I hate everything
So I just received an email from the linguistics department stating that no, I will not be able to take the one class I need to graduate.
Time for Plan B: See if it's offered in summer school (if it's not, kindly suggest to the linguistics department that it would be a very good idea, considering I'm not the only graduating senior they've fucked over like this) and get a full-time job (probably at Target again, joy). Don't forget to withdraw from this quarter so that they cannot charge me for wasting my time. Fortunately, I'm close enough to the line that I think they'll let me walk for graduation. Still, I'm feeling the urge to either punch something or cry.
I like how I'm posting this information here before I call my parents about it. I'll justify it by saying that I want to get all the information I can before I talk to them, because otherwise it'll just be them yelling at me/sounding really disappointed and me saying "I don't know, I'll find out" over and over like a customer service rep. This means furious_meg (and Chris, if you read this journal): shh.
I'm going to tempt fate here and say that this has to be the bottom of the valley. Tomorrow, things will get better, because I will find a way to make them better. At least I have a modicum of control over this.
I kinda wish I had brought my wussy girly frou-frou 30-proof bottle of schnapps up with me to SC, though. It's blue.
In other news, my darling siblings gave me The Sims 2 for my birthday, and I plan to fully indulge in it this evening. My plan? A household consisting of Hubert Hawkins (from The Court Jester, which is a wonderful movie with fabulous wordplay and if you haven't seen it you should), Cardinal Richelieu, Rasputin, and, of course, Grendel and his mom. And maybe Young Werther too, just so I can make him cry.
I haven't gotten around to abusing her music collection doing this meme in her journal yet, but I'll gank it from alissa anyway: gimme a number from 1-1650 and I'll upload that song from my playlist for you. Warning: I have a taste for bad music.
After talking with Meg, I have decided to don a Mexican wrestler mask and take revenge upon the corrupt and dictatorial linguistics department under the name "C" (for "Calienté"). When I die, Meg will stuff my body with dynamite and send it into the linguistics department on a golf cart. Then we will all be free.
Time for Plan B: See if it's offered in summer school (if it's not, kindly suggest to the linguistics department that it would be a very good idea, considering I'm not the only graduating senior they've fucked over like this) and get a full-time job (probably at Target again, joy). Don't forget to withdraw from this quarter so that they cannot charge me for wasting my time. Fortunately, I'm close enough to the line that I think they'll let me walk for graduation. Still, I'm feeling the urge to either punch something or cry.
I like how I'm posting this information here before I call my parents about it. I'll justify it by saying that I want to get all the information I can before I talk to them, because otherwise it'll just be them yelling at me/sounding really disappointed and me saying "I don't know, I'll find out" over and over like a customer service rep. This means furious_meg (and Chris, if you read this journal): shh.
I'm going to tempt fate here and say that this has to be the bottom of the valley. Tomorrow, things will get better, because I will find a way to make them better. At least I have a modicum of control over this.
I kinda wish I had brought my wussy girly frou-frou 30-proof bottle of schnapps up with me to SC, though. It's blue.
In other news, my darling siblings gave me The Sims 2 for my birthday, and I plan to fully indulge in it this evening. My plan? A household consisting of Hubert Hawkins (from The Court Jester, which is a wonderful movie with fabulous wordplay and if you haven't seen it you should), Cardinal Richelieu, Rasputin, and, of course, Grendel and his mom. And maybe Young Werther too, just so I can make him cry.
I haven't gotten around to abusing her music collection doing this meme in her journal yet, but I'll gank it from alissa anyway: gimme a number from 1-1650 and I'll upload that song from my playlist for you. Warning: I have a taste for bad music.
After talking with Meg, I have decided to don a Mexican wrestler mask and take revenge upon the corrupt and dictatorial linguistics department under the name "C" (for "Calienté"). When I die, Meg will stuff my body with dynamite and send it into the linguistics department on a golf cart. Then we will all be free.