…managed to cover the entire floor area of our living room with drawings of dinosaurs and racecars. Actually I’m amazed at how anyone can get anything done in this infernal heat.
Me, I’m currently rediscovering the healing properties of talcum powder. Talcum powder’s the shizz! I don’t care what those crazy coconut oil people say, we breathe cancer into our lungs just walking out into the streets anyway. Well, that goes without saying that I have nothing to do at home–or rather I have a million and one things to do but I break a sweat just thinking about them because of THIS HEAT.
Yesterday I was at school for my second to the last semester.
I like waiting in line. Waiting in line is fun. If I had to choose between making babies and waiting in line, I’d choose waiting in line because you kill time in the name of slooooowly progressing towards the inevitable. And you get to read! AND EAVESDROP! I love eavesdropping, especially when the conversations being had are about waiting in line. Eavesdropping: +5 :: Making Babies: 0.
So yeah, yesterday, wahttawaste. What I could have gotten done in an hour took 6 hours because after 100 years, the enrollment process in UP Diliman is still medieval. Of course, on my first year in UP it took me three days to secure 15 units, so progress is good. We are now about 50,000 paces closer to building rockets and finding a cure for hangovers (a cure that does not consist of more drinking, mind you).
Most of the time was spent waiting for the program coordinator to talk to me. I don’t know what’s up with the department now but somehow there was only one adviser to oversee enrollment for about 50something CT students. MY program coordinator is awesome (but not as awesome as waiting in line, nothing can beat that, except maybe eavesdropping). When she’s done checking my papers, she crosses the sheet in blue ink like this with so much conviction, it’s like her pen has to rape my Form 5 because she’s a woman of authority, a trained professional.
So upon sitting down in front of her and passing her my enrollment junk she goes,
“How was your practicum.” And I’m like it was a life-changing experience that I will forever be thankful for blablabla, and all that jazz.
Then she goes, “I hear Ms. Gozum had a problem with you, she said you seemed far away.”
Which is baffling, considering I had to be present to be able to talk in class, which I did A LOT because ME, I NEVER SHUT UP! I just can’t! And I was talking about the subject, not randomly brain farting.
So before even signing my papers she looks me straight in the eye, and attempting a Star Cinema moment she goes, “You’re very difficult to understand, Alice.”
Which I brush off with “Ma’am, I don’t expect to be understood by everyone, and neither should you.” which come to think of it is pretty arrogant, but honestly, the world is full of facts and phenomena that some may not understand, but makes perfect sense to other people. Did we not learn anything about niche markets? I mean, how else can we explain this?
(That thing’s pretty awesome though, I want one in yellow)
So there, in our program coordinator’s mind, I am probably the human equivalent of the splatter-proof-ramen-headband-thing. I guess it’s okay to get piping hot soup in your eye, but don’t dare get it on your forehead. And that’s fine, because in my mind, she’s the human equivalent of the medieval enrollment system in UP.