You got me, MTV.

3 Feb

I thought I was in the ITC, but I’m beginning to second-guess myself. Right now, I don’t know if in a circus, a bar, or a karaoke club. There are two men laughing and galavanting by the doorway, chuckling boisteriously and punching each other. A table ahead of me, there’s a black girl just singing away–sure, this isn’t a library, go for it, Miss Clarkson. Next to her is some chick I’m about to assassinate who keeps playing her educational CD-rom at a decibel that could make my ear drums bleed, and she’s conversing with the singing black girl as if she’s across a street with busy traffic. YOU DON’T NEED TO YELL, GOVERNOR–SHE’S SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU.

As if these weren’t distracting enough, when I arrived in the ITC, the temperature was that of a humid, steaming rain forest. Some time later, the air conditioner is producing ice and I’m fearing hypothermia.

People are just provoking me. What is this, Boiling Points?

…I want my $100. Now.

In other news, earlier this evening, Steven and I were sitting at the computers in my room when two guys running for student government popped in to promote themselves and get us to vote for them. One of them was a 100% dot-on-the-forehead Indian, and the other guy was a HUGE, extremely black man. They talked to us for 2 or 3 minutes, handed us some flyers, and then left. I then directed Steven’s attention to the gigantic bright yellow folder that had a dinner plate-sized swatsika drawn on it with “WHITE PRIDE” written directly underneath.

It had been sitting on the desk in plain view the entire time. Don’t tell ME about awkward. Ha. Oh man. Not to mention we looked at the black guy’s Facebook immediately afterwards to vote for him, and his profile said “Uplifting the Oppressed” under his activities, and he has a giant tattoo across his chest that says “BUILT FOR THE STRUGGLE.” Wow. Just for the record, I’m not racist.

Well, I’m trying to get focused here and finish my Social Scientific Foundations of Commincation shiv, but society is making it VERY difficult. Shoot me.

“Oohhhhh, shit.”
“She pregnant?”

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