which is almost the weekend, which means LETS GET DRUNK time."

One of the kids across the hall came in, obnoxiously drunk, accusing me of stealing his beer.

"Dude...they...dude...they told me YOU STOLED IT! Where is it? Where is my...beer...dude...you stoled it!"

(Before I could muster up a response worthy of his intellect.)

"I like your haircut. Sean...I like your haircut!"

He became very easily distracted, I told him there is a shiny object in the hallway, he turned around and out of the room like a kid with ADHD trying to catch snowflakes in a blizzard.

Point: Sean.

I locked the door as to not deal with him the rest of the night.

Silly me.

Five minutes later, I hear a rhythmic banging on my door, only to realize it is my drunken hall-mate, sitting at the foot of my door, facing away from the room, banging the back of his head on the wall of my dorm room. Over, and over and over, repeating the words:

"SEAAAN!!! I LIKE YOUR HAIRCUT! SEAN! I LIKE YOUR HAIRCUT! YOU GOT A HAIRCUT! I LIKE IT!"

Eventually, the sound stopped, and I assumed he either gave up, or went to bed.

Turns out he did both, right in the middle of the hallway, directly in front of my living room, in a puddle of his own drool.

As i stepped over his hung over head, with a trashbag in hand, I was ready to toss him in it. Instead, I took the high road, smiled, looked down at him and said, "Good for you!"

Good for you.

About a week later, he and his suitemates find that they are evidently now welcome to walk into my room whenever they want, only to ask the same question EVERY TIME.

The door opens, without a knock, they walk in, stare at me for a second, then ask me if Ryan or Dustin (my suitemates) are here.

Cuz they couldn't walk ten feet to figure out themselves.

And they wouldnt wanna be rude by, say, not knocking.

Then, yesterday, I was just hanging out, watching some T.V. eating some cereal, and another kid from across the hall barges into my living room, stares at me for a good 5 seconds. Stares at the TV for another 10 seconds. Then looks back at me and says:

"Hey man. What are you eating?"

Cereal. What the hell does it look like. It's cereal.

"Dude...that looks REALLY good."

"Yeah its this new thing. It's milk. And Grape Nuts. Thanks?"

Yeah man. Thats cool dude. So is Ryan here?

Instead of responding to his question like a normal person, I actually closed my eyes, held my breath, thought about how much I despise him and his suitemates, and I actually just blew up right there.

Like literally, spontaneously combusted, into flames, on the spot. Like that one incubus song.

Now there's a hole burned in my couch, but at least I don't have to listen to the Tang Kids bullshit anymore.

P.S. If I hear another South Park line, I am going to shoot my dick off.


Happy Thanksgiving.


Bah Humbug.