End of the Semester Weepies

It seems like no matter how much I complain (And, oh! Is it a lot!) during the semester, by December/May, I revert to the first grade when you’re just devastated that school is over and how are you going to survive without this whole routine thing you’ve worked out? WHAT NOW GOD???

Big Daddy even made me laugh this afternoon when he said (in response to some kid asking what would happen if you missed one of the “mandatory” days), “Oh, I’ll send one of my redneck relatives to your house and…I don’t know…burn it down or something.” I even kind of favorably reviewed him. Kind of. Maybe.

By the end of the afternoon I had gotten the review of my paper, and boy, was I having warm fuzzy feelings about him then! As Katie and I were discussing this afternoon, if you are a professor? The esteem in which I hold you/how attractive I think you are is a direct correlation to how well you grade me. I don’t care if you’re the nicest person in the world, you give me a B? I hate you and you probably murder babies and little kittens in your time off. Awful person but give me an A? I love you and are you doing something different with your hair because it’s working!

Case(s) in point- Dr. Brusin. Socialist rabbi. I showed up to class every day wearing a crucifix and dragging my backpack with the McCain button on it. By the third A? I was ready to convert to Judaism. And possibly vote for Obama. (I never thought he was hot though. I’m crazy. Not delusional.)

And Big Daddy? I don’t care that you spent a huge chunk of the semester talking about how Playboy could be considered a primary source and that once you said all women could be lesbians and none of us can figure out if you’re gay because you keep saying “partner”, wear a braided wedding band, but used the pronoun “she” once. You said you “really, really, really liked” my rough draft and said I’d make a good graduate student. If you are straight, will you marry me? (Um. On second thought. Not enough alcohol in the world.)

And well, let’s just say that there are a myriad of reasons why I’m not going to apply for a student coordinator position, but one of them is that if you consistently give me over 100% and say you’d be honored to write a letter of recommendation for me? There is nothing, including alienating the rest of the faculty, I wouldn’t do for you.

As it is I have to keep my mouth shut next semester.

I’m not even mad at my art history professor for not getting our quiz grades back to us, because he got busy ripping up carpeting this weekend. Oh, Derek, honey. Take all the time you need. Do you need help with tack board? Because I kind of kick ass at that. Extra credit?


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