I Missed My 100th Post, Damn It To Hell

It was two posts ago. I should have mentioned something. Oh well.

The week was fairly eventful. Well, during the week wasn't that grand, but some cool stuff happened. I met a girl in my Reporting lectures who seems quite nice. Her name is Jarahlee, which is a bit odd, but certainly interesting. (Spelled like that and everything.)

We were given a BS little quiz thing that the professor gives out to ensure attendance. The questions:

1. Do you have any tattoos?
2. If so, where and what? If not, why not? Are you boring?
3. Do you have any piercings?
4. If so, where? If not...why do you suck so much? (Maybe.)

Jarahlee (she described it as "Like Sarah Lee, except one word and with a J") mentioned that she did, in fact, have a tattoo. I asked about it. She said that it was angel wings, between her shoulder-blades. That is very neat, and I said so. We talked for a bit, and we've been sitting next to each other last few classes.

I realized recently that there is only one thing that people care about less than hearing about role-playing game sessions that they weren't at and don't know anything about, and that is hearing about other peoples' dreams. So I'll keep the descriptions of the various sessions to a minimum. To wit:

Friday's Vampire session: We tracked down and killed the conspirators who murdered Julius Caesar. (It's set in Roman times.) Gave their bodies to Cleopatra, who was a little insane and had them converted into massive puppets and sent back to Rome, to general rejoicing. Sat around for fifty years and grew in power. I developed a messianic cult. My character is making a play to become Emperor of Rome.

Saturday's session that I ran: Those blasted players took what I was building up to be an effective and deadly villain, truly evil and horrible, and jumped ahead in the plot and set up a situation in which he was made completely ridiculous. Now they'll never take him seriously. Even when I had him threaten the party with certain death and loom large, they were complimenting me on how he "wasn't really that evil, just sort of a rival" and "interesting portrayal of a villain who isn't that villainous." I hate them.

Sunday's session: Despite being overpowered gestalt characters with two classes each and recharge spellcasting, we proved that our distinguishing characteristics as a party are:
1. Crushing incompetence, and
2. Boiling hatred for each other.
This would normally be bad, but it's shaping up to be one of the funniest dungeons I've ever played through. Upon leveling a bit, we got past incompetence and are now stampeding headlong towards grotesquely overpowered. Fun times.

Right, that's over with. Friday night, after Vampire, I went with Steven and his female friends to see a hip-hop dance competition. Normally, when one tells me about a hip-hop dance competition taking place, you can usually find me leaving to go play pool, but his friends were hot, and so I went.

Oh, right, just remembered. Before this, Steven and I played the most ridiculous set of games of pool I've ever seen. Probability and physics had no place at this table. We were both making and missing shots neither of us had any right to do so with. He would hit in three balls in one shot, then miss at a range of six inches. I ran the table on him from the break until I only had one ball left before the 8, then chased that around the table for the rest of the game while he sunk all his and won.

The first nine games of 8-ball we played ended with Steven sinking the 8...but he only won about half of those. Every game, he sunk the 8, but sometimes he did it before the rest of his balls were sunk, sometimes he scratched on the sink, sometimes he put it in the wrong pocket. On one memorable occasion, he scratched on the sinking and put it in the wrong pocket. Fun times.

Hip-hop dance was a bit of a misnomer. It was mostly breakdancing, which I like. Some of these people...are absolutely insane. One guy in particular didn't seem to have any bones. He was made out of rubber, and could bend and twist any which way, leaping and jumping and spinning in place until we all just gave up and handed over all of our worldly possessions. I would have, except then this tubby guy got on the floor with a shirt saying "I AM hip-hop." And he was. Dear God, he was. Name a part of the human body, and this guy could spin or twirl on it. Palms of his hands, shoulders, knees, top of his head, anything. He was hip-hop.

He was overshadowed only by the last group we saw, which forsook general breakdancing and such in favor of a choreographed routine, led by this shirtless guy who was so built, he could not possibly have been born. He was constructed. Out of muscle and awesome. Not ugly-huge like you see bodybuilders like, just perfectly muscular and flexible as hell. His dancing was art, sheer and simple. (On a side note, it appears that I am gay now. Huh.)

I reasserted my heterosexuality afterwards by chatting up one of Steven's hot friends, a girl named Ali, and getting her phone number. In addition to being attractive, she plays Halo 2 and reads comic books, so I figure, match made in heaven. I'll see her again tomorrow at Juggling Club, which she attends every week. We've talked on the phone a bit in the interim. She's quite nice.

Monday...ah, Monday. I had a test in Geography on Wednesday, and arrived at Monday's class about twenty minutes early, through sheer happenstance. I noticed everyone was studying furiously, paging through their notes.

Oh shit, a little voice said.

I sat down next to a guy and asked what was the deal with everyone. Was there some review today, before Wednesday's test?

He looked at me funny and told me that the test wasn't on Wednesday, it was today. A panicked glance to the guy nodding on the other side of me confirmed this fact.

Oh shit.

Not to worry, though, I've attended class and I have good notes on my computer, I thought. So what if I can't look over the official notes? I can bluff through most of it, and I have notes here, so...

...my hard drive chose that point to detach, and my computer would not boot, a condition I could not possibly fix without a screwdriver.

OH SHIT.

Fortunately, a pair of thinly veiled deus ex machinas were on hand to save my worthless hide. A guy sitting outside had this massive, ridiculously well-written packet of notes which he let me page through at thought-blurring speed, and the girl I sat next to in the test room proper let me go through her fat stack of notecards in the ten minutes or so I had before the test began.

Flush with recently acquired/remembered information, I received the test, only to discover that the test was about a tenth as difficult as the first rough one was, and I demolished it. So, good news there.

Tomorrow I go to see Michelle Obama give a speech in favor of her husband (I can only assume, I kinda doubt she'd suddenly come out in favor of McCain at this point). I don't want to, but it's the biggest news event this week and I have to have a good story for Reporting. So off I go. It's gonna be boring, but whatever. Anything to pass the damn class.

That's more or less it. This personal trainer is kicking my ass, but since I'm paying him to do that, it's working out well. I set it up so I go to the gym on Mondays (when I see him), Thursdays, and Saturdays, and go running Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Wednesdays are my off days. If this doesn't get me results, I am terminally out of shape and might as well just forget doing anything. (I'll give it a couple months to see results, of course. I'm not dumb enough to think that a single week of exercise will change anything whatsoever.)

Oh yeah, today I went to Tatu, a sushi place I'd never even heard of, with Henry and his friends. Again, didn't really feel like, but hot female friends (sadly, both with boyfriends), so off I went. Their salmon rolls are awesome, and I tried their fried tofu steak.

I now know for certain: I don't like tofu.