adult class, part deux

Hola Los Kiddos!

Happy August! Miss me yet? Good, I don’t miss you either. What has Miss What’s-Your-Name-Again? been up to since our paths last crossed, oh, two weeks ago? Well, I started Adult Class. Yes indeed, that infamous concept, the mysterious and alluring: Adult Class. Class for grownups. We’ve talked about Adult Class (see post: Adult Class.) Let’s play a game of: how many times can Miss What’s-Your-Name-Again fit the words “Adult Class” into this post! This is sort of a different class than last time, though. Last time, my ADULT CLASS (number 10!) was an acting class which, ironically, is sort of for adults who refuse to actually be adults, so it only barely qualifies as Adult Class (come on, Pseudo-Adult Class friends, you gonna disagree with me?)

This class is not nearly as fun, or emotionally cathartic. No longer do I sit in a cozy living room full of attractive people, having all of the feelings. No. Now I sit in my own wasteland of a living room, on a computer, talking to a bunch of crazy people in a chatroom while I trim my cuticles. Welcome to Adult Class, part deux.

Let me tell you a couple of things about Adult Class, my lovelies. Allow me to teach you something new, although we are both still officially Off The Clock. Something that, as opposed to most of the things I teach you, you might actually use someday:

  1. Subject matter remains overwhelmingly useless in real life. I’m learning about how to organize and execute a Comprehensive School Health Program. Will I ever actually organize and execute a health program at school? FUCK. NO. First of all, no. Second of all, according to the health assessment I was required to take, I still engage frequently in behaviors that put my health and wellbeing at risk, like being spiritually disconnected. And drinking heavily to work up the nerve to text every handsome man in my phone to see if he might want to come over and hold my hand for ten minutes while we watch Criminal Minds.
  2. No cute boys in Adult Class. Unlike Pseudo-Adult Class, which was full of adorable boys to make imaginary eyes at while in truth you’re just staring at them creepily, NO CUTE BOYS in Adult Class. None. Instead, Adult Class is full of late-30’s gym trainers, who need a day job to support their passion for crossfit (let’s play a game of: how many totally unfair stereotypes can Miss What’s-Your-Name-Again fit into this post!)
  3. There are still overachievers, but it gets way more complicated to overachieve. For our first discussion board prompt, we were asked to write, in 250 words or less, a little bit about ourselves and our educational background. I, of course, waited for a few people to post before me, no need to announce straight off the bat that I graduated in the top ten of my high school class, and magna cum laude from my college which is an extremely prestigious school even though three people in this program have already asked me if it’s accredited, or a community college. The first five posts clocked in at 1,000 words. I know because I copied them, and then pasted them into a word document to get an exact count. For those of you who remember the math I taught you, that’s a whopping 850 words over the limit. So then, I had to ask myself… what, precisely, would be overachieving more: blasting everyone else’s word count out of the Blackboard waters, or actually following the directions? WHAT IS THE ANSWER? I HATE MY CLASSMATES.
  4. No one follows directions, still. One of the overachievers posted her personal manifesto on the help desk discussion board. Nice job, Michelle.
  5. It’s easy to hate on your classmates, and then fucking impossible. I just read Michelle’s 1,213 word count manifesto and she’s a single mom and a breast cancer survivor. Sorry, Michelle.

What is my conclusion to you, my lovelies, when it comes to Adult Class (number 23!) for adults? Just get all of your goddamn degrees when you’re in college. Stay for an extra ten years. Get a doctorate. Get all the doctorates. Never leave! The adult world is a wasteland of dirty dishes and dog hair. Or maybe that’s just my apartment. And don’t go to the College of William and Mary, unless you want to work really hard to do super wow great at a school that no one’s ever heard of. And no, William and Mary is not a community college.