Playing Catch Up
Hello, and whatever else you want to hear. I figure I ought to fill in some blanks at the very least, and explain a few things that have been happening recently.
I'll start with this morning/last night, since it's the most recent of the occurrences. I was invited (in a desperate manner) to a party where we would watch old movies, listen to disco and generally waste time. I thought, what the hell, they said it wouldn't go too late. E and AM came to pick me up, and we drove to T's house.
You know the party isn't what we advertised when the hostess asks you if you want red or white wine, beer, or "cold duck." Oh, and said hostess and her boyfriend, P, are smoking indoors. Now, I personally asked for water, and was then given a choice of a cup of red wine or a cup of white wine. I sighed, and chose the white.
I'm a good faker. It probably isn't something I should brag about, but I can pretend to drink just about anything. I can also pretend to have a good time just about anywhere. I put those faker skills to the test, and nursed that wine for two hours, before getting my little blue cup and taking it to the sink/wine bottle alley for a refill. Over the next hour (yes, it was a long party), I drank that water, and got more, drinking a little more quickly as the night wore on. I'm pretty sure T thought I was having wine the whole time, because at about midnight, she asked if I was sure I wanted more. E, our driver, did something similar. When I got up, she asked if I would get her another cup. I sure did, and soon she was getting water refills on the sly. Oh, our little group of fakers.
There were several people there, and more kept coming as the night progressed. M is actually a very good guitarist. He can listen to a track of music once, and then play along with it the second time. Even if he's never heart it before. Then, of course, T decided to prank call our classmate, Slacker. The phone was passed around, and everyone had to prank a message for him. I told him it wasn't too late to marry Reuben, but he had to do it quick before they passed that Amendment. M pretended to be Reuben and told him that he looked forward to the movie later that night. He would bring the butter. E told him that he owed her 200 bucks, whether he showed up or not, and AM told him to call Shaquayquay for a good time. So on and so forth. Again, good faking of a fun time had by all.
Finally, Slacker showed up and became the fourth person smoking indoors. By this time, T and P had migrated toward the rum, and were sharing a bottle. Deep sigh. Soon, people were prank-calling people whose names I can't remember well enough to assign an initial to, and E, AM, M and I gathered in a little group of sober nonsmokers in a corner. Then T's other friends showed up, and four more people started smoking indoors.
Perhaps you have read the entry about the Hub City Brewery. About the good time I had there, despite the smoking. About the intense headache and eye rubbing. The door at T's place was wide open the whole time, and pulled most of the smoke out, but my clothes still reeked, and my eyes were still burning, regardless.
A few of T's friends decided to see who could make out the longest, and went at it on the kitchen floor. They were drunk when they arrived, and then started drinking "cold duck" like there was no tomorrow. Soon, at about one am, they decided that the party on 82nd street sounded fun, and that everyone had to go. They had kegs and barbecue on 82nd street. Oh. Fun.
At this point, I didn't think I could fake a good time any longer, and just told them we'd follow their cars, if they would give us instructions as well. We didn't want to get lost on our way to fun city. E and I went through the house blowing out candles, because T was obviously not planning to do it herself.
When we got outside, in the fresh, nicotine-free air, we convinced M to follow us, instead of T and friends. He was more than willing. We went to IHOP. Can you blame us? At IHOP, we talked for a long time about the department, the programs, our current projects, and all sorts of things. We left at about two thirty, and checked our office mail. This part needs explanation. I will do that later.
We dropped AM off, and then E and I spent an hour or so talking in the car before I got to my apartment. I think I crashed at about five or so in the morning, after Fabreeze-ing every stitch of clothing that I had been wearing. Poor Charlotte. She hadn't been able to figure out why I smelled so strange when I came in, or why I had broken schedule so drastically.
A recap of things I haven't mentioned about the party. We did listen to disco, and even talked about the possibility of dancing to it (but no one was drunk enough to do it, and I sure as hell wasn't about to make a fool of myself). We watched "Cry Baby" with Johnny Depp, and ate Twinkies and M&Ms off a mirror. T thought that was really neat. There was a kitty cat that came by (and in) periodically. A Russian blue we nicknamed Mr. Sullivan. Poor Mr. Sullivan had an earring. I kid you not. A cross earring in his right ear. He ate a whole can of tuna in about a minute, and was all set to drink the red wine that got spilled on the carpet, except that we got it cleaned up before he could. Poor thing. He could have been such a healthy, wonderful cat. He had a great personality and was loving and affection starved. He also had mats in his fur that E and I combed out with our fingers.
I will now explain the checking mail at three am part of this. We had short stories due on the 8th, to be taken home, commented on, and workshopped on the 15th. Only seven stories of the 14 can be workshopped at a time, so the first seven people to ask for an extension of one week got their wish. Fine. I wouldn't have read all 14 anyway. On the 15th, however, those stories had to be present and accounted for so that we could all get one of each to take home, comment on, and workshop for the 22nd. Three of the seven were turned in. The others were to be placed in our mailboxes. I recall hearing "by Wednesday," but figure I could be wrong about that. I made time to comment on these stories Wednesday. They weren't in the box. I checked Thursday at four, before going home. They weren't in the box. I don't go to campus Friday, Saturday or Sunday, and I only go Monday right before class, because I don't like walking half a mile in the dark to get to my car.
