What a bumbly bear...

Before I tell you the story, lemme break down my class grading scale for you.

16 Labs - 5%
16 Quizzes - 5%
8 Study Guides - 10%
Tests - 20%
Mid term exam - 15%
2 Exams that aren't mid or final - 20%
Final - 25%

(Exams are scantrons. Tests are free response.)

And every day there is a lab, test, quiz, or exam going on. A lab and quiz per week. So, in 16 weeks, I can't miss a single class or else risk getting a zero and dropping my average down.

Because I have way too many obsessive tendencies with my grades, I've been checking like five times a day to see my updated grade (the prof only does it like once a week), especially since I took a test Wednesday. One I kinda sorta didn't study for. Well, hell, y'all. How do you study for a word problem test? Really?

So it was finally updated around 11-12, since I last checked about 10 (see, told you it was an addiction). I checked and...saw a 46. Holy shit, I didn't think I'd bombed the test at all. Of course, if I'm confident on a test, I usually do. But seriously, I worked my ass off. Usually after a test, we learn at least one section, but we're ahead of the schedule, so we got to leave after class. (Normally that's reserved for only exams.) Anyway, so I have my stroke and am in shock. I go look again a couple hours later (because I couldn't believe and had to check again myself), only to find it's now a 92. The dumbshit forgot to double it since he graded on a x/50 scale. It was only 10 questions so they must have only counted 5 points. I was scared to death.

But! I got a 92. Hell yeah. That's the first A I've gotten since kindergarten. No, wait. Probably since letters decided to join in on the number orgy, so seventh-eighth grade. And my grade overall? 88.71! Damn shame it doesn't count on my GPA, since apparently I should know this information before beginning college. Pssh. Clearly, the people who made that guideline didn't actually graduate from the Georgia public school system.

I'm so thrilled I could spin in circles and pull a Julie Andrews. Heh!

I also find out the guy I'd dubbed Cute Boy has an actual name. He wanted me to sign him in for the day, cause really, once you get comfortable you don't wanna deal with the aisles made for people that are skinner than a minute (which, clearly, for the record I'm not and he is). And he was lazy, but okay. Whatever. I get it since the teacher puts it out at the front of the class about the time everyone's trying to run and get into class on time. And I go, "I would, but what's your name?"

Now, mind you. He sits in front of me, has been talking to me and flirting (and okay, confusing me on whether it's gay, straight, bisexual, or an alien from Krypton...) but never actually told me his name. He just looks at me and goes, "Caleb." I'm thinking, "Thanks. Coulda used a last name too, but okay." I signed him in (hopefully it was him) and he was like teasing me about it. *shakes head* So now I can mentally call him Caleb instead of Cute Boy. This would be the one that made me think I was a pedophile for a minute cause he looks at most 18.

Flip That Switch

So, I know I complain a lot on here. And it does bother me somewhat that y'all might think I'm not a sunny side up person. I'm actually pretty upbeat. I just use this blog as a way to let myself be able to feel unhappy and not have to deal with the emotional repercussions my family makes me feel ashamed of. It's a nice release.

I named this blog after Noelle, aka Ninja Kitty, because she is the light of my life. Seriously, when the rest of the world can go suck it, she gives me the chance to enjoy the sunbeams. She curls up with me while I sleep. Takes my pillows before I go to sleep. Generally is never far enough away that she can't tell every step I take. She doesn't like being held, but will tolerate it for about 30 seconds before starting to squall. But it's a nice warm, cozy feeling.

And, here's the thing that really, really gets me: she needs me. I have a maternal streak a couple oceans wide. It's a natural thing, and most of my friends end up at some point saying, "I don't need a second mother." And like a mother, I totally ignore them. Hey, I'm not changing my personality. Take it or leave it. I take care of my own. It's a natural thing that I don't try to force on people, but it's a given with me.

She doesn't care that I can't parse a sentence, that inequality graphs and notations are the bane of my existence, that I have some serious road rage, or that I'm not always the brightest bulb in the lot. She just loves me. That's an amazing feeling, and one I'm not really acquainted with. Usually people only like me for as long as they can use me up. I know, and I still let them. That's all right, though. Not that they do it, but if I'm aware, then it's on me. But having that kind of love at my fingertips has actually kept me from going off on a lot of people.

