A couple of my classmates got into a lively discussion about sleeping pills before class. Here are a few highlights*.
“You take Ambien too? Pill poppers unite!”
“I have such bad insomnia that sometimes I still can’t sleep.”
“Do you hallucinate when you take it? I totally think alligators are all around me and eating my legs. And last night? I saw little fairies flying everywhere.”
“Sometimes I sleep walk and eat a bunch of food.”
There was a club at a tabling event promising happiness in dating, celestial marriage and choir. (WHO WANTS TO JOIN A CULT?!) Their ticket to lure prospective club members was Otter Pops. Are we five-years-old? OTTER POPS? I couldn’t even make this shit up.
I had to drop my fun elective to take a math class so I will be prepared to take chemistry next semester. Boo. I hate being a grown up.
On the up: my math class rules. It’s like the Fight Club of Mathematics. (I’m not even kidding.) It’s a good thing my sister warned me about my teacher. He is very into math. LIKE REALLY INTO MATH. He’s the type of person that I imagine would not only understand an algebraic joke that requires solving an equation for a humorous answer: he would also fucking love it. Though I’m pretty sure he’s never actually laughed. Or smiled. Thank god my sister did an impression of him because I would have burst into laughter and started looking around for the hidden cameras when he hiked up his pants and strutted in front of the classroom, looking hella fierce.
