What fresh Hell is this?
I feel like I've stepped into a parallel universe, in which everyone flips the fuck out over stupid and fairly inconsequential in-class group presentations. Seriously. WTF, first years? Why you gotta be so high-strung? Seriously, a member of my group called me at 9:17 this morning to see if we were going to coordinate what we were going to wear for the presentation. To "blow it out of the water."
???
In other news, my parents called me yesterday (interrupting my first nap in like 80 years) to tell me they'd bought a new car. All tricked out with the technology package and shit, which means I get to go visit them and play with it and then teach them how to use everything. Nice. I'm less thrilled at the color (moroccan red), but whatever it's their car. That I will steal.
The day before that, I reinforced the myth of the office which is "Ninja doesn't make human mistakes." The corollary to that is "...she makes Ninja Mistakes." Which are glorious in their implementation and a spectacular pain in the ass in their correction. I got roped into prepping the box for the team's trip to 19 (in SI) on Wednesday. Much whining and several distractions to help with other projects later, I finished and we packed Vanessa into a cab to take the crap home for the night. I walk into my apartment at 7:30, lose the shoes and the coat and dress shirt, and promptly realize fuck. I didn't put the late consent stickers in the box. Throw on flip-flops (closest thing to the door) and a jacket and off I go back to campus. Call Vanessa, explain, say I'm on my way and I'll call you when I'm leaving the office and I'll bring them to your apt sorry sorry sorry. Three hours later (V lives in East Harlem), I'm back in my apartment with feet completely pissed off at me for traipsing all over the upper east side with an inch of foam and a piece of plastic between them and the concrete. Argh. But at least I realized my error and was able to correct it before they got to the field and had to make up ID numbers for late consented kids.
So it's time to look over my portion of the presentation (read: figure out what I'm going to say and write it on an index card) before I head to class. Wherein I have to get my prof to let me leave early so I can meet my group before the class in which we have the presentation...because they're all mildly freaking out about going in without having practiced all as a group, even though we met to look over the finalized presentation, and even though I emailed them all their own copies. And even though the three of them do what we're talking about for a living. I really don't understand all this angst. Although, if you're the only "sane" one, doesn't that make you the crazy one?
???
In other news, my parents called me yesterday (interrupting my first nap in like 80 years) to tell me they'd bought a new car. All tricked out with the technology package and shit, which means I get to go visit them and play with it and then teach them how to use everything. Nice. I'm less thrilled at the color (moroccan red), but whatever it's their car. That I will steal.
The day before that, I reinforced the myth of the office which is "Ninja doesn't make human mistakes." The corollary to that is "...she makes Ninja Mistakes." Which are glorious in their implementation and a spectacular pain in the ass in their correction. I got roped into prepping the box for the team's trip to 19 (in SI) on Wednesday. Much whining and several distractions to help with other projects later, I finished and we packed Vanessa into a cab to take the crap home for the night. I walk into my apartment at 7:30, lose the shoes and the coat and dress shirt, and promptly realize fuck. I didn't put the late consent stickers in the box. Throw on flip-flops (closest thing to the door) and a jacket and off I go back to campus. Call Vanessa, explain, say I'm on my way and I'll call you when I'm leaving the office and I'll bring them to your apt sorry sorry sorry. Three hours later (V lives in East Harlem), I'm back in my apartment with feet completely pissed off at me for traipsing all over the upper east side with an inch of foam and a piece of plastic between them and the concrete. Argh. But at least I realized my error and was able to correct it before they got to the field and had to make up ID numbers for late consented kids.
So it's time to look over my portion of the presentation (read: figure out what I'm going to say and write it on an index card) before I head to class. Wherein I have to get my prof to let me leave early so I can meet my group before the class in which we have the presentation...because they're all mildly freaking out about going in without having practiced all as a group, even though we met to look over the finalized presentation, and even though I emailed them all their own copies. And even though the three of them do what we're talking about for a living. I really don't understand all this angst. Although, if you're the only "sane" one, doesn't that make you the crazy one?