Now that I have confirmed my attachment at a place in town, I look forward to joining the so-called rat race. Hope there will be tales to tell.
So I did go for shopping, hoping to look smart and ready to learn stuff in the corporate world or something close to that.
Then maybe I can this on my office door someday..
I wouldn’t call you innocent or naïve. Idealistic is more like it…maybe because you were the youngest in the room, we felt like we had to look out for you.
Everyone dispensed their advice, and you listened (or we thought you did) so you must be a patient person. One thing though, lose that (ex)boyfriend of yours. I still don’t know how you could think of forgiving a guy you found in bed with another girl. And you want to give him a chance to explain? Even when he’s been denying and denying…
The next time we go out, I want to see you hit the dance floor, alcohol or no alcohol, DJ boyfriends misbehaving badly or not.
I sure hope we’ll be roommates again. Haven’t any quarrel with you, except for the refusing to ditch the horny (ex)boyfriend. You kept the room neat and prickled my conscience into cleaning the room and emptying the dustbin once in a while.
Aside from being the worst bed-maker I’ve seen apart from me, am glad to have been you friend and roommate. Am I really your friend? Never mind, you are mine. How do you know all these sagas, by the way? I have beef with you, how come you never brought us that clip? You know, the clip of the Hall 7 couple….Hall 7 is a maze of classrooms, computer labs, drawing rooms, offices…and these tiny closets meant to be kitchenettes, and apparently a couple was filmed there, and you promised us the clip which you never delivered, even after we gave you like 10 flashdisks.
Chill out with the dad business though. We know your dad is the richest man so far, he has three laptops (or is it five?), a number of external hard disks, he flies in and out of the country regularly, he works in a government office so he has a lot of airtime, how many cell phones does he have again? We get it girl, you adore your father. You are proud of him. But we’ve heard enough. Next year if we are roommates and I hear the statement “ My dad…” I’ll smack you! Ok, maybe I’ll just walk out and slam the door behind me.
Am glad you are neat-ish. Your table is always readable from, unlike mine and Zee’s. I know we promised we’ll all book the same room next year, but I know I will not be surprised if inside you were like, “Let them think am coming back here…am going to move in with F so we can study all night for a first class.” Or something close to that.
If ever there was a female version of a player, if ever there was, then it’s you. I have seriously lost count of the number of days I’ve been exiled, and not always because of the same guy. And the fact that you feel no guilt, or nothing at all…aside from that, I think you were the most relaxed when it came to academic stuff. But surprise surprise, you pass really well. I can’t believe you came on Monday morning from a weekend away when you had two papers that same Monday. I won’t be surprised if you ace them.
I know there is no chance we’ll be roommates again, because you have finished college. Did I ever mention you made nice cards? You have some artistic gift somewhere in you and you should use it. Meanwhile, let me know if you can still be a player at home like you did in campo. And am not judging you, just stating a few facts you yourself acknowledge. Hope to see you on graduation day.
It’s hard to see myself as other see me. So let me say this from my point of view. I know you guys had to put up with my endless stream of visitors. Am popular like that…but seriously, I know there were times when you wanted a quiet and in comes in a barrage of my friends and their friends and out goes the peace and quiet. I know I wasn’t the neatest, but I sure put in my fair share of the room-cleaning and dustbin-emptying. For anything I may have done wrong, I apologize. And am still going to book the same room. I wonder who my new roommates will be. For whatever it was worth, am glad to have roomed in 145.
No more books. No more assignments. No more staying up late studying, no more group discussions. No more calls from lecturers…no more CATs, at least for the next four months.
Finishing exams is a good feeling. The end of these exams mark the end of my junior year, meaning next year am a finalist. I’ll be finishing my undergraduate studies. Am just glad this year is over. It’s certainly been full of ups and downs.
The highlight of the year is probably the coast class trip. I don’t ever being un-sober for four straight days, and swimming and clubbing so much. Not a care in the world. The worst part of the year could be the scratching-of-my-face incident. I’ve never felt so traumatized. I lost my wallet sometime back…plus all my documents and my china phone.
The holidays are here and I wish I was a kid again so I can enjoy my Christmas. As it is, I will probably be stuck in the kitchen doing dishes for invited guests who may come home. Or perhaps fighting for the remote with my brothers so I can watch a Christmas movie on T.V. Of course, my laptop is filled to capacity with unwatched series and movies, though I doubt I will watch them.
In January, I’ll probably be hustling for a place to do my internship. So far, I have no confirmed or unconfirmed responses from the tens of applications that I sent. Anyone wants to hire an intern in I.T. for the next three months?
