This class shall henceforth be known as The Class of Beautiful People

I’m in a class called Fantasy Literature (which is AMAZING) and I have begun to realize that this whole thing is actually a social experiment. There’s no other explanation for how every single person in this damn class is so torturously attractive. I know, boohoo. Every week I get to listen to hot people discuss books. What a crisis. But I’m SUSPICIOUS. This is some kind of statistical anomaly, right? There CANNOT be this many good-looking people in one class. I took the discussion to Tara.

Me: Today I was in a group with yet another hot guy in fantasy lit, and as if THAT WASN’T ENOUGH we were also working with this girl with a British accent. I mean jeez. What was I even bringing to the table here?
Tara: Was she cute too?
Me: Yes.
Tara: Dear God.

Yesterday I got paired up with a guy who looked like a young Jim Sturgess. What are you doing to me, Universe? WHOSE BRIGHT IDEA WAS THIS?


I think it really says something about my life that I’m not more bitter about this

I got a B on my Biology of Sex final, which I think is pretty good for someone who who went through the review sheet and said, “When did we learn this?”

Tara and I have decided we’re going to see Darren Criss on his Listen Up tour. We also decided we were going to try to snag the VIP package so we could actually meet him. Last week I was just dicking around on the Internet when I thought, “Hell, VIP packages don’t go on sale for days, but I’m going to check just in case.” And it’s like there was a cosmic realignment in the universe, because VIP PACKAGES WERE ON SALE. AND THEY WERE AVAILABLE. AND I WAS SITTING THERE STARING AT THE CHECK-OUT PAGE. The last time Tara and I tried to get VIP for Starkid’s Apocalyptour, they sold out almost immediately and we cried for days. And here I was, with this gift staring me right in the face. I briefly weighed the pros and cons of calling and waking Tara since it was 8:30 a.m. (it’s like rousing a sleeping dragon), decided the benefits far outweighed the risks, accidentally threw the phone halfway across the room in my haste, and finally called. She answered with something like, “Hrrgnfkjw,” and I said, “VIP PACKAGES ARE ON SALE. RIGHT NOW,” and she was like, “Oh my God,” and we both went to work.

“Okay, I’m purchasing mine,” I said. “Right… now.”

“Me too!”

“Wait,” I said, “it says they’re sold out.”

“It… what?”

“They’re sold out.”

“No, they’re not,” she said uncertainly.

Slowly it dawned on me. “Tara,” I said quietly, “did this just happen?”

“Oh God.”

“Did you get a VIP package and I didn’t?”


“I think my worst nightmare is being realized,” I said.


“Oh, God,” I said.

I tried again when the VIP packages went on sale for the general public, but no dice. This could really only happen to me, though, couldn’t it? I luck out and stumble upon this VIP miracle. I call Tara to tell her. I get excited. And then tragedy unfolds. Sometime in June I’m going to be waiting patiently out on the sidewalk while Tara meets Darren Criss. But that’s okay, I told her to bring a life-sized cardboard cutout of me. It’ll be a crazy conversation starter. And it’ll be like I’m in the picture.


It happened. It finally happened. I missed a day of blogging, and then, before I knew it, I’d missed four. I’m sorry! I deserve a swift kick in the kneecaps or a punch in the elbow. I completely forgot on the 14th, and I’m not sure how that happened. It wasn’t a particularly stressful day. I wasn’t overloaded with work. I don’t know how I’ve managed to have days where I literally wrote a post with four minutes until midnight because I was so swamped with homework, yet on that day I was kicking back on my futon with a bag of chips and thinking, “Is there something I should be doing? Something important? Something… blog-related? Nah, probably not.”

Then the Boston bombings happened on the 15th, and it was just one of those days where I think we as a collective people needed to turn off the news after a while, eat junk food in our comfiest sweatshirts, and listen to our Aaron Tveit playlists. (Maybe that was just my thing.)

On the sixteenth I registered for classes, and then I went to a reading of senior theses for the Creative Writing majors. Some of the short stories were very sexual, and I was sitting next to a stranger on the smallest couch in the entire world. And he was really into it. He let out a “whoop!” every now and again, and he wolf-whistled this one guy at the podium that we were both totally checking out.

That brings us to today, and nothing happened today. That’s it. You’re all caught up. I made a promise to  faithful Twitter follower Savannah that I would make this up to you guys, and I will tomorrow. How, you ask? YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO SEE. (See what I’m doing here? I’m giving you an incentive to come back tomorrow. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I CAN BE A BETTER PERSON. JUST WAIT, YOU’LL SEE.)

