Friday, October 31, 2003

Getting Drunk in my Dreams

My unconscious mind has worse habits than I do. Tries to make up for all the stuff I won't touch. I've had dreams about smoking since I was young. Last night, I had a dream that I drank an entire bottle of sweet blush wine and started staggering around, hoping no one would notice my drunkenness.

(For the record, I've only been noticably intoxicated once. When I do consume alcohol, it's one serving, maybe once every two months at the most. And I don't really like it. And I never smoke. Drugs? Uh, no. I am a goody two shoes.)

I woke up with an entire leg number than anything. It happens sometimes when I sleep on my side.

It's so cold today. I had to walk by Bartell's with its temperature-displaying sign just to see how cold: 33' F. Just above freezing. Sheeeit. No wonder I was still cold under two thick layers of blanket.

Anyway, everyone is feeling stressed these days. We had the big house meeting last night after Gilmore Girls and talked about moving. Josie was upset because moving now screws her up a bit--she was planning to be out by the end of January, so now she'll be stuck couchsurfing for a couple weeks if she still wants to work. Moving at the end of November is a big bitch to everyone because of the holidays and finals, but staying more than a month is potentially hazardous to our health, among other things, so our solution is to let the lease lapse and give notice in December. We'll find a place and move between finals and Christmas and/or Christmas and New Year's.

And we are confident we'll find an ideal place. Yep.

If anyone knows of a three-bedroom dwelling in one of the neighborhoods directly to the west and north of the University district--south of 85th, say, and east of Phinney--with free off-street parking that would be about $1500 a month or less and available in mid-December, let me know. That doesn't seem like too much to ask, does it?

Ideally, it'll be spacious, well-maintained, and not owned by a useless prick. But that may be asking too much.

So now that we're only casually on the hunt, here's to doing schoolwork. Ta.

Thursday, October 30, 2003

World Blows Up Around You

My life could be a lot worse. I could live in a war zone. I could be in the military. I could be experiencing another bout of depression. I could be sick. The rest of my family could be dying. My house could be burning down.

That doesn't stop me from complaining about all the shit that's going down right now.

At the crux of my complaints is that there is a growing puddle of sewage in my basement and the landlord wants to raise the rent by $130 after our lease is up in a month.

Considering the egregious lack of proper maintenance of the property, my housemates and I are crying foul. We don't think a house with sewage in the basement, quickly encroaching on expensive and heavy electronics among other things, is worth the $130 extra in rent. His letter claims expenses have increased, thus the need for higher rent. Bullshit. He doesn't pay any of the utilities for this house, and I am pretty confident property taxes haven't gone up. His previous "maintenance" has been sending a non-English-speaking guy out to "fix" the leaking shower, which was not, in fact, fixed; replacing the broken ceiling fan in Chris's bedroom with an inexpensive light fixture; and giving us a smelly, tiny, 30-year-old fridge to replace the one that died and ruined all of our frozen food. The fuses have blown from that fridge. He's been a useless prick of a landlord, not to mention sexist, only dealing with my male housemate directly, despite two females (myself included) being on the lease.

I love this house. The location is primo--close to everything I love, even though it's ghetto as hell and surrounded by noise, I'd prefer it to frat row--the space is magnificent, the parking is free, the rent was exceedingly reasonable. It's not perfect, but it is nice. Except for those pesky little things mentioned above, which are intolerable. The sewage is the anvil that broke the camel's back.

So we're planning to move.

Maybe if the sewage gets taken care of quickly and we can make an agreement that maintenance conditions improve dramatically, the $130 will be worth it and we'll stay. I'm thinking not, though.

Obviously, this leads to a whole new set of complications. Where to move, when, how to deal with Josie who's leaving at the end of January, not to mention her cat... Moving sucks, it does. But so does a clusterfuck of disgusting house problems.

What else is going on? I don't know. I have a cold and I'm on store brand sudafed, which always makes me spacy as fuck. I slept at Kevin's so I could, you know, shower and use the bathroom--being on the rag sort of necessitates these things--and I grabbed food and coffee at Ballard Market on my way to the bus to work. The coffee spilled all over the place and got cold from sitting around forever. The bus stopped at every stop. The cup I brought for Chris was unpleasant, and of the three sugar packets I brought him, one wasn't sealed properly and spilled all over my grocery bag.