We didn’t have a bash to celebrate the end of the semester or year with my classmates. We did do a nyam chom thing at the local Village Market (note, I said local) and by the time we had one or two drinks, we were ready to hit the sack. Two weeks of sleepless nights had done us in. For the next few weeks, stories on this blog may or may not have much to do with the campus life, but the campus girl out there in the industry will not let you down. There is a lot out there.
P.S. If you happen to read this, I would like to quote Bon Jovi “You love’s like one last cigarette, I’ll savour it..the last cigarette, take it in and hold my breath, hoping that it never ends..”. You know who you are.
The act of associating horniness with a particular person.
The process of spending enormous amounts of money, time, and energy to get better acquainted with a person whom you don’t especially like in the present and will learn to like a lot less in the future.
A term used to describe a woman who has the morals of a man.
A method utilized by a single woman to communicate to a man that she is interested in him. Despite being advised to do so, many women have difficulty looking a man directly in the eyes, not necessarily due to shyness, but usually due to the fact that a woman’s eyes are not located in her chest.
A member of the opposite sex in your acquaintance who has some flaw which makes sleeping with him/her totally unappealing.
A woman’s feeling towards a man, which is interpreted by the man as “playing hard to get.”
What the endearing little qualities that initially attract two people to each other turn into after a few months together.
LAW OF RELATIVITY
How attractive a given person appears to be is directly proportionate to how unattractive your date is.
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
What occurs when two extremely horny, but not entirely choosy, people meet.
A man’s term for a woman who wants to do it more often than he does.
A condition in which it is almost impossible to fall in love.
(I wanted to share this though I may have written it before.)
Once upon a time (1/t), pretty little Polly Nomial was strolling across a field of vectors when she came to the edge of a singularly large matrix.
Now Polly was convergent and her mother had made it an absolute condition that she must never enter such an array without her brackets on. Polly, however, who had changed her variables that morning and was feeling particularly badly behaved, ignored this condition on the grounds that it was insufficient, and made her way in amongst the complex elements.
Rows and columns enveloped her on all sides. Tangents approached her surface. She became tensor and tensor. Suddenly two branches of a hyperbola touched her at a single point. She oscillated violently, lost all sense of direction, and went completely divergent. As she reached a turning point she tripped over a square root that was protruding from the erf, and she plunged headlong down a steep gradient. When she was differentiated once more, she found herself, apparently alone, in a non-Euclidean space.
She was being watched, however. That smooth operator, Curly Pi, was lurking inner product. As he numerically analyzed her, his eyes devoured her curvilinear coordinates, and a singular expression crossed his face. Was she still convergent, he wondered. He decided to integrate improperly at once.
Hearing a common fraction behind her, Polly rotated and saw Curly approaching her with his power series expanding. She could see by his degenerate conic that he was up to no good.
“What a symmetric little polynomial you are,” he said. “I can see that your angles have lots of secs.”
“Oh sir,” she protested, “keep away from me. I haven’t got my brackets on.”
“Calm yourself, my dear”, said our suave operator. “Your fears are purely imaginary.”
“I, i,” she thought. “Perhaps he’s homogeneous.”
“What order are you?” the brute demanded.
“Seventeen,” replied Polly.
“I suppose you’ve never been operated on?”
“Of course not,” Polly cried indignantly. “I’m absolutely convergent.”
“Come, come,” said Curly. “Let’s go off to a decimal place, and I’ll take you to the limit!”
“Never!” gasped Polly.
“Abscissa!” he swore, using the vilest oath he knew. His patience was gone. Coshing her over the head with a log until she was powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities.
He stared at her significant places and began smoothing her points of inflection. Poor Polly. She felt his hand tending to her asymptotic limit. Her convergence would soon be gone forever.
There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavyside operator. Curly’s radius squared itself. Polly’s loci quivered. He integrated by parts. He integrated by partial fractions. After he cofactored, he performed Runge-Kutta on her. The complex beast even went all the way around and did a contour integration. Curly went on operating until he satisfied her hypothesis, then he exponentiated and became completely orthogonal.
When Polly got home that night her mother noticed that she was no longer piecewise continuous, but had been truncated in several places. As the months went by, Polly’s denominator increased monotonically. Finally she went to l’Hospital and generated a small but pathological function which left little surds all over the place and drove Polly to deviation.
The moral of the story is, “If you want to keep your expressions convergent, never allow them a single degree of freedom.”