Besides, I only have 2 more weeks of classes before I switch to Tuesdays (next semester). Then poke me with a stick, I'm DONE baby!

Last night was an INTERESTING night. First of all, I was completely slap-happy (again) and ended up being a total goof-ball for the last 2 of the 3 hours... (like THAT'S news)

It all started with the meeting w/ my advisor who is HELLBENT on convincing me to get my PhD (ya OK buddeeee) and teach college (ya, again, OK buddeeee). Nevertheless, we got to talking... and he asked me to proof-read another student's paper.

The painfully sucky 1960s paper that ruined my Thanksgiving weekend...of which I used three red pens (because I kept running out of ink) to correct and make comments on.

Needless to say, as soon as my advisor left (had to bring his son to cubscouts), in walks BigM... (Well, actually, BigM was staring at me through the window of the lounge waiting for Prof. Hotness to leave.)

"Hi."

"Hi, what's up?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"Sure... what can I do ya for?"

(Never let it be said that I'm a rude evil-minded selfish-acting bitch. I do have my nice moments.)

He whined about his paper (last night was his time on the hotseat), and how he had a difficult time writing it... blah blah blah... and I said,
"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about it before class."
(As he listened attentively and looking rather pale...)
"I like your topic and I think that given the right information and assistance, that paper could be fabulous, however..."
(This is where he turned sickly pale)
"... your paper was atrocious."
(Leave it up to me to be the HONEST one)
"...and a lot of the information IN that paper was irrelevant, misplaced, or ridiculous."
(He didn't storm out crying, so I guess he wanted to hear me speak)
"I think there is a better way to approach your topic..."
(This is when he asked me to proof-read his paper for Prof. Hotness [in our OTHER class] next week because he's afraid of failing)
(Like NOW's the time to worry about it. He should've began to worry like... oh... 10 weeks ago)
"Um... would you mind if... well, Prof. [Hot] said I should ask you... well, next week I wanted to see if you could proof my paper for his class. I am gonna ask [J-boy] also."
"Sure, I'll proof-read it. But, you have to understand that I see different things than [J-boy] might see..."
"I just... well... haven't been feeling well lately."
(This began 10 minutes of whining about his ailments)
"Well, can I be honest with you?"
(Again?)
"Sure"
(No he's not)
"Well..."
(It's never easy to tell someone that they need to lose 300 lbs)
"... I am in no position to tell you anything, you know that, but as a concerned person, you really need to be more attentive to your health."
(There, I said it)
"I know..."
"A guy your age should not be suffering from so many health problems...and if you don't do something soon, those health problems may turn into something worse..."

And, as I talked to him, he was oddly receptive. I think he realized that he's on his last leg, so to speak, academically and physically.

Besides, he failed for his presentation AND paper in Prof. Hot's class. I knew this because Prof. Hot asked me earlier to work with some of the people to help them learn how to write.

"Are you sure you want ME to help them?" Followed by "Apparently, I'm not the one you should be asking about writing technique..."
(hehe... That line never gets old!)

Anyway, so now I have FOUR theses to read and critique by NEXT Thursday. I have another paper to write for Prof. Hot AND my thesis to finish fine-tuning.

I'm at the wire now, people... and finally my pinkie will allow me to do light typing. Good thing, too. No one else can type as fast as I can (in my house) and if I leave it with my mom to type (like I'd even HANDwrite it out at this point), she'd do something dipsy-doodle to it.

Like change the font.
And the font size.

So, it's up to me to hustle my bustle and break my ass this week.

(Consider my ass fairly worn and mostly broken already)

Am I making any sense?

Last night as we were all walking down to our cars, M-girl blurts out, "Hey, [Her-Story], don't go sexing up your BOYFRIEND in the elevator!!"

(Marine and I rode DOWN on the elevator, NOT on each other, because the building was making my eyelids sweat again and I needed fresh air. Waiting for BigM to finish complaining to a professor was not on my list of things to do after 3 hours of critiquing.)

This was another moment where I wanted to throttle M-girl for being a pseudo-slut.

"So, DO you do anything on elevators?" asked a VERY curious ex-Marine.
"Not a damn thing. As a matter of fact, I don't do ANYthing ANYwhere." (There, that should clear things up.)
"Oh..."

And I blame M-girl because she had to tell us that she gave her husband a blowjob in the movie theater because she was bored.

Hasn't she EVER heard of TMI*?

Geezus people... if you want to suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch, BE MY GUEST, however, I really don't want to hear about it. Capiche?

"Does that mean you don't do anything?"

(Apparently ex-Marine isn't very bright)

"No, not a damn thing ever... consider me asexual."

(I'd rather it be that way anyways. Once a guy gets the notion that breasts are for fun, they never treat you the same again.)

"I was gonna say..."

Then the door opened and I aimed myself for the front doors and ripped out a smoke. This was a moment to kill my lungs. At least it was better than having to re-explain to some guy that I don't talk about my sex life with anyone.

Three puffs into my lung killer and I see J-boy, M-girl, and BigM walking through the door, gaping and grinning like some cats that stole a chicken... a FRIED chicken.

"OOOH... she's smoking... they MUST'VE had sex on the elevator."

"Yeah, we had sex for the whole 20 seconds we were on the thing. That's why I'm smoking."

Then they teased HIM for being a "minute man" and asked whether it was because *I* was that good or he was that quick.

I said the first one.
He nearly fell over laughing.

What? I am good. Apparently I sexed him up, redressed him, and had time for a smoke all in the course of 20 seconds. If that's not good, I don't know what is.

Needless to say, I'll be spending the NEXT 5 days reading someone else's paper... wishing that I had time to do my own.