As I stated previously in this entry (which is nice and long, isn't it?), I checked that mailbox at three-fucking-AM. No stories. On waking up this morning at ten or so, I emailed the professor for the course and told her about my planned time, the lack of stories, my non-campus weekends, my 3am mail check, and my absolute refusal at this time to comment on their stories even if they were emailed to me. I told her very politely that I was angered by this, and felt that I had done all that could be expected of me in this situation, if not more than was expected. I told her that I would not have those stories read, and that I would not be able to workshop them very well because of it. I then asked how this would affect my grade in both commentary and participation. I haven't heard back yet, but I'm not especially upset by this. I really just wanted to let her know why I would not be prepared tomorrow, and that it was not, in my opinion, my fault. I hope their grades suffer immensely. They had two weeks to write it to get it in on time. They had a week extension in addition to this. They then slacked off for almost another whole week. They've had their chances, and many of them. Unless their mothers died, or their houses burned down, or they were involved in a serious car crash, they should be more on top of things than this.
Well, that was last night/this morning. In about an hour, E is picking me up so we can go eat. I've decided my birthday dinner will be held at Cheddars. We leave here and pick up AM, K, and R, go eat, have fun, and come home. It is the kind of entertaining evening where I don't have to fake enjoyment. After this, I will finish commenting on the stories I do have, and start thinking about my revision due tomorrow. I think if I read the story I wrote a few times, and then the commentary she gave me (which is not that of J, who focuses on whether or not he likes my syntax and ignores all higher order concerns, fat little bastard), I will be well on my way toward ideas. Then if I take most of Monday to write, I can print out labels and cover letters before class, and be set. I am not fond of this story anyway, and almost don't want it to be published. I wonder if she would understand that. Oh well.
Tuesday, I go cat-trapping! We are going to be trapping the cats on campus and taking them to the vet to be spayed or neutered. Then we release them back onto campus and feed them. Apparently, S has been working on this for years alone. Now E and I will be helping. It should be fun. I'll let you know how it goes.
E and I start cleaning the apartment Wednesday, then R and I pick up the Albertson’s dinner to go thing on Thursday, and then everyone comes over here and we pig out! Lots of fun!
Well, I'm going to go get ready for dinner, and maybe even read my story once or twice. Start ruminating. Ah, the joys of being a responsible slacker.
End.
I'll start with this morning/last night, since it's the most recent of the occurrences. I was invited (in a desperate manner) to a party where we would watch old movies, listen to disco and generally waste time. I thought, what the hell, they said it wouldn't go too late. E and AM came to pick me up, and we drove to T's house.
You know the party isn't what we advertised when the hostess asks you if you want red or white wine, beer, or "cold duck." Oh, and said hostess and her boyfriend, P, are smoking indoors. Now, I personally asked for water, and was then given a choice of a cup of red wine or a cup of white wine. I sighed, and chose the white.
I'm a good faker. It probably isn't something I should brag about, but I can pretend to drink just about anything. I can also pretend to have a good time just about anywhere. I put those faker skills to the test, and nursed that wine for two hours, before getting my little blue cup and taking it to the sink/wine bottle alley for a refill. Over the next hour (yes, it was a long party), I drank that water, and got more, drinking a little more quickly as the night wore on. I'm pretty sure T thought I was having wine the whole time, because at about midnight, she asked if I was sure I wanted more. E, our driver, did something similar. When I got up, she asked if I would get her another cup. I sure did, and soon she was getting water refills on the sly. Oh, our little group of fakers.
There were several people there, and more kept coming as the night progressed. M is actually a very good guitarist. He can listen to a track of music once, and then play along with it the second time. Even if he's never heart it before. Then, of course, T decided to prank call our classmate, Slacker. The phone was passed around, and everyone had to prank a message for him. I told him it wasn't too late to marry Reuben, but he had to do it quick before they passed that Amendment. M pretended to be Reuben and told him that he looked forward to the movie later that night. He would bring the butter. E told him that he owed her 200 bucks, whether he showed up or not, and AM told him to call Shaquayquay for a good time. So on and so forth. Again, good faking of a fun time had by all.
Finally, Slacker showed up and became the fourth person smoking indoors. By this time, T and P had migrated toward the rum, and were sharing a bottle. Deep sigh. Soon, people were prank-calling people whose names I can't remember well enough to assign an initial to, and E, AM, M and I gathered in a little group of sober nonsmokers in a corner. Then T's other friends showed up, and four more people started smoking indoors.
Perhaps you have read the entry about the Hub City Brewery. About the good time I had there, despite the smoking. About the intense headache and eye rubbing. The door at T's place was wide open the whole time, and pulled most of the smoke out, but my clothes still reeked, and my eyes were still burning, regardless.
