Cupid and his arrow have declared me an endangered species.

Hey-got one icon up before blogger shut down. Oh the joys of technology. Of course, it also deleted my post with all my ideas, too, so now I have nothing to talk about.

Except for my scary inability to make anything remotely considered a decision. I am continuing to have a major academic crisis.

I have decided that my new life goal is to become Diane Kruger in National Treasure. (Shut up, Colleen. It's Wednesday, you have better things to abuse me about.) You know, because of the pretty clothes, the literary/historical mystery, and the hair. Mostly the clothes, though. Really, I just want to live in a novel. I'd probably want to be Audrey Tatou in the Da Vinci Code, too, except for the mannish suits and eternal damnation. It would be so much fun.

However, I suppose this idea is "unrealistic". Pssh. Whatever.

See? This is my problem! I'm completely afraid of reality! My biggest fear is ending up living The Office, except without the sweet guy in the corner and the one-liners. Then I'll just end up in the Tostitos commercial where this woman is dreaming about a vacation and hot guys and then this fat guy with a bad combover comes up and breaks her out of her dream by saying something about donuts in the conference room. Wait. That doesn't make any sense. Maybe it was a donut commerical. Or a travel commercial. Yes, I think that's what it was. For some travel company. Maybe Sandals??? The Tostitos one was the guys eating and watching the construtction workers (which is not nearly as gay as I just realized it sounded) while the woman was doing all the work. Okay, so my biggest fear is ending up in a donut/Sandals commercial. *sigh*

But I'm so shallow. I really want to call myself an attorney. And then my mom constantly reminds me that practicing law is not like on Boston Legal, which is getting pretty damn insulting because how stupid does she really think I am??? Hmmm???

And if I decide to go for my doctorate in art history, I'll have to deal with a life time of "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach/major in art history." See? It works both ways. I'm screwed. *bigger sigh*

So in an effort to pull myself from the depths of Oh-my-God-what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life depression, I decided to go on the internet and find out how much my books are going to cost me, as that is the only part I have to pay for this semester. Oh, dear Lord.

Okay, they tell you to allow eight hundred dollars for books a year. And that's pretty much what I had at Concordia, too. No sweat. I can make that in about two months. (I know you're jealous of my salary. Please, I'm just like you.)

But they LIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Even with buying all used books, which, let me tell you, is a crapshoot, I'm up at five hundred. With new ones? Over six, and that's if geography is inexpensive. And given the fact that the freakin' math solutions books is more money than I like to spend on prescriptions, it's not looking good.

So I had a major hyperventillitative fit, which I'm not sure is even a word, but it sounds like it should work, right??? And then I got really pissed off and kind of demanded that my elders start being elders and give me some money. Because when Oldest Spawn of Mickey "graduated", he got an obscenely expensive laptop, which I could never afford- especially not now that I know they mug you upon entering the bookstore. When I actually graduated, I got gift cards. Not that I don't love gift cards, but you cannot do your papers on them. Grrr.

Mommy just came in and suggest that I do French with Imladris this month. Yeah. If I'm paying $160.75 for the book in fall, they can damn well teach me everything I need to know.

I really, REALLY want to go away next weekend. And I have to work on Friday. Bugger bugger bugger bugger. Spent hours last night at work crafting the note begging somebody to take over my shift, because, let's face it, there was nothing else to do. It was quite a literary feat, if I do say so myself- the subltey of the language, how it was intent but not desperate (okay, so maybe the part about how he could call my cell phone in the middle of the night if he wanted was a teensy bit desprerate), flattering but not suck-uppy. And I made it sound like we were hauling Mommie Dearest off of her deathbed for one last hurrah (which we're not, nobody get upset), just to add a little melodrama. I was quite pleased with myself. :)

Have a good Wednesday, everybody!