Well it turns out my fears were based on the usual sort of panic that sets in at the end of every semester and never comes to fruition. Not that that's a bad thing. My GPA is actually the best it's been since I started Pitt. But screw Pitt. I'm out of that bitch faster than Stephen's father's dog can slaughter six bunnies.
And father bought me an iPad. Gaze upon it in all its newfangled glory. And ignore my distorted face. But on second thought, look at my teeth. I have really straight teeth.
Graduation, however, may have been one of the worst experiences I've ever had, even in light of the whole getting-the-eff-out-of-Pitt thing. It was rainy, humid, we had to stand in this confined area for like two hours before we even went into the ceremony, and then we sat there for 2.5 hours listening to Pitt's largest donor (who, surprise, got an honorary degree, then spoke for about 30 minutes about war and other political crap) and watching the nerdy doctoral students hug all of the deans. My friend and I spent most of this time flipping through the program that they gave us, which was considerably larger than the one they gave to the friends and family crowd. My theory is that they did this so that we'd have something to do so as not to fall out of our chairs in utter boredom. I read all of the titles of the doctoral students' theses. They were kind of ridiculous. I wish there had been a sudoku or something.
The last half hour was actually stuff that was relevant to us, the several thousand people wearing vinyl gowns that let no heat escape and dorky hats that itched our foreheads. And then it was over, and some confetti shot out, and nobody threw their hats, and we all got up and left. I came away from it in a very sour mood from having to sit there while rich people shared their political beliefs with us. I was also swimming in my own sweat, as everyone else was, because we might as well have been wearing saran wrap. But we escaped unscathed, and proceeded to go to Olive Garden for dinner.
I had been craving their salad for weeks. As anyone who goes there knows, they put two pepperoncinis in each salad. I eat them all, because even though they're slightly too hot to be comfortable, I just freaking love them and I can't help it. Well, somebody must have planted the Devil's Pepperoncini in this salad. I bit off the whole thing, instantly knew something was wrong, and spent the next fifteen minutes feeling like my tongue was going to fall out in dried-up flakes. Bread actually made it worse. Water helped immensely, until I stopped drinking it. It was quite possibly the hottest pepper I've ever eaten in my life; at least five times hotter than any jalapeno I've ever had. So of course the Devil's Pepperoncini stayed with me for the next 24 hours, burning holes in my stomach lining and intestines. The sad part is I'll still eat pepperoncinis. I mean, they're so good, how can I resist?
Now, I'm itching to go water my new plant outside and perhaps repot a couple of the others, so I'm basically just going to post this picture of our new kitty, Sophie, and let you gaze at her gorgeousness without much explanation from me. She's a sweetheart. We adore her, even when she plays with Stephen's feet at 2 AM and talks to herself all night.