No really. I'm becoming That Kind of Girlfriend.
The... Oversensitive kind.
The... Evil Girlfriend From Hell kind.
The kind who... wants stuff... and expects... things.
*shudder*
And he has
no idea that I wasn't kidding and what he said actually offended me.
Gah!
Anyhow. Sucks to be me. Let's blame PMS and move on. If we ignore it, perhaps the ugly side of my personality (well, one among many) will simply go away. (Looks at calendar) Well whaddaya know! It may well be PMS after all. I keep everything else on that calendar-- I ought to chart my moods too. Maybe I'll find out something useful.
Anyhow. Moving right along.
My day went pretty well. I actually finished Ch. 4, out of all its disparate rewrites, and I
like it. I couldn't think of a good title, so that's sort of halfassed at the moment. But anyhow, it means I can move on to Ch. 5, which I have got to get moving on or I'll be sca-rooed next week when I post 4 and have nothing for the week after. Something in this last sentence strikes me as poorly-written, but we'll keep moving.
Dave had an excellent day, he said. He made very good French fries for dinner, out of potatoes (he is a clever boy. The secret is to fry them twice. Ask the
Joy). He finished the secret program he'd been writing using the Google API. It's a.... Well, you click on it and it randomly shows you a cartoon from
Homestar Runner . com.
And here's where the Bad Girlfriend thing stars: I clicked on it and figured out what it did and reloaded it a couple of times and... looked at him. "And?" I said.
"Well, it shows you a different one every time," he said.
I stared at him. "And?"
"It's kind of neat, how it works," he said, his enthusiasm fading a little.
"They have a website," I said after a moment. "And you can go there. And you can watch all the cartoons." I paused. "In context, even," I added, watching a particularly incomprehensible spot. They make
little enough sense even with a summary warning you what you're about to get into. "Oh," I said, "here's one I didn't see on the site."
"There you go," he said. "You can see stuff you've missed."
"Yes," I said weakly, "that's great."
I'm sure it was the underlying technology that was the cool part. And, I mean, sure, seeing them in random order is kind of, liberating we'll say. But yeah, I don't get it, and that makes me sad.
However.
He also had some excellent news today.
Did you know that you have until the end of a school year to turn in your application for financial aid? So the application he didn't get around to filing until after they billed him for $8k he didn't have? Retroactive.
Not only does the grant and loan they gave him (what's another five figures in debt when you make four figures a year? Irrelevantly large, that's what) cover the last quarter, which he still owes for, but the tuition bill he paid in the summer tacked onto the aid he got means that:
He owes $100 more before he can graduate.
So he can go back in March, no problem, and can graduate in May. No more quarters off. No more scrambling around.
And he's not going to have to find $8k somewhere.
Unfortunately this pleased him so much that he didn't fill out the job application that's been on our coffee table for five days now.
Oh well.
Without $8k looming over our heads, things look rosier.