I'm here at work until 4:30, too brain dead to do anything really productive and hogging the only functioning workstation. The printers are being wonky and people keep having retarded and overlong issues that make me want to fall on a sword.

Everyone else has midterms this week and is freaking out over that. The University Neighborhood Service Center, my closest passport application site, is closed until further notice due to flooding, so I need to haul ass to Ballard during appropriate hours. Tomorrow is Halloween and my costume will be Dirty Insomniac. It won't require me to dress up at all and will probably scare patrons and small children alike.

And I need to find a new place to live and move over Thanksgiving weekend, it looks like.


Tuesday, October 28, 2003

Fighting Invisible Monsters

I have bug bites in the most random locations. I don't even know where the bugs came from. Some people wake up to the sound of mosquitoes buzzing in their ears--not I. If they're around, I don't see or hear them. The only bugs I see are the fruit flies that were thriving on an empty carton of Thai leftovers buried deep in my trash bin until I took it out this week.

(If most of your trash is kleenex, you can crush it down almost indefinitely. Tip of the week.)

Anyway, I've had bug bites/pimples/god knows what on my knuckle, elbow, mid-back along the spine, and cheek. The one on my cheek was particularly odd, as it hadn't swelled or begun to itch when I found it.

Why am I writing about minor bug bites? I had a topic, for reals. It's just escaping me now.

In ethics yesterday, the grader, in our prof's absence, lead a discussion about coverage of Columbine and similar trauma situations. (Isn't it strange how readily we interchange "trauma" and "tragedy?" The words have different meanings, but you wouldn't know that to look at most headlines. Something traumatic occurred. Let's jazz it up and call it a tragedy because we have pictures of people in tears. So much for objective journalism.) I found it a little difficult to say my piece when the woman was quite clearly moved to emotion about the subject--I'm simply not.

I mean, I can see why people covering it day in and day out would be moved. I can see how it's moving. It's fucking scary and terrible and having to look at images of kids being pulled out of windows and diving under desks for weeks at a time, having your car surrounded by angry citizens, constantly being pressured to harass those who lost someone? Yeah, that's crappy. And it's worth discussing.

But at the same time, what the fuck!

The vocal qualities of some of my classmates makes me not want to say anything at all. Theirs is the voice of self-important authority. It's my biased perception, sure, but it doesn't make me want to say what I'm thinking: "I don't need fucking Katie Couric to come to my hometown when it's insane and tell me and all of America how terrible it is. I don't need it glossed over with fanfare, pomp and circumstance, on the evening news. I don't need to answer the call when a big name wants a quote." I totally felt for the local journalists; they were getting fucked. And I can't say that. It's hard for me to formulate these thoughts on the fly and verbally.

Why is it, self-important authoritative voice, that it was wrong for the students, parents, and faculty to want to control the message? How is it blocking news or making people forget if they don't show images and name names of the perpetrators on the one-year anniversary? Why can't it for once be the news to present the story as "these people were traumatized" and not "those fuck-ups did the traumatizing"?

I wish my prof had been there for the discussion. He's the same prof I had for Advanced Newswriting, and trauma reporting is his thing. Our trauma unit was, to some extent, his pet project. It was strongly emphasized that to be more responsible reporters, we should give less power to the perpetrators of trauma and more to the victims. It's a complicated issue, but one I would have liked to have my prof to direct a little.

Maybe I'm a little too interested in compassion to be a hardcore reporter. That's never been my intent, anyway. Compassion, to me, is not just crying when something is difficult. Objectivity is useless. If the "truth" the people want to hear is a rehash of terrible events and not the harsh reality of the present, fuck them.

Of course, I speak with a voice of no authority. Just an opinion and, apparently, a differing set of ethics to most of my classmates.

Truth be told, I don't remember any of the trauma coverage of Columbine. I refused to watch more than five minutes of 9/11 on CNN. I wanted everyone to stick a sock in it with the OJ Simpson case. It's not that I don't care about these things--well, I didn't give two shits about the Simpson case--I just don't feel the need to reexamine them for months on end. There is so much happening in the world that it seems disastrously short-sighted to have so much attention called toward just one thing. It becomes a collection of images and sound bites--low signal-to-noise--a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

We ask for meaning, but we just want a message.

