your bagel, ma’am

I voted this morning. It’s always exciting, although the solemnity of the occasion was somewhat undercut by the licorice scented black marker that I used to fill in the little bubbles. I’m interested to see how it turns out. The older I get, the more interesting politics becomes.

Speaking of getting older, when I was getting a bagel at the student union the other day, the cashier called me ma’am. It usually doesn’t bother me, but at the student union? Right after my 27th birthday? Geez.

bday, bowling and other such nonsense

It was my birthday on Sunday, so we went to get pizza and beer. I hadn’t decided really what to do, but then on Friday as I was eating lunch I mentioned it to one of the women in my department, so she made an announcement. It was nice, but I wonder if some of my colleagues have ever heard of dinner conversation. Anyway, Di made me a cake and I got presents. They sang happy birthday twice, but thankfully it was a Sunday and the bar was empty. Monday was rainy. Paddy and I went bowling with an old roommate of his and his girlfriend. It always seems funny that it is something that can be played professionally.

We have been getting out more–the weekend before we even went hiking in Muir Woods. Although we got lost because we didn’t have a map and Paddy started to have a panic attack because we might get stuck out there in the dark and have to huddle up in a hollow tree until morning (seeing as we were on something called “the lost trail,” which seemed less than auspicious), it was still kind of fun. It was one of those once a year kind of adventures. The next day we just played Wii.

damn doe eyed students

Students are driving me crazy. It’s the last day of the waitlist and they won’t stop emailing me to let them in. I was proud of myself on Wednesday because I told them the class was full, there weren’t any people enrolled who weren’t showing up, I wasn’t going to give PTA numbers. I already had 50 students–I didn’t need the extra work and I had a union, dammit! Then last night, after the professor’s lecture, the two people first on the list looked at me with their big, doe eyes, asked again and I caved. They love literature! They’re first on the list! Only one per class, I told them, hating myself for being so weak. Then this morning I got a sob story from the second guy on the list: he’s bought the books! he needs the class for his major! there are no other classes that he can take that will satisfy the requirement, and any that could are already full! he’s a senior and needs to graduate this quarter! he’ll go below 12 units and lose his financial aid! Isn’t second good enough? To which I say, no! I hate sob stories, especially ones that seem so patently untrue and hyperbolic. I pointed out that in our own department there are classes that still have space and fulfill the same requirements. Nobody needs a bullshit fairytale class to graduate. Please. It doesn’t even fill a requirement for the major in our department. So I emailed him that (only more professional-like, of course), and it bounced back to me because his inbox is full. Dammit–even if it is his fault. Then I realized that he was the same student that I had to give a “enrolled, no work submitted” last quarter for my class because he never came and never bothered to drop the class. Whatever. But I hate being the bitch. I feel guilty.