(no subject)
~ I'm just wondering about a few different things. But first, I would like to share a charming little anecdote about New Orleans.
My roommate just came back from the hospital. At the most ghetto hospital ever, my beautiful roommate and her girlfriend were sitting in the "waiting room". I call in the quote-unquote waiting room because there was no one to check them in: no nurses, no doctors, no people running around authoritatively with clipboards. So basically, it was a holding pen. While sitting for 3 consecutive (I just spent about 4 full minutes trying to figure out if there was a "qu" in consecutive. Clearly not.) hours, the excitement finally reached a crescendo when a man staggered in with a bullethole in his head. Please take note. There was a hole in this man's head, and blood was dripping down his face. He went up to the restroom (which, unsurprisingly, was out of order) and stood in front of the door mumbling about how he just wanted to "clean up". WTF. Blood leaking out of your skull should prompt a slightly different response than just wanting to freshen up. But no. However, since this abstract "waiting room" had no check-in desk, he staggered around and eventually went back outside, where I feel like her died within the hour. New Orleans is the most fucked up place I've ever been.
That entertaining little story made me lose sight of what I had originally planned on complaining about. Fuck. I am writing in flesh-tone text right now. Who decided that this was flesh-tone? Whose flesh? It slightly resembles my own, so I can't work up the righteous indignation needed to combat adversity.
Speaking of combatting adversity, I have to go to the fucking Center for Intercultural Understanding tomorrow to report sexual harassment. Uhm, no thank you. I would rather let it slide than go report it, which actually says a lot about my character. No, the reason I don't want to go to the office is because it is made entirely out of glass and it situated in an extremely high-traffic location. I know that while I am sitting in this embarassing office, everyone will be passing by wondering what the fuck a privileged white girl is doing in the fucking Center for Intercultural Understanding. I'm beginning to think that the name can only be said with "fucking" in front to modify the noun.
Tomorrow I'm going to a play about innocent people who were on death row. Oh, p.s., my school was on CourtTv last night. Classy...