College counselors suck
Jul. 29th, 2004 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaaraI almost threw a tantrum in the admissions office today when they told me I couldn't register for the fanfic course. Actually, I came so close to losing my temper that I had to concentrate on breathing for almost ten seconds before I could speak.
Apparently, non-degree students can't take specialized writing courses. I pointed out that I have nine college English credits, which should cut me some sort of deal. They pointed out that I haven't taken English 101. I again pointed out that I have nine college English credits. (They were rather dense and didn't seem to understand that nine credits is actually equal to three courses.)
So we argued about it for about half an hour. When the admissions counselor started to edge away from me and toward the phone, I realized that it was probably time to give up, and I acquiesced gracefully. Sort of.
The upshot of it was that I have to take Intro to Creative Writing.
I'm going to bomb the admissions office.
Repeatedly.
In happier news, I sat next to a bunch of Italian guys on the Metro today. They were quite amusing, since they couldn't seem to figure out the Metro system and kept referring to a page of directions someone had given them and comparing it to the map. I finally just asked them where they were going and told them to follow me; I was going in the same direction.
They were wearing spandex t-shirts. No one except really hot guys should be allowed to wear spandex shirts. Really hot guys look good in them. Other guys just...don't.
Also, if your pants prevent your hips from moving enough to allow you to sit, they're too tight.
But then I looked at this group of twenty-somethings on their big vacation to the US and I fell in love with Italy all over again. It's always the little things.
<<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>>
Giles
It's taken me such a short time to settle here. I thought I'd be forever attached to England, to the land where I was born and raised, but somehow California has wormed its way into my heart and taken up ineradicable residence therein.
Days pass; each one of them is bringing me one step closer to the inevitable return to London and to the Watchers' Council.
I thought I would want to return. I'll look up old schoolmates; I'll spend time with the distant relations I've not seen in years.
This should make me happy.
Instead, I dread each morning.
Apparently, non-degree students can't take specialized writing courses. I pointed out that I have nine college English credits, which should cut me some sort of deal. They pointed out that I haven't taken English 101. I again pointed out that I have nine college English credits. (They were rather dense and didn't seem to understand that nine credits is actually equal to three courses.)
So we argued about it for about half an hour. When the admissions counselor started to edge away from me and toward the phone, I realized that it was probably time to give up, and I acquiesced gracefully. Sort of.
The upshot of it was that I have to take Intro to Creative Writing.
I'm going to bomb the admissions office.
Repeatedly.
In happier news, I sat next to a bunch of Italian guys on the Metro today. They were quite amusing, since they couldn't seem to figure out the Metro system and kept referring to a page of directions someone had given them and comparing it to the map. I finally just asked them where they were going and told them to follow me; I was going in the same direction.
They were wearing spandex t-shirts. No one except really hot guys should be allowed to wear spandex shirts. Really hot guys look good in them. Other guys just...don't.
Also, if your pants prevent your hips from moving enough to allow you to sit, they're too tight.
But then I looked at this group of twenty-somethings on their big vacation to the US and I fell in love with Italy all over again. It's always the little things.
<<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>><<<<>>>>
Giles
It's taken me such a short time to settle here. I thought I'd be forever attached to England, to the land where I was born and raised, but somehow California has wormed its way into my heart and taken up ineradicable residence therein.
Days pass; each one of them is bringing me one step closer to the inevitable return to London and to the Watchers' Council.
I thought I would want to return. I'll look up old schoolmates; I'll spend time with the distant relations I've not seen in years.
This should make me happy.
Instead, I dread each morning.