And why am I majoring in journalism, anyway, if I don't want to be a journalist?

Good question.

I quit Children's. After one week. I don't know why, exactly, I just decided it was not a place for me to be. I have no desire to go into clinical work, and moreover, I have no desire to take the bus to Sand Point every Tuesday. Lazy? Yes.

I need to find a real internship; I need to get a passport; I need to make plans. I need to get organized; I need to start cooking again. But I do have tickets to see Built to Spill on the 17th and Death Cab for Cutie on the 21st of November; Kevin has tickets to see Beulah on Saturday. A month with at least three concerts can't be all wasted.

Thursday, October 23, 2003

The world is a crazy place. We had so much rain here in Seattle on Monday that no one, and I mean no one, got out without everything they carried being completely drenched. Things are still damp today. My boots have a spot of mold growing on the tongue, and the leather has tightened so I must break them in again. My gum, sitting in my purse, which was sitting in my backpack, got damp and the pieces stuck together and to the side of the box. Everyone's textbooks and notes have serious water damage. It's quite impressive.

Of all the shows in the past...month, I think, that I wanted to attend, I've gone to one. And I left early because I was tired. This is a sad state of affairs. I haven't been insanely depressed about it, though. Don't know why.

I've been busy. I feel like I don't have much free time, then I end up with plenty. My housemates would like to crucify me for lack of prompt dish-doing, although I don't neglect the kitchen entirely. Not at all. I'm just pushed into the corner on this matter because one must make allowances for living with other people, y'know. A 24-hour rule has been instituted, with leaving dirty dishes in your room as a loophole. Which I suppose is fair, I just don't like it. I don't know why, but having rules like that bothers me. For some reason, the institution comes off as my housemates telling me I don't do my share and they all do everything, which isn't the case--the insinuation or the actuality. People just...tend to think that when they do something, they are the only ones doing it.

Anyway, just a bad taste in my mouth.

People are getting on my nerves in lots of little, subtle ways. Nobody's perfect.

I haven't updated in ages. On my last movie-renting jaunt, I had Dead Man saved for last. I loved it. Particularly the scene where the two sheriff dudes are wandering around and see Johnny Depp wandering around and one of them points a pistol at him and yells, "Hey, aren't you William Blake?" Johnny Depp calmly steps forward and responds, "I am. Do you know my poetry?" and shoots the guy in the head.

In my journalism ethics class, we watched a screener copy of Shattered Glass the distribution company sent to my prof. It was pretty good. My prof hoped it would spawn discussion, which it has, so I guess it served its purpose. I don't think I would've paid to see it in the theater, but it's a decent flick.

Now I want to see The Station Agent.

I started volunteering in the psych ward at Children's Hospital this week. I observe for two hours a week and am supposed to learn something about charting and the presentation of various mental disorders. This week, I observed the older kids, most of whom were girls with eating disorders. It was pretty interesting.

On Monday night, the fuse controlling the circuit that supplies power to half the house blew when a super-duper space heater got plugged in and the compressor on the evil, shitty old-new fridge kicked on at the same time. I didn't sleep well since I was awakened at midnight so I could find an alternate alarm (yay for cell phones) to get up at 6 for work. I didn't take a shower because I wasn't sure if there was, in fact, hot water, and it was too dark to see anything. I used my lighter--devoid of adequate lighter fluid, so I was going by sparks here--to make sure my clothes were the correct color coordinations. The only reason I wasn't in the bitchiest mood ever was Kevin stayed over and drove me to work, stopping to let me get coffee and a muffin on the way.

I don't really have anything to talk about. The biggest dork of a lab user is here now and I hope above hopes that he doesn't ask me anything. About a week ago, Chris and I encountered this, our favorite lab patron, requesting our boss's business card. Our favorite lab patron is prone to asking endless stupid questions with an annoying tone of voice; I've taken to being curt and playing dumb with him. That's old news.

Anyway, on this particular day, Chris and I decided to play dumb about whether or not the boss had cards (he does). Chris went into his office to ask if he had any business cards, trying to subtly imply that boss's answer should be, "Gosh, no, haven't got any of those!" loud enough for annoying lab user to hear.

But boss didn't get the message and said sure, they're right there in front of you, Chris! And of course lab user can hear this. Chris gave lab user a card, but as soon as he walked away, we went into boss's office and told him: "Headphones guy wanted your card! We were trying to give you an out!" Boss laughed and said he hadn't gotten that message, and at least the card didn't have his home phone number. Sheesh.

