Class has started up again.
I'm taking one, a psych class where they teach us to play with numbers, taught by a doctoral student who seems slightly eager to share herself emotionally with us. Herself and her cats.
That's fine, I guess. Teachers can be needy too (I thought more of cats, though).
She wants us to share ourselves with her too, emotional problems, relationship issues, fears, desires, but only if it's about stuff that will affect our class performance, of course.
Very strange. That's a lot of analysis even for a room full of psychology majors. Maybe she's writing a paper?
The lab instructor, somewhat similarly, wants us to come to her for career advice, as my school is somewhat lacking in matters of advising. She resembles
this internet personality, so maybe I will be taking advantage of her.
Advice.
Lame.It's like I'm not even trying.
Speaking of being unsavory, I've been looking at apartments, because I need one.
While I like my current one, it is too expensive.
Anyways, while the nice desk girl was giving me a tour of what I assumed was a model apartment, I took the opportunity to check the closet size and was mildly surprised to discover it fully stocked with clothes, just like a real girl's apartment would be. It took the desk girl's creeped out look and about 10 seconds pondering the practicality of such thoroughness decorating a model apartment for me to realize I was snooping in somebody's closet.
Boy was my face red.
Looking for apartments was a lonely time. I visited eighteen different places and most of them had an abandoned, sketchy quality to them. Of course, on the whole when all the students go home for the summer all of Athens has an abandoned, sketchy quality, as do the people who stay there.
I tried to get my prospective roommates to help out, but they were too busy not taking my calls.
A noble pastime, and one I am sympathetic to as I frequently engage in it myself, so I decided to do it myself.
I discovered that a lot of complexes have the word "club" in their name, such as:
River Club
Riverbend Club
Towne Club
Moose Club
Polo Club
Player's Club
The Club
Everyone wants to be included, it seems!
Okay, you may have groaned or rolled your eyes, but I actually wept, this being serious business.
The name "Towne Club" bothers me for two reasons: It's half-ass (Town Club or Towne Clubbe,
you cannot sit on the fence), and it feels on the verge of being a redundant phrase like City Town or Organization Club, but it isn't quite and it just makes me tense.
The chord needs to be resolved, guys.
Of course, I like The Club the best because it's the only one that seems to merit a definite article.
Everyone knows that definite articles > adjectives.
(Hey look everyone, I really want to join The Club)
HAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAHAHHHHHHHH
AHA
HA
AH
HAHAH
HA
HAA
Okay.
Now I just need to corner both my future roommates at once and wrangle some signed leases out of them and I will have a place to live come autumn.
I've come to understand that I'm a boring boyfriend.
I already knew that, but it was sort of something that just floated around in my mental atmosphere, but now I truly grok it.
I am so sedentary, I am not fit for other women.
Guess I should get married, then.
Which is something I've been thinking about, not planning-wise but just conceptually, that and whether or not I should spawn.
Only because I was drunk. I only think about the future when I'm drunk.
I'd make a decent father. I know because I've had plenty of single mothers tell me that.
It was the strangest thing, me coming to college was like the proverbial young musician taking the bus from the farm to the big city in terms of my worldly inexperience and naïveté, plus I looked like I was 16, but for the first few months in Athens I kept picking up on single mothers. It got to be where I could predict when the girl was going to show me baby pictures.
They were actually pretty aggressive, it made me nervous. I wasn't ready to be made a man of yet.
Aagh
Nothing to write about, time to start calling people.
