...I hope their schedules work out better from now on.
Darkside, you know some of those moments. You may share some of those same moments.
I"ll show you my true face from now on, not just the me that you make me into when I love you.
I must be a complete woman to be loved by anyone.
moments of quiet, of anime giggles, of computers, of happiness, of especially odd soul-searching.
i hope you treasure some of the same moments. i hope you care about our friendship as much as i do.
may we never lose this.
Undaunted, I take a paper copy to Academics, where they promise me it'll be all good.
I check online Sunday, and they only have me down for two of the four classes. Hello?
I come in to school this morning, and I receive notice on my computer that I am to go to Academic Counseling Center in Academics to see about my classes, not all of which were approved. No holds on my schedule exist, however.
When I finally get there, I explain the message to the person at the desk, who directs me back to the desk of somebody who's ... not there! I wait in line for someone else who might be able to handle my request, accomplishing many games of Memory on my cellphone.
When I finally get to speak with the person that I am to speak with, it develops that I'm actually listed as BIS in the computer system, which the lady brings up as a curiosity -- she's the BIS counselor, and I've just said I was CIS but maybe she could help, but I show up as BIS. I explain that I transferred at the beginning of this semester. "Ah," she says, and goes and retrieves my file.
The first class with problems is Accounting -- the note left was that I am currently enrolled in Accounting. I guess they didn't bother to take a look at my grades. This is no problem; the lady makes a note of it.
The other class is CIS 270, C++, with the wonderful Ron, aka "Einstein Newton" of the Phoenix area Renfaire.
"You've got to be a CIS major in order to take this class," the lady reads off the comments red-penned on the schedule request form I'd turned in Friday.
"Oh dear," I say.
"We can fix this no problem!" she says, and pens a few notes in, highlighting selected things. "Can I see your ID?"
She puts a validation sticker on the thing and sends me off with blessings after I've signed the proper forms.
...I wonder if Darkside's gotten that far in his quest yet? He got the screen that says he needs to stop by to validate his ID, but has he had time yet today?
Nerd, Freak, Geek, Dweeb. Sound familiar?
That's okay, cause I will be the richest
person at my 15th year high-school reunion.
If a "con" isn't happening that weekend.
At one point I was clutching my overworked abdominal muscles, collapsed with my forehead against Darkside's shoulder, I think about the box that warned:
The drive is not ready for use; its door may be open. Please check drive \Device\Harddisk1\Partition1 and make sure that a disk is inserted and that the drive door is closed.
I can only second the archivers of the collection, who said: Anyhow, one might wonder how we are expected to close the drive door on a partition.
The whole morning went like that. I got a good portion of the program done, though. Yay! W00t!
Darkside is really an argumentative fellow online. In person, he's meek and mild and comes off as arrogant if you don't know him... but online it's another story entirely.
We've got a history of being quarrelsome with each other online in the Fanboy Otaku Gamer's Club message board. Looks like today is no difference.
The amusing thing, however, is that Dennis, the webartist, has no clue as to Darkside's real identity. When Darkside and I started off our first online fight, we thought that Dennis would guess that Darkside was in fact his IRL best friend right off, and we'd all have a bit of a laugh, and that would be it.
Dennis has yet to connect the fact that his best friend has a Star Wars t-shirt with Vader that says "The Dark Side" on it, plus adores Darkside Blues, the anime, with the fact that there's some unknown named Darkside on the message boards wreaking havoc in conjunction with Azure Lunatic (the other close offline friend of his best offline friend).
We'll see if this provides a clue, or a clue-by-four.
Hot glue gun: $0.99 at the thrift store
Tan nail polish: $1.10
Black nail polish: $1.10
Red nail polish: $1.10
White fabric: $0.49
The look on your roommate's face when she sees Suicide Barbie (slit wrists, hands folded, eyes closed, wearing a white shroud) on top of her birthday cake: priceless.
I think I might be evil when I grow up.
Once upon a time, I was a fourteen-year-old female with too much time on my hands and nobody to talk to. So what did I do?
I wrote notes to myself.
...This developed into some form of something that might or might not have been a mild (as in I was still very functional) form of dissociative identity disorder. It stuck around until I was 20, providing angst, providing entertainment, providing rescue from what otherwise could have been dangerous depression.
Why mention this now? The depression has cleared up, leaving behind only a tendency to sulk and a wardrobe full of black clothing. The facets/shards of myself were integrated by some severe soul-healing from Votania and Darkside and then a meditation upon The Hermit in the school cafeteria.
I mention this now because it looks to me like Darkside's going to do the same damn thing I did.
He's got two identities on the Keenspace message boards now, and it looks like the two of him are going to mix it up.
I've been there before, so it's to be hoped that I can catch him if he falls.
Oh My Goth! You Goth, Girl. There is a
good chance I am bi. Freakiness pumps
through my veins, but I can still laugh
...Yeah, I'm definitely bi. I can still laugh, not only at myself, but also at other people....
I spent 40 minutes in the weight room today. The first twenty were spent stretching out, my routine, or near enough, from fencing class. I lifted weights for maybe five to ten, depending, and then hit the bike for ten to twelve more minutes. I cooled down with some more stretches and walking around the weight room.
Tomorrow, as Adam's most likely going to be visiting, I may not even bother with the gym; I'll get a decent workout with him in my inner temple.
Time to hit the showers.