The gay mafia- REALLY organized crime.

Two housekeeping notices:

1.) My computer is being a pissy little bitch and I’m mad at it. (This is where my dad will go, “You’re so smart, why can’t you use your extensive vocabulary instead of swearing?” And I will challenge him to come up with a less profane version of “pissy little bitch” that means exactly the same thing and he will FAIL because THERE ISN’T ONE AND SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO SAY BITCH, DAMMIT.)

2.) Wow, that was interesting last night, wasn’t it? Sometimes my rapier wit and and incisive social commentary amazing even me. I’m posting earlier today. See? I do care about my readers.

So what else is going on? Not a lot, right? I start classes again in about a week and a half, and I am not pleased. Not that I’m not looking forward to them, because they’re all kind of amazing, well, except for the music history where I got shoved into the blues focus group and if there’s one kind of music I hate more than jazz it’s blues and why can’t they have a Josh Groban focus group because I would sign up for that dammit…okay, shutting up now.

I mean, I am looking forward to them, I just don’t actually want to go them. Does that make sense?

Did feel accomplished and smart though, when I opened my e-mail this morning and read one from my pre-law advisor (No, I don’t know that I am actually pre-law, but I get the e-mails for some reason.) about a contracts course offered this semester that is apparently an actual law school class with real law school books, just less intense and with less chance of suicide.

And the big question that they focus on is the anecdote about the drunk farmer selling the farm using a bar napkin and whether or not it’s a legally binding contract.

And I already know that it is! Thanks to one of the Drs. Weber (they both had the same last name, but switched halfway through the year) and my business law class, I know about as much as a 1L about contracts!

Okay, maybe that’s pushing it, but still.

Wait. I can’t even remember what year I took that class. Junior? Senior? I don’t think it was my last…but it must have been because junior year I did con law, and I know they didn’t overlap. So yeah, senior year.

Oh, sorry. Just having an argument with myself there. Please feel free to skim.

So I think that the coming midterms have addled The Boy’s brain. Because at 6 o’clock this morning I was awakened by this.

Morena: *is asleep*

Boy: Morena!

Morena: *is no longer asleep* *snarls*

Boy: Did you throw away a balled-up piece of paper yesterday?

Morena: Um. Yeah. Probably. That’s pretty much all I do all day.

Boy: It was my science worksheet!

Morena: Your science worksheet was balled up and left on the table?

Boy: Yes! Why did you throw it away???

Morena: Um, I think we established why. In the future, DON’T BALL UP YOUR HOMEWORK!

Boy: It’s not my fault! It was in my pocket!

Morena: It’s not my fault either, it probably looked like trash.

Boy: Just don’t throw anything out without checking with me first.

Morena: *has a lovely little fantasy in head about bringing rotten garbage to the CHILD for approval* Fine.

Boy: Okay. *huge, dramatic sigh* I just hope it isn’t due today.

Morena: *snarls some more*

Just so you know, when I picked him up this afternoon he got in the car and went, “Oh, that science worksheet Kathleen threw out isn’t due until tomorrow.”

And I did not reach in the backseat and castrate him.

I think I deserve a round of applause for maturity.

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