A Minor Variation (Thus Far)

After yesterday's triumphant return to my tiny little blogomarble, -- come on, there's no freaking way I'm actually part of the blogosphere -- in which I commented with little fanfare and even less plot development about the new digs and the new grad student lifestyle, there's no way I could let today, the official first day of my tenure as a Penn State graduate assistant, go without further comment.

As I sat on my self-constructed Wal-Mart futon (three words I never thought I'd be using in reference to myself, mind you) to type this, my darling dearest, with no provocation from me, uttered some of the most beautiful words a man could ever hope to hear: "Would you like a glass of scotch or something else to drink?"

Let's go back over that: without provocation. I didn't even suggest that I wanted anything to drink tonight, and she asked if she could pour me a glass. Now, when confronted with courtesy and manners like that, it'd just be rude to say no. So now, rather than merely blogging about my day, I can blog about my day and enjoy a generous pour of Cragganmore 12 whilst doing so.

Which reminds me: time to take a sip. Hold, please.

...

Ahh. A strong, peppery taste, with a smooth, warming finish down the gullet. Makes you feel alive.

I was about to thank her for the scotch, but she had already taken off for the kitchen to make my lunch for tomorrow. No, seriously. It's in the fridge now. She just told me, and I just got up to check.

In short, I could totally get used to this.

And after only my first day of true graduate work -- if by "true graduate work," you mean "sitting in an orientation room for six hours" -- I'm pretty sure I could get used to the grad student lifestyle as well. Of course, at the start of the day, I had not the same level of confidence, for a number of reasons. Mostly, it was because of the growing butterflies, butterflies that awakened themselves mere seconds after I myself awoke this morning, to the eternally-annoying strains of my alarm clock's incessant beeping. I panicked not only about my punctuality, but also about what to wear: should I dress to impress, gel myself superbly, and risk being over-coifed; or should I clothe myself more casually and expose a bit more of my personality, at the risk of being underdressed?

The answer, apparently, was "let my girlfriend pick my shirt," since the gray-on-khaki combination I'd settled on by myself made me look, in her words, "like a prison inmate." And never one to take potential buttfucktitude lightly, I swapped out the gray for a more colorful green/yellow/white ditty, and opted to go with the "mussed-up" look that my hair does when it's as short as it is now.

Cragganmore break.

...

Mmm...so warm. Back to our regularly scheduled blog.

The orientation, by and large, was not so eventful that it's worth detailing extensively here. Suffice to say that the speeches were, in turn, frightening (to the tune of, "This stuff is gonna be really hard, and you're all gonna fuck a lot of this up before you're done, capisce?"), then encouraging (to the point where we were all made to feel mighty smart and capable and in amazing hands, which I have no doubt is true in its entirety), then merely explanatory (i.e. far, far, far too much administrative stuff to be worth retyping) -- which was pretty much what I was expecting from the first day.

Which was rather comforting, since I was decidedly uncomfortable for much of the morning. After a few hours, and with the revelation that our break would be coming in "just a few short minutes" (read much longer than my gastrointestinal tract was willing to let me hold out), my tummy started becoming alarmingly turbulent.

See, our apartment has one outstanding issue, and that's the toilet. It lacks sufficient flushability, for some inexplicable reason, which instills just a little bit of fear when certain activities become necessary. Which means that, sometimes, it requires waiting until a morning break during orientation.

A word of warning to those who do as I have done: when selecting a stall in which you alleviate this concern, do ensure that you select a stall that is equipped with, you know, toilet paper. And make sure you learn this before before you embark on your quest for relief.

So you understand why, after the day started in this manner, why I would be a bit nervous about my new graduate school endeavor. But fortunately, it doesn't look like graduate study is going to -- yeah, I'm gonna go there, fucking deal -- catch me with my pants around my ankles.

And believe me, I am not full of shit.

Yeah, I know. Another cheap one. Tough noogie. I don't have any more time to be clever or witty.

It's Cragganmore time.

...

Yeah, I could totally get used to this.