If you’re going to skip class, it’s best to go all James Bond about it.

Twice a week I have my two English classes back-to-back in the same building. I always go to the first, but with the second… well, I’m not always feeling it. You know how there are classes you love, classes you hate, and classes that just make you go “eh”? Well, it’s one of those. It’s pretty “eh.”

But I have to go to the class right before it, so I’m already in the building. This means that whenever I skip it, I have to carefully weave through the throngs of other students like a spy, because some of those are my classmates and one of them is my professor. And if I’m going to miss class, I’d rather them think it’s because I’m lying in bed and vomiting spectacularly and being contagious, rather than sprinting out of the building in a shifty manner.

Anyway, today I was being responsible and going to that second class, but I’d gotten out of the first early, so I went to grab a snack from the vending machine. As I was walking back, I saw this dude named Daniel. We have that second class together. He was walking quickly and looking around furtively. I recognized the maneuver. He was pulling an Elodie.

We made eye contact, but it was too crowded to actually stop and talk. And besides, I knew he had to bolt. So I raised my eyebrows at him in a “been there, done that” kind of way, and he returned the expression with one of his own. I don’t even know how to describe the face he made, but it made sense to me on a spiritual level. It was equal parts “yeah I thought about going but no” and “don’t tell anyone” and also “I didn’t do the homework.” All of that was in there. It was quite an explanatory look.

I almost pulled a Regina George today.


So we seem to be getting some snow. Everyone’s bundling up and bumping into each other on the way to class. We are essentially amorphous blobs of winter coats waddling around campus.

Before class started, I was talking to the girl next to me about how slippery it was out there, and she said in a low voice, laughing, “Yeah, I actually saw this guy wipe out on his bike. And I don’t mean to laugh, but he did almost hit me when he zoomed by. And then he went around the corner, and I saw his tires starting to spin out, and he just went careening off the path into a bluff of snow, around the corner and out of sight.” She giggled. “I shouldn’t laugh. But I am. It was funny.”

“This is really awkward,” said this guy on the other side of the room who’d apparently but listening, “but, uh, that was me.”

By now every other conversation had screeched to a halt, bringing about this weird, tense silence like it was a standoff. We were all exchanging raised eyebrows, like, “Is this funny? Should we laugh? The longer this stretches on the weirder it gets. I’m going to let out a peel of good-natured laughter and see who follows. Come on, who’s with me?”

Finally, the girl said, “Oh,” sounding surprised and somewhat mortified, and then the silence continued, and finally she just let out this great snort of nervous laughter and said, “I am so sorry,” and then he snorted too, and suddenly everyone was laughing. It was quite merry.

And then I almost slid right into the path of an oncoming bus on my way home. It was a day full of ups and downs.

Malevolent Ostriches

Today I woke up with case of the Mondays to find that my morning class had been CANCELED. I even heard about it before I got dressed. Theoretically, I should have been thrilled. And a part of me was. But another part was wary. Suspicious. I spent the entire hour and a half not getting anything done, but instead glaring at the clock and thinking, “I should be there. I SHOULD BE THERE. Is this an elaborate ruse? IS THIS A DECEPTION? Did I hallucinate the e-mail?”

You see, just before the start of every semester, I begin having dreams about accidentally missing the first day of class. I won’t go into too much detail on how I miss it, because the dream versions vary considerably (there’s the usual, like sleeping in, and the unusual, like the ostrich apocalypse. They’re everywhere. Their eyes are RED and burning with the impassioned hatred of a flock of oppressed flightless birds, and it’s only a matter of time before they take back what’s rightfully theirs. Sorry. That was more detail than I was planning on divulging, but it got away from me. One day you’ll see. You’ll all see).

Anyway, these dreams were then exacerbated by an incident last semester. I had this Earth Science class once a week on Thursdays. A few weeks into the semester I decided I should have an appointment with my advisor, so I called the office and pulled up my schedule to see when I was free. I was literally mid-sentence when I noticed that, according to my schedule, I had Earth Science on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And I thought, no, wait, that’s not possible because… And just like that, my mouth fell open, and I was mere seconds away from dropping the loudest “oh SHIT” I had ever dropped, right there on the phone with my advisor’s secretary. I had missed three Tuesdays worth of classes. I had, at that point, missed more classes than I had been to.

And so I was left with a lingering fear of unintentionally missing classes. That, and malevolent ostriches… or just ostriches. Am I right? Those things are creepy.