Now that I'm back in Brooklyn, I simply dread all phone calls, as I pathetically crowd up against a window to futilely try to improve the reception. Everyone else with a cell phone on the street looks so important and suave, using those damned headpieces. I look some some heroin junkie trying to break out of detox, or some puppy with parvo in the pet store window. I could just use my home phone, but dammit, I paid for 4000 minutes of air time for the next two years, and I'M GOING TO USE THEM.
I have to go to bed early, so I can make the blasted Math CST test tomorrow at 7:45, necessitating a buzzing alarm at 6:30. The blessed Teaching Fellows office has screwed me to their own collective orgasm multiple times, leaving me slightly sticky and unsatisfied. IF their office hadn't screwed up once by canceling me for the math test in the first place, then twice not receiving my test results, then thrice (I love saying 'thrice') by not sending me the tickets for this accursed test, I could be sitting on a beach with good friends drinking beer tomorrow. It is very possible that I passed the first test, but their numerous goofs guarantee I won't know for a few more weeks.The worst screw was the bitchy attitude they gave me yesterday when I requested the location for the test that I shouldn't have to take, that I don't have tickets for, and that they mistakenly told me I didn't need to attend, possibly. Welcome to the Board of Ed, we don't use condoms.