no sex for meee?

The shafting from 'Wick just keeeeeps getting worse.

I went to the registrar yesterday to drop off my form requesting authorization for my summer classes, and was told that I'd have to petition the Committee for Academic Standards since the credits would apply to my final year of residency (aka my final 30 credits). All this really means is a shitload more paperwork, and lots of signatures from my advisor. I hate my school with a passion.

I wrote up my petition and went to get my advisor's signature this morning, but he wasn't in. As a matter of fact, he's never in. He's a nice enough guy and all, but he's a borderline alcoholic going through a divorce, and is in Texas for some strange reason half the time. Anyway, he wasn't in, so I went to the department head to get his signature instead, which I do from time to time. This douchebag flat-out refused to sign it, saying that he "didn't know my schedule" well enough to do it. Since I was in a hurry to go to work, I had to leave without a signature, therefore missing this week's deadline for submission. If 'Wick had testicles, I would soooo kick it in them.

At least work was alright. We were insanely busy when I got in this afternoon. The front patio was full, both dining rooms were full, and both banquet rooms were full. I immediately had to serve dessert to all the old women in the banquet rooms, then had to clear and re-set all the tables in the dining room. Of course, all this got me some tips shoved in my pockets from the wait staff, which is always pretty sweet. Later on, Elisabeth and I potted some cacti which ended up in only a few sore fingers. I also managed to pick up an extra shift (since I'm extra poor) this Saturday, as we're catering the new Home Depot's grand opening. I won't actually be in the restaurant, so it'll be a nice change of scenery.

Although I'll most likely be staying with Tony again next weekend (when I'll be in Albany for Erin's wedding), I'm gonna try to go up again this weekend as well. This makes sense because, you know, sleeping with ridiculously well-built guys who have a teeny tiny coke habit is more fun than sleeping alone. I'm going to hell...perhaps my pseudomom's emailed letter of concern regarding my "sexual habits and practices" was more relevant than I'd originally thought. Bah. It sucks though, 'cause I'm way more honest and careful and uneventful than practically every other fruit-filled guy I know, but I get paranoid very easily and...and...it sucks. I'm done now.

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