I feel like my life is that cliche scene in a bad romantic comedy

So apparently at the ripe old age of 23 I've reached that point in life where if I mention a guy's name every woman in my family has to ask if he is single/we are dating.

Wtf?

My love life = pathetic.

More accurately, my love life = non-existent.

A few people have said to me that they're going to find someone to hook me up with. But, frankly, the only people who have said this are people whose friends I really never ever want to meet. Ever.

Anywho, vacation did me well. I have been in quite the chipper mood since and work has been waaaaay less stressful/annoying. The only weird thing is our new GM. He doesn't speak. Terin and I were having a conversation about how annoyingly passive he is. I don't bother saying Hi to him because frankly I couldn't care less if he knows I exist. As long as he is aware that I will never be wearing an earpiece, I am fine. Similarly, I have no inclination whatsoever to introduce myself to/befriend the twenty-something newbies we hired. I hardly ever interact with other people and when I do, its intentional on my part. So, sorry new hires, but you're just not worth my time. Especially since none of you are attractive looking males upon which I can gaze in delight. Fugly the lot of you.

Moving on.

I am currently sitting in the school library composing this post instead of composing a 10 page paper on Feminism & The Scarlet Letter. I'm sitting in the library because my fraking interwebs won't work at home (argh!!!!) and I'm blogging because I have a latent desire to sabatoge my academic success in order to avoid entering "the real world". However, this may be slightly unsuccessful in itself because "the real world" basically means getting a job and this bitch has been consistently employed since the 5th grade.

I have exactly one and a half pages written on the scandalous Hester Prynne and her role as a feminist icon. Well, at this point, there's not actually too much on her cause I started out with the reference to Anne Hutchinson in the opening chapter. *yawn* I hate this book.

In other news, that blasted 7th check plus in my writing class eluded me once again. The deal is that if we get 7 check pluses (plus'? pleese? pli? whatevs) out of our 10 written assignments, then our grade gets that extra little boost at the end of the semester. I'm not particularly worried about my overall grade, but in this class at least I want to excel. Because I was absent more than I thought I was forced to turn in two exercises the Thursday before last in order to fulfill the 10 requirement. I also needed to get a check plus on both in order to meet the 7. I got them back today and 1 has a check plus. The other has a check and then this scribble next to it where HE CROSSED OUT THE PLUS!!!! What the hell?! I totally had a plus and he took it away! Unfair.

Also, I got to class and found out that on one of those days I was absent they changed the schedule and apparently I was supposed to have been the peer reviewer for one of today's stories. Fun! Not. I had no idea. I couldn't even wing it because I wasn't there last Tuesday (I was in Colorado) and when she emailed her story to the class there was no attachment. Balls. So I told my teacher I would turn one in on Thursday and he said I'd get extra credit for it (cause I actually already did my required review a month ago and this was gonna be extra anyway). So hopefully this will make up for that phantom plus.

In other news: My friend Jennie is pregnant!

That is all.