Lady Luck Always Comes Through For Me in the End

So. I handed in one Art History assignment, did one Critical Thinking presentation which did not go anywhere near as badly as we anticipated, and did the unexpected CT final exam which turned out to be easy as pie.

(On another note, why is pie easy anyway? Or is that pi? But there's nothing easy about pi, because, "Hi, secondary school math". What about pie is easy? Baking it? Eating it? Its sexual procovilities? And most importantly, what kind of pie?)

However, things which are Up In The Air, include whether my Art History instructor will accept my second assignment handed in late if I beg and plead and grovel, and what the all-wise administration will decide to do about my Critical Thinking mid-semester grade. We did not have a mid-semester exam in my former instructor's class and I found out that my current instructor had given one which it is too late for me to take as well. Plus, he is the kind of brillant sonofabitch who refuses to take responsibility for the overall grading, or even helping me out a little in that department "because all this was purely an administrative decision and not (his) own".

Gee, thanks. I now believe that all Critical Thinking instructors take pre-requisite course on How To Fuck Your Students Over By Being An Asshole before they are hired into the faculty.

On another down note, due to the two-week combination of non-stop working, random bouts of going on the rampage and occasional histrionics, my room now resembles something between Bikini Atoll and Howling Bedlam. I can't believe I was complaining about it being too clean and neat a week ago. How do I even start cleaning this mess up?

But you know what caps it ALL? I'm DONE with Critical Thinking. This 12-week-long nightmare is fucking OVER, baby! Yeeehaaa!

And maybe now I can get around to telling you about my birthday party. Which was in JUNE. I have been putting off making a post about it until I acheived a state of mind that was not prone to nervous breakdowns.

Yes, I am on top of things, aren't I? *sigh*

*trashed room iz trashed*

When in Rome, do as the Spartans do.

I have had a rather adverserial relationship with S ever since I started going out with his best friend. Well, "relationship" is not the best word for it, since although he and I have frequented the same circuit since I was seventeen, the best I can say with regards to him is that I do know him from Adam (although I sometimes mistake him for Steve).

However, because the universe works in mysterious ways, he was my first crush, a year-long insanity wherein I nauseated my friends to the last degree and spoke all of three syllabals to him personally. I blame it on being sequestered for all that time in an estrogen-only environment and being as exposed to the world as your average pet goldfish. Also, he was a formidable personality in school debating circles, having debated long enough for experienced debating judges to opt out of entire school tournaments because they were so sick of seeing his face. He then joined my campus a semester after I did, and had the temerity to become its Student Council President. He also was, and continues to be, something of a pompous overacheiver.

I am not an overacheiver and I have never been anything that one might reasonably fit under the OED definition of "acheiving" even after a large amount of squeezing and much arguing of semantics. Nevertheless, I hold over-acheivers in a certain amount of awe. I am at once defensive and intimidated by over-acheivers. This held true of S. I am ashamed to say that I held him in some esteem, all-round prickworthiness notwithstanding, because I hold that a)any man with a well-stocked trophy cabinet can afford to strut a little and b) he happens to be Boy's best friend.

This last is problematic. Even though he too only knows me well enough to tell me apart from Eve at twenty paces, he apparently has conjectured enough about me to decide that he does not like yours truly all that much. The only logical thing to believe is that he still carries around the image of the rather spaced-out 17-year-old in crooked glasses who became rather weirdly giggly around him. Apparently short individuals with unfortunate braces take exception to being giggled at.

Fate is such a twisted thing that if it were human it'd be a double-jointed pedophile.

Well, apart from being slightly baffled at his attitude, I wasn't exactly crying myself to sleep over his contempt of me. However, when an individual you hold in high esteem, no matter how undeservingly, pointedly views you as beneath his notice, you tend to balk at confronting certain situations in his presence. Situations such as having to present your admittedly half-assed Critical Thinking presentation in front of him, when he has a reputation for being a talented speaker and incisive debator. Compounded with the fact that two years of inter-school-debating has not yet cured me of gibbering incomprehensibly when confronted with an audience, this was what Bertie Wooster might call "a rather rum situation".

Or it would have been if his group had not decided to present ahead of mine. For their presentation on "Gay Marriage", they decided to kick off by announcing that trothplighting between males had been very much the "in" thing in ancient Rome.

Me:o_O "Bzuh?"

CT instructor:"O Rly?"

S: "Yep, they did it for political and military reasons."

Me:"OI?"

S: "Yeah, 'cause they had gay warriors and stuff!"

Me:"Do you mean the band of Thebes?!"

S:"Uh, no it was an army. In like, you know, Sparta."

Me:"Sparta was a Greek city!

S:"No, it wasn't. It was part of the Roman Empire...right?"

Me:*cries for humanity*

Boyo was not surprised when I informed him that buddy-Boy thought 300 had been all about Rome. Apparently, S had never really "been into history" and had relied on Boyo to get him all the necessary factoids in order during school debates and used his ability to bullshit convincingly about things he didn't have the first clue about to help him the rest of the way. He also reportedly "doesn't read".

I have been swooning (even if it was at the tender age of 17) and awestruck over a man who "doesn't read" and cannot tell Athens from his left elbow.

I now feel vaguely unclean.

The upside of it all was, that I was able to get up there with my presentation ("Does pornography harm women?"), look at the formerly-feared visage of S (who had a scornful expression as if to say, "you're a girl. What would you know about porn?") and think, "You are a fathead who thinks Sparta used to be on top of the Vatican. All those hours on Redtube and you don't know shit about Greek Pederasty. I will never again care about what you think." I then proceeded to present my research without a care in the world.

Sometimes, I am glad that I am naturally inclined to be the self-deprecating sort. I suspect that, given half the chance, I would be even more insufferable than S.

Boyo, of course, thinks that I'm being unfair to S. "It is not his fault that he is not a nerd like you and me, baba," says he.

Not that I mind being called a nerd at all, but I don't think that it is fair to attribute my knowledge of Greek homosexuality and pederasty to my nerdhood. If there were a series of articles on Wikipedia on how and why extraordinarily fit Greek men used to fuck each other early and often, what would you do?

This post is brought to you by the Dead Sleepy, ItzoneoclockinthemorningZOMG and The Sheep Made Me Do It.