The Larynx

It would be such a great title for a book.
But it works for a blog post, too.

So the getting-a-new-and-relevant-and-exciting-and-higher-paying-job thing didn't work out. Turns out they couldn't wait around 4 months for me and already hired someone. They're still keeping my resume on file because they're still impressed with it, but the only way I can get the job now is if something happens to the person that they have.
Like kidnapping, for instance.
Or Crohn's disease.

I've accepted that it was a sign from God. Maybe I'm not meant to be in Savannah right now.
If I could describe this situation in four letters, those letters would be JCMD.
(Yeah, you thought I was going to say something else, dintcha?)
Jesus commands my destiny.
Also, IGSD.
I get stuff done.

I should make decorative buttons that I can wear with these letters on them.
Business Idea #9.

So now that I know I'm going to be working in student accounts for another 10 months, I can just relax and apply for a graduate assistantship before March.
I got advised yesterday, and they're actually letting me do what I want to do, i.e. take two of the hardest graduate classes over the summer. My thought process is that why drag the terribleness through 15 weeks in a normal semester when I can knock it out in five? (and for cheaper!)
Seminar in Financial Accounting *and* Taxation of Corps. and Partnerships.
Bring it.

In other news:
Guys are fascinating.
I hate when they wear muscle shirts, but I love when they do things like this:


















That's from a science test that my Facebook friend, Josh, took. We had a class together freshman year. He was pretty interesting then, and I still think he is.

Guys are also fascinating when they’re watching football.
I’ve been observing the behavior of boyfriend and his roommate for few weeks now, and here are my observations littered with some quotes from some sit-coms:

First, boyfriend has to change clothes to watch football. It’s like football’s a religion, and jerseys are Sunday dress.

Whitney Cummings: “I don’t understand why guys wear jerseys while they watch sports games. You’re not on the team! That’s like me watching SVU dressed as a dead hooker.”

I think they wear jerseys so that when their team doesn’t do well, they have something to barbarically rip off their chest and throw on the floor. It’s like dramatic lighting, but with clothes.

Next, they proceed to praise and deride people they don’t even know. It’s amazing how vocal and excited they get about certain people crossing certain lines. They even stand up and point at the TV and sometimes yell vague directions to certain players such as, “TAKE IT HOME!!!” or “PICK THAT!”

My favorite is when boyfriend's fantasy team doesn’t do well. *sarcasm*
I never hear the end of it, but I’m like: YOU get to pick YOUR players. Granted, you don’t know how well they’ll do and a stroke of bad luck can defenestrate your whole draft, but you really have no one to blame but yourself for your team compilation.

ADD moment: I've always thought it was interesting how the words "throw something out of a window" got its own verb. Defenestrate. It must happen a lot.

Back to story: So not only does your team not win in reality, but you can’t even win in your fantasies?

Dwight: Welcome to the Hotel Hell. Check-in time is now, checkout time is never.
Jim: Does my room have cable?
Dwight: No. And the sheets are made of fire.
Jim: Can I change rooms?
Dwight: I’ll have to talk to the manager.
Jim: You’re not the manager, even in your own fantasy?
Dwight: I’m the owner…the co-owner. With Satan!
Jim: Okay- just so I understand it. In your wildest fantasy, you are in hell and you are co-running a bed and breakfast with the devil.
Dwight: But I haven’t told you my salary yet.
Jim: Go.
Dwight: Eighty thousand dollars.

I may not even have a boyfriend after this post.
(But seriously- why are the guys that I date always fans of the worst teams in the NFL?)

So after some "massive sadness" and “ridiculous garbage” happens on the TV, the game goes to a commercial break for Subway.

*Five dollar! Five dollar foot looooong: any any any*

The guys are suddenly transfixed in a silent, captivating rapture, as pictures of sandwiches flash across the screen. Then after the commercial, they start talking about how wonderful Philly steak and cheese subs are.

Boy logic ≠ girl logic.

I was trying to take a nap in the adjacent room among this raucous ruckus and ended up writing this blog post.

And here’s a true story that gives more supporting evidence to the mystic thought processes of men:
I was riding my bike home from work last Friday, and I was stopped at the big intersection where the dorms meet the bars. Being a late Friday afternoon, there wasn’t much traffic, and so when the cars were clear, I biked across the road.
And then this guy in a truck ca-caws at me like I’m some kind of bird that will be receptive to such a noise. I was wearing sunglasses, so he didn’t see my glare, and I’ve found that it’s better to ignore them, so I quickly biked away.

But WHY do guys seem to think this is such an effective method of communication? It’s embarrassing for everyone involved, and nothing good is going to come of it. This time, it wasn’t even a whistle or a “hey guh!” It was a straight up mating call.
I may be a chick, but I am not a bird. I’m a PERSON, and I have things like a FAVORITE COLOR and a GRANDMOTHER and even a PANCREAS!
So do I deserve to be ca-cawed at?
No.
No, I do not.
It’s nice to know I’m still hot, but let me know some other way, geez.

I guess this is the bad karma for whining about not being called cute the other day.
Which reminds me: I have a picture to share!
This is me right before my Intermediate II test:




















Tom Haverford: "Oh, am I wearing an ascot? I didn't notice."

I didn't have a picture of myself after the test, but I would've been GLOWING, if the test went as well as I think it did.
Which I think it did.

So I just finished proofreading, and I apologize if this blog post was a little all over the place. All I can say is that it's the result of blogging and drinking Mello Yello simultaneously.

AEIOU and sometimes Y,
TWS

Disclaimer: Birds actually do have pancreases (and grandmothers, I guess), but in my research trying to find something that humans have that birds don't, I found that birds are inherently are more awesome than humans. They have backwards knees for goodness sake.
And here's the real kicker: THEY CAN FLY.
True story.