Wow! I Was Bitter in January But Wait 'Til You See Me Now!

Well, what a strange little environment I've found myself here. I feel as if I know it, yet it is so foreign. A world long forgotten.

Perhaps this memory lapse is because I have been doing nothing but work for the past three months. Perhaps it is because I have had to fight with the school at least once a week to get what I need done...done. Perhaps it is because the dog shit exploding diarrhea all over the carpet yesterday and I spent hours steam cleaning the fucking carpets in my apartment.

The carpets, however, were worth it. They are surprisingly soft to the touch when they are not coated in dirt, gravel, and dog hair. Yesterday, Cait presumed that they were so soft, you could lie on them comfortably. She then proceeded to do so, and confirmed her hypothesis. She also said they were wet, and then got up.

Because of the hard work I put in to cleaning this house in the last two days, I am going to enforce a no-shoes policy for one week to see how I like it. This, really, is more to fuck with people...the dog doesn't even wear shoes, yet is responsible for tracking in 90 percent of the crap I vacuumed out and dumped unceremoniously into Shalonda's (Those of you who know not whom this is, there may be a series of character bathtub, thinking her out of town. As it turned out, she had been at work and I too busy to notice. Maybe I'll let her wear shoes.

This recent burst of cleaning energy is no doubt prompted by spring. While this time of year we call "spring" has proven anything but springy, there were just enough warm days to generate pollen. The pollen awoke my allergies from their winter slumber like a bear, hungry from months of hibernation. As the bear to honey, I have consumed an immense amount of Dayquil in the last week. Couple with the adderol I have recently been blessed with, I am a whirlwind of activity by day and a worthless burnout by night. This, however, is still better than the all-day worthless burnout I usually parade around as.

Another reason for this recent extra time, which allows me the luxury of living life as a maid, is that I quit Phonathon...PhonaPhonaPhonaPhonathaaauuuuaaaan! It finally happened that Alyssa Robinson drove me over the edge. Too pessimistic! Me?

While her argument may have some weight, I really don't think it is fair to say that work me is that same as normal me. Normal me is a bitter shrew of a human being who would rather sit in and play Scrabble five nights a week than interact with normal human beings (read: non Scrabble players). Work Andrew is someone who has to be at least a little bit better than everyone else, and then make sure they know that he (I) is (am) better while making extra-sure they know I really, really hate it.

But that is EXACTLY what being a phoner is all about. You have to turn yourself off and pretend to care...I think I might puke. Seriously, though. Three hours a night, four nights a week, having the same exact conversation over and over again, all so that I can solicit a donation, which, in turn, lets the victim know that, in fact, I have been faking sincerity for the last 5-45 minutes. What makes such a self-sacrifice possible, you ask? Why, sarcasm and bitterness intended for humor sounds like a reasonable solution.

While this solution may not work at certain "preppy" schools, where people are also obnoxiously peppy (note the similarity in the words...creepy), it does work at IC. Ithacans, for the most part, have a fairly solid grasp on the reality of the situation. They are faking human interactions for money. They are selling their souls before they even get out of school. Laughing at yourself for doing it at least keeps you grounded in the reality that, a)this is not your lifetime job (and thank God, or else you'd be Alyssa Robinson--not my dog...the real one) and b)you recognize that you are actually prostituting yourself to the college and, like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, we get a sweet reward for it...Phonathon bucks. Eat my ass, Phonathon!

Shit...I had 160 left when I quit. Now where will I get gift certificates?

Still, I do miss some of my Phonathon buddies so, if you read this, we can still be friends. Just because Alyssa and I broke up doesn't mean we broke up, too.

Leading up to my exit from the basement of Alumni Hall was a fun little incident with a teacher which led me to question my entire college experience. Some call it a nervous breakdown. I am not so much in to such psychobabble, but WebMD confirms that this may be what I had.

Last Monday morning, at 7:30 A-fuckin'-M, I went early to the music school to finish the last few questions of my theory homework. Sitting on a bench outside the teacher's office, I filled a few out before he asked me what I was doing. The following is what ensued thereafter:

Gavin sat down on the bench next to me five minutes before class. He asked to use my book because I had photocopied something for him and it had been cut off. Dr. C, as we will call him, came outside and insinuated that I was getting answers from Gavin, which is preposterous. We pointed out that, should I choose to cheat, I would cheat off of my roomate at home rather than on a bench outside his office and classroom.

Dr. C forced us into the room and made me turn in my homework before anyone had even really shown up. It was me, Gavin, one other girl, and the teacher. That, apparently, constituted class starting.

I then attempted to ask a question and was promptly refused an answer. This led to my blatant use of the pouty, "you're an asshole" face.

"Well, I don't know why you're having such an attitude about it," said Dr. C.

"Um," I retorted, "Maybe it is because I just wanted to ask a question and you wouldn't answer it."

He then proceeded to FREAK OUT, yelling at me about how I was disrupting his teaching style and class. Then, he broke out the big guns.

"And don't think I didn't see you out in the hallway getting answers off of Gavin," he yelled, shocking both me and the rest of the class, who had finally decided to show up. "You were out there cheating, and now you're disrupting class. Just get out."

Meanwhile, I wondered to myself how showing up early to do homework made me a cheater. My inner monologue took the form of an outraged gathering of my books and me spatting, "Maybe I should just freakin' leave. Not like I'm really learning anything!"

While I could go through the ensuing aftermath, I think I will just summarize it...

1) I went straight to the dean's office and told him what had happened. He said he would take care of it. He never did.
2)Dr. C sent me an e-mail which spawned a back-and-forth internet argument in which I demanded an apology, both written and to the class to clear my name. In the music school, gossip is constant, and news of the incident had spread by orchestra later that day.
3)I finally demanded a meeting with Dr. C and the dean, but was the pushed to the head of the theory department, another Dr. C. In our meeting, I threatened legal action.
4)Monday morning I received my apology. Dr. C (the good one) agreed with me 100%. It took everything I had to keep from smirking, and I graciously accepted my apology. Slandering his name came later.

So, the past few weeks started with shit and ultimately led to real shit. The times, they've been fun. I hope everyone leaves comments so that I have incentive to blog. I don't really do anything now that I don't work, and I think most of you are the same way.

God, 8:19...almost bed time.