Now I'm starving and it's probably another half hour before any coworkers arrive. Meh. Oh well. My brother should come online and talk to me.

Monday, October 13, 2003

Fashion Disaster

Some things I'll never understand. Like wearing "comfy" sporting outfits to school. I think I'd freeze, for one, if I wore sweatpants (with my sorority's greek letters spread across the ass) with flip-flops in October. And matching velour pantsuits. They look flimsy, too tight, and like clothing old ladies would wear.

But then, I am the one who wears whatever crap sort of matches as long as it kind of fits after hating on shopping so hard that it takes me two years to decide I even want anything I'd actually wear. Furreals, but I've got new wool boot socks that go up almost to my knees. They kinda kick ass.

But velour pantsuits. I don't understand. And then with the damn cargos again. Cargos look oogly-boogly on normal pants; they look ten times clunkier in purple velour.

My stereo's treble knob was just turned all the way up. It almost sounded better that way, just awfully sharp. I love this album, though. Track Star's Lion Destroyed the Whole World. It's fucking breakup emo indie rock, but it transcends somehow. Also, they need to come play in Seattle so I can be in the front row when they play something offa' Communication Breaks and I rock the fuck out.

Maybe it's the kind of thing where I just feel so blah that I gotta hear someone else feel fucking sad as hell so I stop feeling so blah. If that makes any sense.

Why don't I know how to rock?

Anyway. I was going to go see Quasi last Friday night, but during dinner at Tandoor, my stomach decided to hate me so intensely that I wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep (after, erm, making my GI tract empty of unpleasantness). So we skipped it. Which was okay since we didn't have tickets. If we'd had tickets, I think I would've made the effort. For as often as I've mocked Kevin for missing shows he actually held tickets to--expensive ones, even--I can't do the same thing.

I need to get tickets to some shows. Particularly Death Cab for Cutie (the 21+ show, rar! no children singing along!) and Guided by Voices. Maybe others. So confusing.

And I'm still in the research process for Asiatrip. Meeshy, we gotta talk. I am talking to Winnie right now. Planning is wild. I just hope I don't do something stupid and call the whole thing off because it is so much money and work. Speaking of money, I should start saving some. Heh.

Oh, so what I did actually do this weekend was watch a buttload of movies. Chris and I went to see Kill Bill Vol. 1 Friday afternoon, which was fucking cool. I felt a little uncomfortable with myself for finding the nonstop and excessive violence so entertaining--usually not my bag--but it was so... fun. And interesting, actually. Not the plot, I mean, but various elements were intriguing to me. But this is definitely a movie that's dividing people. And not just Uma Thurman with her katana, haw haw!


I rented Hell House, a documentary about the first church to put together one of those "scare you straight to Jesus" fucked up haunted houses. It's an Assembly of God church in Texas. It was a well-made docu, I thought--fairly objective, considering the tendency to go all liberal on such a subject--though the people were insane to my point of view. I also got Devil's Playground, about rumspringa, the time when Amish kids get to go "english" and decide if they want to be Amish. The film wasn't quite as compelling, though the subject matter is interesting. Chris rented another docu, The Kid Stays in the Picture, about Bob Evans, a former bigwig at Paramount responsible for making them one of the top movie studios in the '70s. That film was a slick as hell and pretty interesting.

Yesterday, Josie got me into Intolerable Cruelty, the new Coen Brothers film. Suffice it to say I was underwhelmed. There was little about it that felt like a Coen Bros. picture, and that was sad. It wasn't bad, not at all, it just... could have been more. I don't know.

I need to buy some books and think about traveling. Hurrah.

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

For Once, Something Doesn't Fail Me

School of Rock was very entertaining. In the Sister Act vein, which, admittedly, I loved and owned on VHS when I was younger, but entertaining as hell.

Sex Mob was good, too, although I left after their first set because it was 10:30 and I am an old lady who goes to bed at 11 now. Boo-hoo. Among other things, the quartet performed a jazzy jam on Abba's "Fernando." And "The Blue Danube Waltz," which is probably one of my favorite orchestral pieces--perhaps less because of the music itself and more because of certain memories attached to it, like riding around the Yelm Highway Safeway parking lot in my '99 Honda Civic EX with my little brother, windows rolled down and that song blaring, or the beginning of 2001.

