(no subject)
Apologies for lack of updatiness, it's been a rough few days. Graduation was last Monday; big ceremonies aren't my thing at the best of times, and my parents came down Sunday night and demonstrated the amazing ability of parents everywhere to transform a mildly unpleasant event into a nightmare of proportions so epic, participants should be wearing sandles and Ridley Scott is directing the whole endevour.
In the end, the ceremony itself wasn't that bad; instead of the three-hour extravaganza of loathesomely self-congratulatory speeches and general wankage, it was a reletively painless forty-five minutes, most of which was the Masster of Ceremonies calling our names. Was incredibly relieved that he pronounced mine right, although considering the fact that he didn't stumble over the various Chinese and African names, in hindsight I probably shouldn't have worried so much. Also I refused on principle to buy tickets to the sickeningly masturbatory "mixer" organised by our pitiful excuse for a Law Society, so at least I didn't have to suffer through that.
Unfortunatly, my parents seem to be under the impression that I am some kind of prize-winning thorough-bred horse they can take out for a canter round the paddock to impress all their champagne-swilling friends, thus forcing me to pose for ridiculously over-priced graduation pictures which will no doubt end up in the local newspaper, so they can flaunt me in my blue-ribbon'd glory to everyone they know. I suspect I'm supposed to be gratified that they're so proud, but mostly I just feel humiliated at being treated like an expensive possession.
On top of that, I was wearing knee-high silver-buckled lace-up purple cobwebbed boots and a tarten and lace mini-skirt under my robes, and the fucking photographer had the nerve to tell me to go home and change my clothes, and when I got offended, to insist it was a joke. This by itself made me want to choke him by shoving my mortar-board down his throat, but the fact that my dad laughed along with him almost had me storming out of the studio in tears. I mean, how the fuck is that okay? To laugh when someone insults your daughter at the pinnacle of her academic career? On the plus side, there was a booth offering this awesome thing where they take your picture, and then etch it in 3D inside a block of crystal. So now I can keep my own head on a light-up rotating stand on my mantlepiece, which frankly is something everyone should have the chance to experiance. I'm thinking of getting a little voice chip thing so when you switch it on, it goes "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."
I pretty much forgive them their misguided asshattery though, partly because I know they don't do these things maliciously, but mostly because they got me the most awesome graduation gift ever - my own handmade teddybear, complete with replica of my graduation gown and hood (though thank God, the bear's hood is a pretty teal colour rather than the nauseating lime green we were forced to graduate in), with my name, student ID number and degree stitched inside it, carrying it's own little passport (it's a running joke in my family that I never remember to renew my passport) and wearing a replica of my floor-length black lace gown and black rose choker with silver bells for the stamen. They must have commissioned her months ago and kept it secret; I don't even know how they got hold of my student ID number. I was in tears when they gave her to me.
After that, I went home for a few days to see my brothers - Buzz is addicted to Smallville and I fear he has infected me with his silliness, despite my forswearing all things Superman. Have copied his DVDs from the first two seasons and brought them back to peruse at my leisure, by which I of course mean "decide whether Lex, Clark or Whitney is the most deserving recipient of my lustful Fangirlish hormones". Clark is a little too dewy-eyed for my taste, and Whitney looks like Jared Leto's younger, less hot brother, but on the other hand, Whitney has pretty hair and Lex has... no hair and is also secretly ginger, so I am in a quandry. In fact, I think I shall go watch some more episodes and tackle this difficult moral dilemma.
In the end, the ceremony itself wasn't that bad; instead of the three-hour extravaganza of loathesomely self-congratulatory speeches and general wankage, it was a reletively painless forty-five minutes, most of which was the Masster of Ceremonies calling our names. Was incredibly relieved that he pronounced mine right, although considering the fact that he didn't stumble over the various Chinese and African names, in hindsight I probably shouldn't have worried so much. Also I refused on principle to buy tickets to the sickeningly masturbatory "mixer" organised by our pitiful excuse for a Law Society, so at least I didn't have to suffer through that.
Unfortunatly, my parents seem to be under the impression that I am some kind of prize-winning thorough-bred horse they can take out for a canter round the paddock to impress all their champagne-swilling friends, thus forcing me to pose for ridiculously over-priced graduation pictures which will no doubt end up in the local newspaper, so they can flaunt me in my blue-ribbon'd glory to everyone they know. I suspect I'm supposed to be gratified that they're so proud, but mostly I just feel humiliated at being treated like an expensive possession.
On top of that, I was wearing knee-high silver-buckled lace-up purple cobwebbed boots and a tarten and lace mini-skirt under my robes, and the fucking photographer had the nerve to tell me to go home and change my clothes, and when I got offended, to insist it was a joke. This by itself made me want to choke him by shoving my mortar-board down his throat, but the fact that my dad laughed along with him almost had me storming out of the studio in tears. I mean, how the fuck is that okay? To laugh when someone insults your daughter at the pinnacle of her academic career? On the plus side, there was a booth offering this awesome thing where they take your picture, and then etch it in 3D inside a block of crystal. So now I can keep my own head on a light-up rotating stand on my mantlepiece, which frankly is something everyone should have the chance to experiance. I'm thinking of getting a little voice chip thing so when you switch it on, it goes "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."
I pretty much forgive them their misguided asshattery though, partly because I know they don't do these things maliciously, but mostly because they got me the most awesome graduation gift ever - my own handmade teddybear, complete with replica of my graduation gown and hood (though thank God, the bear's hood is a pretty teal colour rather than the nauseating lime green we were forced to graduate in), with my name, student ID number and degree stitched inside it, carrying it's own little passport (it's a running joke in my family that I never remember to renew my passport) and wearing a replica of my floor-length black lace gown and black rose choker with silver bells for the stamen. They must have commissioned her months ago and kept it secret; I don't even know how they got hold of my student ID number. I was in tears when they gave her to me.
After that, I went home for a few days to see my brothers - Buzz is addicted to Smallville and I fear he has infected me with his silliness, despite my forswearing all things Superman. Have copied his DVDs from the first two seasons and brought them back to peruse at my leisure, by which I of course mean "decide whether Lex, Clark or Whitney is the most deserving recipient of my lustful Fangirlish hormones". Clark is a little too dewy-eyed for my taste, and Whitney looks like Jared Leto's younger, less hot brother, but on the other hand, Whitney has pretty hair and Lex has... no hair and is also secretly ginger, so I am in a quandry. In fact, I think I shall go watch some more episodes and tackle this difficult moral dilemma.