Bottle of wine brings satisfactory end to first day of school

February 21st (just incase the date comes out wrong... I may be able to change this but have been too lazy so far)

2pm:

Questions:
- My Archaeology professor, a one Dr. Hiscock. Is there a single one of my profs I'm going to be able to look in the face (let alone any other part of their anatomy)?
- Are the guys in film going to be as pretentious as in Canada?
- What the fuck am I doing here? Everyone else has a textbook. F. And I'm not sitting next to anyone.
- How old are these people? Am I the oldest person in this room (besides *snort* Hiscock)?? I really, really, think I am. Shit.
- Will we have to introduce ourselves? WTF am I going to say if we do? Hi, I'm a 3rd year film student from Canada, which makes me older, better at this shit than the rest of you, and gives me this funny accent so you can stop f-ing staring at me. P.S. Where did you all get that textbook?
- Must they all fill up the back rows like we're in f-ing high school? F, F, double F.
- Why have they made it so bloody cold in here? As soon as I walked in I started to yawn.
- Can I go home now?
- At some point in my life... will I ever stop whining? Crap, war movie. I hate war movies.

So deals the anxiety-sufferer/chronic-documenter with her first class -- by scribbling inanities in her notebook. Ask her... she'll show you the hard copy.

8:15 pm

My father has just witnessed an act of 100%, pure, unadulterated perfectionism. I have just finished charting out my class schedule -- a process which involved a ruler (for measuring and straight line purposes), a black marker (for definition) and coloured pencils in hues that may or may not correspond to the coloured pens I use to mark notes for each class in my agenda. Now I'm sitting at the dining room table listening to Dido and eating Starburst jelly beans in order according to light spectrum. I know, I'm sick, I need help. Don't even ask me how to eat an apple.
Dad has now passed out on the couch from exhaustion (his, not mine). Time for me to finish the red wine before he wakes up.

8:30

Wine: check!
I made muffins today. See? Who says I can't be domesticated? Just because I don't want to be, doesn't mean the possibility doesn't exist. For all the men feeling attacked right now, this is actually a girl thing. I haven't talked to one single guy while being here (I've stopped counting that one creepy guy...) -- I have however been hanging out with lots and lots... and LOTS of girls. The result is this: a general hostility towards large groups of females, and a sense of inadequacy in myself as a woman: "What? You don't actually... cook?"
The thing is, and a lot of women will agree with me here (even Paris Hilton, but I'll get to that later), it's easier sometimes (for me most of the time) to be around groups of guys, or mixed groups, because I can be pretty certain on some level I'm everything a guy wants in a girl (yes, yes, that IS what I mean). In a group of chicks, it's less certain. So the question is this: Am I everything a girl wants in a girl? Okay, now stop giggling, you know what I mean.
The other day, I said to someone that being with a big group of girls makes me feel like a guy. Now I know that sounds really weird, and I know I'm becoming a bit soused here, but I stand by it. I don't feel like a guy in the way that I want them to be attracted to me, but in the way that I feel awkward, ill at ease, and completely out of my element. I feel like I'm playing a part, and nervous that someone will notice and call me on it. I get this overwhelming urge to make stupid jokes, patronize them, and be the macho one (in other words... I feel like a guy) -- kill the spider, pick up the dead bird, jump off the highest diving board -- things that people can tell you I even did in my childhood -- things I'm happy to leave to the guys when the girls aren't around. No wonder girls find me intimidating. No wonder I have so few girl friends -- who I tend to hang out with alone. No wonder I like boys so much -- in this instance at least, they cause me a hell of a lot less angst...
Oh, and Paris Hilton? The radio station I've been listening to has this morning host named Chris, who HATES PH, and he made this joke about her, which, since they play it over and over, I can basically repeat verbatum:

"So Paris Hilton says she makes friends more easily with guys, and she says this is becuase, quote 'Girls can be kind of backstabbing.' I guess that's right Paris, I mean, because what guys do... it's sort of like stabbing, but it's more from the front."

I laugh everytime I hear him say this, and say "Not necessarily Chris... not necessarily."

Oh! Did she just go there? ... yes, yes I think she did.
Sugar and alcohol be praised. I am SO going to get home in August and realize with a sickening crunch that there are more people reading this than I think... and that they have a shiny, new, disillusioned view of their granddaughter/neice/cousin.
Namely that she is able to make A sex jokes while sitting in her apartment and drinking by herself (Dad went to bed).
Awesome.

Okay, am totally typing this on an unsecured wireless network, so will get off now before I get hacked.