Anywhoo. The real unfailing thing that happened today was I walked into Communication Advising and asked about journalism skills electives slated to be offered this spring. She told me copyediting and digital journalism both should be, and since those are the two I want above all others, I'm ditching winter quarter and doing something exciting.


Something...very expensive and exhausting.

I'm gonna travel. I hope.

I'm looking into going to Malaysia (hi, Meesh!), Japan (particularly Osaka, where Koko lives), and possibly Thailand. That hardly exhausts me list of places I want to go in Asia, but they are places I can potentially plan to go where people I know will be, and therefore more "safe" for me to travel since I won't have a traveling companion, unfortunately. Unless someone reads this and is in a position to offer themselves up.

I've got a lot of research to do still on the subject, and my trip should only be about three weeks in the first part of January, so I'll have to find other things to fill my time in February and March. I'll probably try to get an internship or something of that nature.

My constraints are many. I want to be back before Josie moves out because we'll need to have a big goodbye fiesta. She's headed to Jordan on Feb. 6 and moving out before the end of January. I'll have to help my roommates find a new roommate (unless Aron comes through on his hope/plan to move to Seattle and take the room, but I can't count on that). I probably won't leave until after New Years Day because the fares I'm looking at are wildly less expensive if I travel between Jan. 1 and the end of March. Before that, I'm hoping to be in the Bay area for holidays, either with my family or Kevin's. Anyway, it's all pretty up in the air at this point.

Boo just broke into my room. Crazy cat. She feels it's necessary to put her scent (and shed fur) on all my stuff. Because I must really enjoy cat allergies while I sleep, you know? Hee.

Saturday, October 04, 2003

P-A-R-T -- Why? Because I Gotta!

Yes, I laughed at that movie. But I haven't seen it since I was about 13.

It seems sad to me that 15 rambunctious friends can show up at a party where alcohol and food are plentiful, but only three people dance for more than an awkward minute.

People arrived slowly. People have lives. Over the course of the evening, however, Jen and her roommate Cora, Christine, Jesse, Lindsay, Graylan, two of Stephanie's friends, Kevin, Lauren, Jana, Shane, Julie and Ross all graced us with their presence. Additionally, everyone brought things.

Jen and Cora brought delicious frozen desserts from Trader Joe's: A chocolate torte and a chocolate-orange torte. Fuck yeah.

Christine and Lindsay were responsible for crepes. They brought it all. They are awesome.

Jesse brought bread and cheese. Baguettes, brie, and smoked gouda, to be exact. Yum!

Graylan I think may have pitched in for a can of whipped cream later in the evening, or at least accompanied Lindsay to Safeway to buy them.

Jana and Shane brought themselves, which is enough for anyone.

Stephanie's friends, I think, brought her a much-needed respite from hectic strangers.

Lauren brought a cornbread mix to make vegan crepes (which she later described as being like Russia for its tendency to break off at the edges into little -stans and because "the sun never sets on my crepes") and pumpkin butter. She briefly danced during "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)."

Kevin brought me a video with a Wilco and Sonic Youth concert that my VCR didn't tape right.

Ross and Julie brought Munchies (suspiciously like Chex Mix), an Aqua Tour Diary video, and records that Julie's mom wanted to throw out. AWESOME. I think I might get to play with them today. There is a box of "gold" vinyl (really a transparent yellow) containing stuff like the best of Lawrence Welk's rhythm section. I could really throw a kickin' party at the retirement home.

Speaking of which, there is a rummage sale at a senior center a few blocks from here today. Their flyer says nothing of records, but what rummage sale is complete without them?

Chris was in charge of drinks. He went crazy and bought a ton of ice, lined boxes with trash bags--we have no coolers--and stuffed them full of hard cider, good beer (so I'm told), and the one bottle of Bud Ice that Will Never Die.

And I...I made the veggie plates and hummus and dumped a bag of pita chips in a bowl. The veggies and chips mosty disappeared, and half my hummus is gone. Success!

Later I will post pictures of Josie's hand on Christine's boob. Maybe.

