Never thought of it that way, did ya?
Ladies and gentlemen, as I'm sure you've noticed, we are nearing the end of the semester. For those of us still effing around in college, this is like a second Christmas. For those of you who haven't been blessed with my incessant bragging, I will be done today, the 28th of April. This is far earlier than anyone else I've heard, and thus I say to you, in the most mature and meaningful tone, "Nana nana boo boo, I win." Unfortunately, I will be taking summer classes. I completely disagree with the existence of them, because to me it's taking something pure and innocent (summer), and defiling it with something evil (school). It's like taking a cute little baby and conditioning it so its first words are Sh!t, D@mn, @ss, and F^ck. And while in all honesty I have to admit that that child would be YouTube GOLD, it's just not right. Disclaimer: I would recommend that video to any/all friends in a heartbeat. I'm getting away from my point. Since I'll be participating in the unholy abomination that is summer school, I am forced to cram my entire summer's worth of traveling into the first month of summer. I'll be heading west, slowly but surely. Now I don't completely agree with the conceited self-righteous snobs out there that religiously proclaim "West Coast, Best Coast", but there is something to be said for a state that has beaches that actually have sand, and doesn't have mosquitos the size of small motor homes. It's not that I don't love unwillingly donating pints of blood to little bugs, or don't enjoy beaches with shells that could cut diamonds, but every now and then a little change is refreshing.
I can't for the life of me think of a creative way to say this, or a story to tie it in to, but in my opinion, the PT Cruiser is the herpes of the automotive world.
There are a lot of good things about the end of the Spring semester. It means summer is officially here, obviously school is over, and though I'm blanking for the moment, the list goes on. One of my favorite things about the end of classes is that we get to sell back books. It's like money that you complete forgot about. That will come back into play in about nine lines. This morning I had a final at 8am. I finished it in 13 minutes. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and I'll leave that judgement up to you, as that is not the focus of this particular story. I finished the exam, and decided that I would grab breakfast, then print out my final paper for another class and turn it in early so I wouldn't have to worry about it. So I did just that, I went home and printed out the final paper. At home I realized I could now sell the textbook from the exam earlier that morning. I didn't want the paper to get wrinkled as our professor takes off an entire letter grade if it is (irrational?), so I slipped it inside the book and went on my way. If you haven't figured out where this is leading yet, I'll be frank: I sold my book back with my final paper in it. Normally this wouldn't have been a big deal, and I could've just printed out another copy and turned it in. However, in true Tab form, the planets had aligned to make sure every possible thing went wrong. The paper was actually due in the next class period three days later, but I was missing that day so I absolutely had to turn it in today. The professor, Mr. Forgiveness, refuses to accept late papers or anything over email, and since fax machines are a completely useless invention, that only left the option of turning in hard copies. I could run back to my apartment, unfortunately that was two miles away, uphill both ways, and I am slow. I could print off another copy in the library, but being that I was on the way to the gym I hadn't brought my wallet and therefore wouldn't be able to even enter the library. On top of all of that, the Prof was only in his office for another ten minutes until he had class then left for the weekend. So after about thirteen seconds of completely irrational consideration, I hauled ass back to the bookstore, legitimately knocked a kid down to get to the front of the line, and used every skill of persuasion I possess to convince the staff that no, I am not insane, no, that kid fell down on his own, and yes, I absolutely have to hop over the desk and search through the returned books to find a paper that determines my grade in the class. I found it, (of course it was at the very bottom) and with all the physical coordination and stamina of Fat Albert, I blazed a trail back to my professor's office and turned in the paper. He was not impressed. The moral of this story is that there is no point whatsoever in trying to finish work early. Apparently, God likes procrastination better.
If I started spelling my name Tab Hir$chey, would any of you still talk to me? Yea, I wouldn't either. In fact, I'd probably mail myself something deadly. Now I don't blame Ke$ha for the whole thing, but why is it that so much of the American music world thinks they need to spell their names like a bunch of intoxicated preteen girls? Is it to be unique? If so, you're missing the idea. "Unique" is the set of African American albino twins, boy and girl, that I went to school with at Ole Miss ,and let me tell you, you will NEVER be as unique as those two. You make it look like it's okay to be a shitty speller if you can dress like a prostitute/gang member and get relatively close to rhyming.You're setting a bad example for the children. Go eat a pipe bomb.
Whoa. Just reread that last one. If someone else had written that and I had read it, I would've envisioned a crotchety old man in a rocking chair on a porch ranting to anyone around him. Oh well, at least I'll be prepared.
Fact of the Day: President Gerald Ford worked as a model during college. He also worked at Yellowstone National Park directing traffic and feeding bears.
Shout out to Robyn Damanti.
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