College Registration

Yesterday, I registered for college courses. Yay! Well, not really. Sixteen freakin’ credit hours! As a freshman. Shoot me now! Don’t you hate that, when you have it all planned out like, yes 12-14 credits this semester, 15 next, move on up as we go… and then here comes this perky white lady enrolling you in sixteen freakin’ credit hours! What the…? Stick to the plan lady, you messin’ me up…

Isn’t is great being on a college campus? You can smell freedom in the air, along with alcohol and funk from men free from showers. Speaking of men, I was happy to note that there are quite a few young black men at Purdue gettin’ their education on…all shapes and shades too. Whatever your pleasure. Tall, short, feminine fine, or ape ugly, you feel me? Of course, the guy that looks like he’s thirty is the one that was eyeballin’ me. Are you serious? Aren’t you supposed to be at home with the kids or somethin’?

So, now that I am officially a college student (I got an ID and everything!), I guess I am supposed to be more adult, act more sophisticated, do adult stuff…but I think I’ll pass right now. Sophistication is hard, girl! You have to stay calm, dress nice, walk gracefully, sit properly, eat neatly and quietly… that’s a lot of effort. Let me be ghetto for a couple more weeks.

Why can’t I tell this fat heffa that is in my face to get out of it before I make her eat that weave on her head? Why can’t I roll my neck and snap my fingers, sit like a thug, prop my elbows on the table?

As for doing adult stuff…I don’t want to do that. Paying bills? Not my idea of fun. Responsibility? Girl please, I can’t take care of pet fish. But hey, I’m still learning. Besides, I still haven’t gotten the mature relationship thing down either… Apparently, neither has P, so I guess we’ll learn together. Well, that’s it for now. Peace, love, and hair grease! Read the footer.

Stay tuned for another misadventure of this almost grown woman…until the next time, keep it true, no matter how many feelings truth hurts!

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