f.m.l.

Oh god. Who had the horriblest day today? *raises hand*

Today had a promising start, as promising as a Monday can be. My shower was nice and warm, absolutely perfect. Nevertheless, I still can't shake my head cold. Which sucks.

So I got to English, that useless waste of time they dubbed "Critical Writing" (I'm quite critical of it), and my prof, Beastly Lady, handed back our drafts. She'd scribbled over and crossed out practically my whole damn thesis. The same thesis she helped me friggin' write on Thursday, mind you. So I complained. And then BL was like, "Oh yeah....forget about it then." Never mind that you'd sullied my glorious 2.5 double-spaced pages of 12-pt. Calibri with your CHICKEN SCRATCH, Madam!

On to breakfast with the Unfathomably Tall Swimmer, a wonderful soul from my class. His friend, the Sheltered Bostonian, wouldn't eat with us, however. He'd previously deemed UTS's attitude "too negative." But then UTS informed me that SB doesn't like me. And he wasn't joking, ha-ha. Which, of course, was news to me! This may be a D-thing to say, but I'm entirely unused to being disliked. I dislike many people and things, but I thought I was generally well-liked, or at least tolerable. Apparently I am "annoying" and "socially awkward." Not that SB could let me know any of this, no. What really bothers me isn't that he doesn't like me, it's that he is a big fake jerk to my face about it. Gawd. What happened to the natural social order of things, where if you like someone you talk to them, and if you don't, you pretend they fell off the face of the planet?! I mean, I'm good at being fake too, but that's more useful in high school. This is college, where you don't owe it to these random people to be nice if they aren't nice to you. If you're gonna dislike me, dislike me, dammit!

(Side note: I asked my roommate, Mrs. Icky, "I'm not annoying, right?" and all I got was a non-committal "mm." Ouch.)

Anyway, on top of the head cold, my breakfast disagreed with me and I threw it up 10 minutes after returning to my dorm. I definitely thought people would walk in the bathroom and be like "She's hungover/bulimic/stupid." I felt bad because the cleaning lady had seriously just left like 2 seconds ago. I could tell by the nauseous smell of lemony bleach. Augh.

That's when I realized my day had reached the point of total suckage. My only solace was that I'd be going to see a soccer game with Lil Joey the Class Scapegoat later. It was our high school versus their rival and it was going to be good.

So then I had to watch a video for Spanish, and I had no idea where to find said video. I went down to El Profe's office and he gave me the "Dear God, woman, are you completely retarded?!" face and mumbled, in Spanish, that it was in the library. I then encountered many technical difficulties in the library with said video.

By the time I got back to my dorm, I hadn't heard from Lil Joey about our soccer-game plans, so I Facebook Chatted him. He informed me that he "didn't feel so good" and that the plans were off. I offered my get-well sympathies and headed to class. El Profe came in a couple minutes late, as usual, and informed us that he was canceling class because HE didn't feel well either! (All college inhabitants, be they students or faculty, are squashed together so closely that plagues can spread at an epidemic pace, so I'm not terribly surprised that El Profe got taken down with us.) This was all well and good, right? I got out of class early and I didn't have chamber orchestra rehearsal. The only engagement I had was a photo op with the Anthropology Club for the school newspaper, and that wasn't for another hour.

So I jaunted upstairs, unlocked my door, and what? Mrs. Icky had put the chain up. She was in there with her disgusting boyfriend! I got the message and skedaddled to the lounge, fretting quite a bit. Then Mr. Icky opened the door, and I slunk in to get my books. The Missus was cuddled under the covers of her bed. Now, when I last left her, Mrs. Icky had just gotten out of the shower and was in her skimpy bathrobe-y type-thing. I assumed she was wearing that, or less, under said covers. (Strangely enough, Mr. Icky answered the door fully clothed...?) All the same, AWKWARD. I ran to the library to do research for a paper.

I was lucky enough to make dinner plans with a perfectly acceptable specimen, a.k.a. Future Husband. (Haha.) We discussed our mutual dislike of Mr. Icky and his putrid manners, which include, but are not limited to: smoking, crude language, disrespect of women, skipping class, and not knocking. Or knocking too much. Gawd. Unfortunately, I had to skip out early for this Anthro Club photo shiz. Most tedious, and in drizzly weather besides.

After my anthropological duties, I swung by the computer lab to check the ol' homework (aaaaaand the ol' Facebook). And what do I see?! "Lil Joey is going to the soccer game, GO FALCONS!!!...some people dont know how good they had it."

Ohh, Lil Joey. You are gonna have it. And not so good. Not that any of this is Lil Joey's fault, it just so happens that he put the cherry on my crap sundae of a day. Since then I have been sulking in my dorm, and it's a good feeling, let me tell you.