The Dark-Eyed Mistress of Sweet, Sweet Pain (jenni_the_odd) wrote,
The Dark-Eyed Mistress of Sweet, Sweet Pain
jenni_the_odd

Things

  • Tuesdays are my favorite day of the week. Sure, I'm at school late, but the day redeems itself via:
    (a) Screenwriting, which is full of funny people and some people who are not always so funny but have not yet killed me for poking fun at them. Also, watching of movies and critiquing other people's work. I get stressed when it is my own work being presented, but I love critiquing other's stuff. At least in screenwriting. In poetry it was occasionally painful and dull because there'd be a poem I did not understand at ALL, and in fiction there were some stories that made me die a little inside (there's always ONE person in the class whose work invariably makes you go "bwuh?"), but generally group critiques are fun. The professor has not told me to shut up yet, so I consider that a plus. 
    (b) Senior Seminar, which I have with the prof I had for Principles of Management, and while he annoyed me then I am now used to his brand of madness. Also he does not fail me for sassing him constantly, which is rather nice of him. And I sit next to one of the Matts, who I have taken to calling Dorkface, and we pretend to flirt. It is fun.
    (c) Irish Film & Lit, with Dr. Lowery, who is awesome. This is where I get to be snarky with some very cool people who are older than me in terms of decades (I like to remind them that I'm 23 and giggle at their withering looks of HATE), Adorable Tiny Irish Girl, and Andrew, who always wears red socks and who I annoy relentlessly because I think he is adorable and I am seven. Also, we get to watch movies of people with Irish accents for a good 75%-90% of class time. What's not to love?

  • Speaking of Andrew and his red socks, I have warned him that should he suddenly stop wearing only red socks, I will not love him anymore. I am a fickle creature and my love is conditional.

  • There is a girl at St. Thomas who thinks she is a cartoon character, I SWEAR. There is no other excuse for her choice in costume, which generally involves very short skirts or dresses that look rather painted on. Her makeup and hair always look flawless enough that I could swear someone just drew her. She is slightly curvier than the 'standard' weight at which is considered attractive in this society, in a very hourglassy way. I sincerely hope she continues to dress as she does. Forever. Hawwwwwwt.

  • I am fiercely competitive in what are often very stupid and random ways. For example, when someone on my friendslist does a friends cut and announces it, if I am still on their friendslist, I must physically fight the urge to comment with "YESSS STILL FRIENDED. SUCK ON THAT! SUCK ON IT!"

  • I am not the most mature of individuals.

  • I have so much caffeine in my system it is not even funny seriously guys I am thisclose to achieving Flash-like powers.

  • I made Nicole's cookies. Technically they were our mother's cookies, but Nicole went through this phase in high school where she was baking these things almost every week. It is a wonder we did not all gain five million pounds from cookies alone. But yes. So I tend to think of them as Nicole's. Anyway. I brought them (and these tasty mushroom puff things, the recipe for which is already on jenni_the_cook) to my Business Communications class and the Laurels meeting. Now people are asking for the recipe and Laurels may pay me to bring the deliciousness to the poetry reading. Also, Gabe has recruited me to help bake cookies for his upcoming show (Houston people, check it out*). MY KITCHEN WIZARDRY WILL BRING ME FAME AND FORTUNE JUST YOU WATCH. RACHAEL RAY, YOUR ASS IS GOIN' DOWN.

  • Tomorrow I go to my grandparents' apartment to bake with my grandmother. This will be an Adventure. That's right. I capitalized it.

    * The gig is at 8:00 PM on Friday, November 23, at Walters on Washington. There will be cookies and buttons! Hadji (Gabe's band, formerly I Am The Conductor) is playing with two other bands, Say When and The Banner Year.
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