A few of T's friends decided to see who could make out the longest, and went at it on the kitchen floor. They were drunk when they arrived, and then started drinking "cold duck" like there was no tomorrow. Soon, at about one am, they decided that the party on 82nd street sounded fun, and that everyone had to go. They had kegs and barbecue on 82nd street. Oh. Fun.
At this point, I didn't think I could fake a good time any longer, and just told them we'd follow their cars, if they would give us instructions as well. We didn't want to get lost on our way to fun city. E and I went through the house blowing out candles, because T was obviously not planning to do it herself.
When we got outside, in the fresh, nicotine-free air, we convinced M to follow us, instead of T and friends. He was more than willing. We went to IHOP. Can you blame us? At IHOP, we talked for a long time about the department, the programs, our current projects, and all sorts of things. We left at about two thirty, and checked our office mail. This part needs explanation. I will do that later.
We dropped AM off, and then E and I spent an hour or so talking in the car before I got to my apartment. I think I crashed at about five or so in the morning, after Fabreeze-ing every stitch of clothing that I had been wearing. Poor Charlotte. She hadn't been able to figure out why I smelled so strange when I came in, or why I had broken schedule so drastically.
A recap of things I haven't mentioned about the party. We did listen to disco, and even talked about the possibility of dancing to it (but no one was drunk enough to do it, and I sure as hell wasn't about to make a fool of myself). We watched "Cry Baby" with Johnny Depp, and ate Twinkies and M&Ms off a mirror. T thought that was really neat. There was a kitty cat that came by (and in) periodically. A Russian blue we nicknamed Mr. Sullivan. Poor Mr. Sullivan had an earring. I kid you not. A cross earring in his right ear. He ate a whole can of tuna in about a minute, and was all set to drink the red wine that got spilled on the carpet, except that we got it cleaned up before he could. Poor thing. He could have been such a healthy, wonderful cat. He had a great personality and was loving and affection starved. He also had mats in his fur that E and I combed out with our fingers.
I will now explain the checking mail at three am part of this. We had short stories due on the 8th, to be taken home, commented on, and workshopped on the 15th. Only seven stories of the 14 can be workshopped at a time, so the first seven people to ask for an extension of one week got their wish. Fine. I wouldn't have read all 14 anyway. On the 15th, however, those stories had to be present and accounted for so that we could all get one of each to take home, comment on, and workshop for the 22nd. Three of the seven were turned in. The others were to be placed in our mailboxes. I recall hearing "by Wednesday," but figure I could be wrong about that. I made time to comment on these stories Wednesday. They weren't in the box. I checked Thursday at four, before going home. They weren't in the box. I don't go to campus Friday, Saturday or Sunday, and I only go Monday right before class, because I don't like walking half a mile in the dark to get to my car.
As I stated previously in this entry (which is nice and long, isn't it?), I checked that mailbox at three-fucking-AM. No stories. On waking up this morning at ten or so, I emailed the professor for the course and told her about my planned time, the lack of stories, my non-campus weekends, my 3am mail check, and my absolute refusal at this time to comment on their stories even if they were emailed to me. I told her very politely that I was angered by this, and felt that I had done all that could be expected of me in this situation, if not more than was expected. I told her that I would not have those stories read, and that I would not be able to workshop them very well because of it. I then asked how this would affect my grade in both commentary and participation. I haven't heard back yet, but I'm not especially upset by this. I really just wanted to let her know why I would not be prepared tomorrow, and that it was not, in my opinion, my fault. I hope their grades suffer immensely. They had two weeks to write it to get it in on time. They had a week extension in addition to this. They then slacked off for almost another whole week. They've had their chances, and many of them. Unless their mothers died, or their houses burned down, or they were involved in a serious car crash, they should be more on top of things than this.
Well, that was last night/this morning. In about an hour, E is picking me up so we can go eat. I've decided my birthday dinner will be held at Cheddars. We leave here and pick up AM, K, and R, go eat, have fun, and come home. It is the kind of entertaining evening where I don't have to fake enjoyment. After this, I will finish commenting on the stories I do have, and start thinking about my revision due tomorrow. I think if I read the story I wrote a few times, and then the commentary she gave me (which is not that of J, who focuses on whether or not he likes my syntax and ignores all higher order concerns, fat little bastard), I will be well on my way toward ideas. Then if I take most of Monday to write, I can print out labels and cover letters before class, and be set. I am not fond of this story anyway, and almost don't want it to be published. I wonder if she would understand that. Oh well.
Tuesday, I go cat-trapping! We are going to be trapping the cats on campus and taking them to the vet to be spayed or neutered. Then we release them back onto campus and feed them. Apparently, S has been working on this for years alone. Now E and I will be helping. It should be fun. I'll let you know how it goes.
E and I start cleaning the apartment Wednesday, then R and I pick up the Albertson’s dinner to go thing on Thursday, and then everyone comes over here and we pig out! Lots of fun!
Well, I'm going to go get ready for dinner, and maybe even read my story once or twice. Start ruminating. Ah, the joys of being a responsible slacker.
End.
posted by Rehkmira @ 17:19
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