Wednesday Bail

So...I've been a bit AWOL these past few weeks, haven't I? You all didn't even get a post-valentine's day rant. 

And, for that, I apologize. 

Guess what I've been doing? (if you said eating, sleeping and procrastinating, you're not wrong) Mostly, though, I've been playing my Xbox. Go ahead, shake your collective heads with disapproval. I know...I'm the worst. 

I just...I started on a new game series and I could not stop. In the past, like, month I've gotten average of 5 hours of sleep a night. I have a problem.  

But, no, I finished my game series (Mass Effect, if you were wondering) about a week ago. And the ending of the third game was so soul-crushingly horrible that I couldn't summon the will to do anything other than sleep, eat cereal and cry in the shower. 

And...that's what's been happening with me. 

Moving back into non-video-game-related matters, my spring break starts at the end of this week. "But, Danielle," You might be saying, utterly perplexed, "You can't be having spring break! It's February!" 

To that, I would respond, "I know. Ball State just sucks. At everything." 

But, no, my professors are trying to squeeze in their exams before we leave on late-winter break. I have four tests this week. It's the worst. 

So, I had to take this written exam. One of the questions was "describe three different types of bail." Well, I only knew two different types of bail. So, I wrote those down and then stared at the paper. And I stared. And stared. 

And I could not even come up with a made-up kind of bail that sounded even a little bit reasonable and/or legitimate. 

So, I wrote "the third type of bail is Wednesday bail. Wednesday is exactly the same as regular bail expect it is paid on a Wednesday." My professor just wrote the word "NO" on my paper. 

It all worked out fine because I got a B+ on the exam and I was like, "eh, whatever. I'll take it."  I still think I should have gotten an extra credit point for cleverness. Because, technically, Wednesday bail is a real thing...

But I digress. 

This is short...but I really don't have much else to say. I'll be back when something depressing happens. 

I'm Drunk (With Knowledge)

Happy homecoming weekend! Or something! I don't know...merry homecoming weekend? Have a good homecoming? I'm very bad at social situations. I don't really know the protocol for wishing someone a good...well...joyous homecoming. 

Like all the cool kids, I am spending homecoming weekend not at the football game and not getting drunk/tailgating. I'm in the library. With my equally as cool sister. I actually did homework and stuff. It got to feeling a bit too productive...hence the blogging. And pintrest-ing. I spend far too much time on pintrest. I have twenty bucks in the bank. I can't buy anything I pin. I can't even buy food. 

I had to cancel my netflix subscription. 

It was a dark day indeed. 

And who do I have to thank for my current poverty? (Aside from my teacher parents, inability to win the lottery and refusal to get a new job) The financial aid office, that's who. 

They're seriously the worst. First, they make me feel terrible for being poor. And, as you know, I did not choose the thug life. The thug life chose me, financial aid office. After they're done berating me for being poor, they put me on hold. FOR HOURS. Seriously. I think they all went to lunch and laughed about it one time. 

I can't go to lunch. I have no money to buy lunch. AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, FINANCIAL AID OFFICE. 

Ball State really should pay me to go here. I give them so much good press, what with my positively-themed blogging and all. (But, really. My college is the worst college. Except at being drunk. We're all super good at that.) 

So, with a school full of hookers and drunkards...is it really surprising that I avoid homecoming just as fervently as I avoid having a boyfriend? 

The difference is...only one of those things is a choice. 

Whatever. It's cool. I'm probably really bad at it anyway. I'll just becoming a nun. Or a velociraptor. 

Don't ask me how I'd become a velociraptor. I have ways. 

I should go. We ordered a pizza and I can always count on melty cheese and cardboard-y crust to temporarily fill the hole inside me where the love is supposed to go. 

Oh, I jest. 

...but seriously. My school is the worst.