As for the upbeat thing. Man, sometimes I can make Pollyanna look like a downer. It's that whole "hey, I've lived through hell so the rest of life must be a cakewalk." I never said I was bright, did I? But it makes it easier for me to handle the bad spots. I find the oddest situations funny. Like I can start laughing over something totally stupid and I'll keep laughing until I can't breathe. Like when I tickle my godmom's feet and she wiggles around like a 4-year-old, or I'm on the phone with one of my best friends and we'll start discussing how damn stupid some fans are, like making My Little Pony characters of characters (note: I have, in fact, seen Stargate ones, along with hearing about Dr. Who) and how the sanity train musta never left those stations. Or I'll get tickled over the dumbest knock-knock joke, especially when my baby brother was younger and would tell them.

I'm not totally upbeat, as you've noticed, but I do try and keep some perspective. Hence the fairly twisted attitude. I might wanna choke a bitch, but I'll do it with a small on my face.

Ain't Bubbette's Bitch, Yo!

So little updates as I watch Big Brother 8 give money to either asshole or motherfucker choices.

I mentioned this a couple times on other people's blogs, but there's a cute guy in my math class. Of course, he looks twelve, so I assumed he was at most 20. Thus, making me feel like that pedophile Livejournal's determined to call me. Which, ick. Totally.

But turns out? Not so much! He's 26. And apparently might be gay. Well, I'm sorry guys, but y'all are hard as hell to figure out. Stop that. Right now. Your queen demands it, or off with your little head. Doesn't matter if he is gay; ain't like I'd land him anyway if he were straight. But it's fun to flirt regardless.

I went to see my godmom's lender today, to find out what I need to do to gain a condo in the next couple years. I'd love a house, but let's be real. I don't have the chance to get a 250k house in Atlanta, since I don't really wanna reside in the ghetto. Safety first, and I'd stand out. But Nancy, at least your house colors would match my location. ;)

So what I found is that I need to be employed for a year before attempting. I'd have my inheritance and substantial down payment along with paying off my old debt after I pay for a newer car. Now? I just need to find a job. WTF is up having clean credit for a clerking job? Er, they do realize they're in the land of foreclosures because people can't afford jack shit and thusly go into debt more, right? Right? Good to know people have their heads on straight. So hopefully in about 18 months I'll be in my own. I don't even have to rent. Woohoo. Godmom's offer to cosign was a huge help, since she's got impeccable credit. And has for like 50 years.

Other than that? I found out that I might have financial aid for school, and possibly a 90 in my non-credit class. Why can't I get that grade in a credited math class? WTF people. And now I shall frolic into looking at condos for my godmom.

Double U turn to the T around the block to F

I...I...

Tarina linked me to this fabulous piece of journalism. Anus starting to smell like a litter box? Pussy not perky enough? Well, these surgeries and procedures are for you! Just call up your local overpriced plastic surgeon and look like a mutant for only five grand! What a bargain. Call now and get a handy dandy supply of Depends for those times you need to pee and can't quite get to where you to be fast enough. Just throw them away as soiled.

People scare me. A lot.

Blow Out Those Candles For Me, Bitches!

I have to post my Dragon*Con experience in a couple days. Was gonna do it sooner...but if you don't mind, I'll hold off since I'm (a) not sick anymore, (b) not bogged down with school work, and (c) in the mood for the first time in about a dozen or more years to celebrate my birthday. That's right kids. I was born on September 12th, 1981. Making me the ripe old age of 26, going on 52.

I had planned a nice, thought-provoking post, but you know, just not in the mood for it. I know what I go through every birthday (seriously, my birthday? Like a homing beckon for disaster.) and quite frankly, I'm tired of drama, drama, drama. So, I'm gonna go to math class, enjoy my fun time, be thankful for the easy A I get for showing up to class for that freebie quiz, and just...exist. We're going out to eat on Saturday. Hyatt Regency's awesome food, thank you very much. I'm hankering for some shrimp fettuccine, with sweet chili spices. Yummy!

Also, everyone go tell Pug Mom happy birthday. She's part of the elite club of the September 12th baby. Y'all are all just jealous you're not of the few, the proud, the awesomely in-fucking-sane.