Wow, I had a really freaking bad day today! It started when I was riding my bike to school and I stopped at the ATM to deposit some money I had gotten for my birthday. I parked my bike and walked up to the machine. The screen said “Insert Card.” I bent my head down for FIVE SECONDS, seriously, to get my bank card out of my wallet, and when I straightened up again, the ATM screen said “Sorry – this machine is now being serviced. Please try again later!”

I MEAN. Does anyone else have luck this bad or is it just me?

I checked my watch to see what time it was, thinking maybe they did their ATM servicing at a standard time every day so I could avoid this in the future, but it was 10:08. So as far as I can see, these things just occur willy-nilly, whenever the bank people (aka God) feel like doing them.

So then, later, I was in class. We are working on a still life of all these glass bottles and a round pitcher with purple sand spilling out of it, and it’s pretty hard. (Glass is notoriously hard to paint.)

As background, we had spent two class periods on this already, so five hours. Plus I had spent about four hours on it last night.

The teacher (the Spanish one! Again! He is turning into excellent story fodder), walking around, told me and two other people that our paintings were geting too dark – the shadows were too dark a grey. Touching my painting and finding it wet, he said, “Ees this all wet paint, right here? Scrape it off. Scrape it off! With your palette knife! And then take thees sandpaper, and sand your canvas. See? Like thees. Sand all the paint off, until it is down to your drawing. Then, start eet over!”

So the three of us started wiping all the wet paint off our canvasses. The professor was heading out to the door to get something, I guess, and I called out, “Um, what is the purpose of the sanding again? I missed that.”

And he said (again, with the swishy Spanish accent and a big grin): “The sanding ees a PUNISHMENT for you. To remind you that you have been a BAD GIRL and a BAD PAINTER.” And then he left the room in a flourish.

Is that not the funniest thing a professor has ever said? He is a nut. But regardless, I am a bad girl who will be spending her entire weekend painting glass bottles and purple sand.

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Do you want to read a funny/retarded thing I wrote while drunk last Saturday night/Sunday morning? It is about our dog, who is crafty and wily and will TAKE OFF RUNNING if she gets outside without a leash on. When I got home that night with my roommates and these two random guys who were friends of theirs, this is what I typed, minutes before passing out (italics added by me just now):

Overheard on Saturday night, 2:49am: “Did you guys let the dog out AGAIN? Son of a BITCH, who did that??”

The dog likes to run. You cannot let her out. She won’t llo both ways as she crosses the street; she’ll just tar across on the search for birds o something. Crazy thing.

Um, yeaaaah. Every day is like a bad drunk entry from Bridget Jones’s Diary around here. Also notice how the spelling got worse as the “story” went on? That’s funny, if I do say so myself.