Smoothie season is officially over. The farmers' market no longer has peaches for sale. Sob! I am very attached to my peach-pineapple smoothies. I won't buy peaches from Safeway because their vegetable selection is crap, especially the joke of an organic section. It's probably for the best--an icy drink just before heading out into an autumn morning chill shouldn't be relished.

Here's hoping I actually get to go see the Mountain Goats tonight. I need a show.

Thursday, October 02, 2003

Hello, Hi

School's started, and that's exciting as usual. I've been to exactly three class sessions so far. Yesterday's psych class was cancelled and tomorrow's has yet to be. I'm working 18.5 hours a week. I taped Gilmore Girls with an iron fist on the pause button. I'm prepared to make hummus and a plate of veggies for our potluck tomorrow. I have a birthday present for one of my best friends. She'll be 22 on Sunday.

It's not quite 8 a.m., and I've been awake for over an hour. I don't have anywhere to be until 10.

Tonight is the Gilmore Girls Social Club night (my own recent dubbing; more often it's just referred to as "GG"), relocated from the old Harem apartment to my house (the New Harem). People will be dropping by starting around 5. Some just want to hang out, some actually have a television-watching agenda. Chris has a new TV, or will by tonight. GG certainly merits the dethroning of the oppressive 13-inch majority, right?

I have some confessions to make: I didn't go see Pleaseeasaur. Or the Long Winters. Or the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players or Damien Rice. I was this close to seeing the Trachtenburgs, but we decided there were, hmm... more amusing things to do with our time. And the Trachtenburgs are, honestly, pretty amusing.

I have to convince someone to see the Mountain Goats on Saturday or that, too, will fall by the wayside. Incidentally, people are welcome to come to the potluck on Friday night. If you know me, of course. And you want to bring some food. We should have crepes. It takes a lot to eat a giant stack of crepes, you know.

Next week, however, are two shows I'm half-certain I will go to because Kevin likes the bands: Sex Mob and Quasi. I have never heard Sex Mob, but I am sure they're good, because they call themselves Sex Mob.

I need to do something good for myself, like take yoga again. And go to more shows that make my clothes smell smoky, my feet hurt, my ears feel plugged up, and my heart happy.

Yesterday I consumed no caffiene. Well, okay, I had a cup of green tea in the evening, but I don't think that's as bad as my usual big mug o' coffee. And the day before, we went to A Taste of India on Roosevelt where I had copious refills of sweet, delicious chai in addition to the daily dose of coffee. Anyway, yesterday I was tired and headachey all day. It could have been the need for speed. It could have been the onset of a cold. It could have been because my body is dumb.

Speaking of copious chai refills, I think we've now tried all the Indian restaurants in the University District, at least the ones with coupons. A Taste of India was pretty all right; we decided it was in the top three. It had the same stuff as the revered Cedar's, but the service isn't as oppressive. I don't like feeling doted on to the point of being watched. Tandoor is one of our favorites for its decent portions and non-presumptuous atmosphere. Rounding out the top three is Spice Rack, which always feels dimly lit and moody, but not quite stuffy, even on a summer afternoon. I've had two excellent meals there, though they are a tad more expensive than the other restaurants. I've heard we should try the lunch buffet at Himalayan Sherpa and Neelam's, but Kevin is seldom awake at lunch time.

And classes. Yay fun. They might be tolerable. I'm only taking two. My journalism ethics class is taught by the same prof I took for advanced news reporting, whom I liked. I think he'll be pretty good here, too. Infinitely better than the blowhard I had for That Crappy Class I Took Last Winter who also teaches the class.

My psych class is on child and adolescent behavioral disorders (i.e., developmental x abnormal psych) and we're covering ADHD, autism, etc. There's a volunteer opportunity tied to the class, only a few hours a week at Children's, that I've asked to join. I need something else to do besides class and work, and I think this will make the psych class more relevant to me, which is good since I tend to get really bored of my psych classes. At least this isn't all theory, which is probably why I dropped the other two 400-levels.

I need to go talk to the advisers in Communication about skills electives being offered winter and spring quarters. It doesn't look like they're offering the ones I want this winter, so I need to find out if they will in the spring. Then I need to make a decision: find something better to do with myself winter quarter and take the classes in the spring, or stick with what I've got in winter and just graduate already.

I could've been done at the end of this quarter had I been on the ball about getting an add code for classes last spring. I didn't know I needed them. Dammit.