I get up.
I go to work.
I come home.

There’s parts in the middle/end there that are missing, where I lay on the couch like a piece of broccoli and stuff my face with Cheetos, but that doesn’t really warrant a discussion point, or, I guess, now it does.  Well, I wrote those three things down up in the title as talking points, but dammit, I kinda like it as a blog entry title anyways, so it’ll stay!

Ahhhh yes, first things first: I’ve joined the Cult Uprising ceLebrated as Twitter, or also known as C.U.L.T.  Yes, it’s THAT bad.  Actually, it’s pretty fun; I don’t think I would use it for it’s intended usage: to post what you are doing at any given moment.  I mean, who the hell wants to know that I made myself cereal for dinner?  I mean, besides my mother, who is probably scrambling for the phone to angrily dial my number in the next minute (”Jillian, you should MAKE yourself something!”), but other than that?

I guess my idea of using Twitter is mainly to post my random musings, and quick snippets into my life if you don’t feel like subscribing to my blog (insert shameless plug here).

Next on the agenda ahhhhhh, 1800 dollars.  Now this one get’s a little hairy, so I will speak about myself in a hypothetical situation:

My friends’ mothers’ daughters’ friends’ dogs’ owners has a credit card.  This credit card has a bit racked up on it, whatever, moving expenses for the dog, you know.  Let’s say that my friends’ mothers’ daughters’ friends’ dogs’ owner logs into said credit card on the website, and sees an 1800 dollar payment this past month (February).  That, she didn’t make.  Nor did anyone ELSE in her long bloodline made that payment.

Would you keep the money?  That’s quite a bit actually, 1800 dollars worth?!  I didn’t say anything, for a week.  Yesterday, however, my conscience got the better of me when my Uncle was saying how a woman was thrown in jail for keeping 30,000 that was deposited into her banking account by mistake.

So, I called them

I bet some of you are thinking, “But, Jillian, didn’t this JUST happen to you when you bought that ‘cupcake’ a few months ago?” Granted, this is a bit different, but it’s also kinda the same, where as I could’ve just paid off said credit card and closed it out.  I called the credit card company, and they said that the payment originated Wachovia.  When I told her I didn’t have a Wachovia account, at first she didn’t believe me (surprise), and thought that I had just “forgot”.  I said no, that this was a mistake.

So now, they sent it to their “research department”.  I hope that’s not the Kidnap-for-ransom-your-child-or-sibling-until-you-give-us-information department, but it sure does sound ominous.

And finally, 70 people.  I’m going to update my other blog (link here), but I’m going to be giving a presentation tomorrow to about 70 people.  Remember that convention I went to back in January? Well, now I’m going to give the same presentation (just shortened), to the New Berlin Lions Club, and, it WAS just going to be just the Lions (it’s a ‘male club’ so to speak), which is about 35-40 people, but they invited the “Lioness Club” (you got it, all-women lions club), which is another 30 people or so.

If I make it through this without having heart-failure, it’s going to be a miracle.  Also, I’ll take pictures!

Oh yeah, and if you want to check out my Twitter account, here’s the link:

http://twitter.com/alumnistudent

Now, don’t get TOO wild with it, and I have to admit, it’s pretty addicting once you start.

I’ll try not to cry, and I want you to be strong, too.  No, no, it’s best that we part ways here; I know that we will be together, someday.  You were with me all throughout those years in college, and I can’t thank you enough for that.  You held me in my darkest hours, were a source of laughter, of sadness.  I won’t forget all of the memories we have had together.

I can’t believe that we can no longer be together, and although I didn’t want for it to end, I know that it was for the best.  When I inserted the Windows XP Pro disk to reformat your harddrive, I knew that I was taking a piece of you, and wiping you clean, forever.  You will be much faster, and not bogged down with so many programs this time, my Dell 600M Laptop, and I promise to keep you cleaner this time.

It’s better this way.

My thoughts of the college being made entirely from pieces of leftover castle is only confirmed, as I make my way up the steps; they creak and groan beneath my weight, one of the heaters comes to life and all you hear is CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! as hot water gushes through it.

I pass sign after sign pasted on the doors of the third floor, my footsteps echoing strangely off the hollow and empty walls.  The hallway is unusually bright, and absent of any usual paintings, student work or otherwise.  I stop suddenly in front of an open doorway; I’ve reached the room I’m looking for.

“Doctor…um…” I say quietly, my voice catching in my throat; even though I’ve whispered the question I can hear my voice, magnified ten-fold in the empty hallway.  The man sitting on his computer, typing away, looks up.

“You must be Jillian,” He says, getting up quickly from a desk, “I’m glad you found it, we just finished renovating this building…”

He waves dismally to the white empty walls in the weird hallway and ushers me inside.  He pushes the door closed, so that it comes close to clicking in its door frame, but not quite; a tiny sliver of light is seen on a bookcase nearby.

I blink and look around the room properly, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light in this room.  It doesn’t look anything like an office, but merely part of a library, and a desk was accidentally placed here.  Bookshelves cover the largest wall, running the length of the room right up against a small window frame.  The bookshelves are huge, towering to the ceiling, and stuffed with all sorts of computer books.   You can barely make out the desk with all of the papers sitting on top of it.  The desk is stuffed between bookshelves, and looks like a dolls toy next to the towering books surrounding it.  There are piles of papers and folders everywhere there is room, which isn’t much.  A chair sits half-hazardously near the desk, and looks well-used.  I take off my jacket and look around.

“Yes, just there is fine,” He says, taking a stack of papers and shifting them to behind his desk, he points to the cleared square of space he left on the floor, and I set my jacket and bag down.

“Sorry, it’s…it must not be what you are used to - I usually clean I just didn’t have any time today…” He stammers, looking more and more embarrassed as he follows my eyes, looking around the room.

“It’s perfect,”  I say, grinning.

We introduce ourselves proper-like and he starts talking about what classes he teaches, what to expect at Carroll, and what his duties are as acting Chair of Computer Science, etc.  Pretty soon, we get down to talking about my required classes.

“Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  He says, turning in his chair to look out the window as well.  His window overlooks a quad-type area, where the snow is falling thick and fast, sometimes I see it swirl up right past his window, as a gust of air pushes it around.

I start, realizing that he took my staring off into space as fascination.  He was just giving a lengthy description on the Object Oriented programming class I would have to take, first most likely, a Java class.  I lost track after he mentioned Eclipse; I’ve already taken two Java classes at ISU.

“I…yes, both beautiful, and terrible,” I say slowly, thinking of the long drive back to Milwaukee I’ll have to do, soon enough.  He nods, understanding.

“So, how many years do you think it will take you?”  He asks, sitting up a little straighter and turning back around, “Also, are there any classes that you are considering taking for the graduate elective perhaps?”

I look at him, blinking, dazed.  I suddenly feel like I’m sitting in on a test, the answer hangs in the air, tantalizingly close, but my brain is sluggish and unresponsive.

“I…maybe 3, 4 years?”  I stutter, looking at him for the right answer.

“It was an open-ended question,”  he says, grinning.  He brings up a list of the classes that are scheduled out for this summer, explaining how the registration process works, and flips open the small, green book that holds the list of required classes I need to graduate.

“So, according to this you will be done in 2.5 years, that is, if you take one class during each summer,”  He says, pointing to the piece of paper I’ve been writing like mad on for the past half-hour.  “So you’ll be what, 27, 28 then?  That won’t be so bad, if you want to continue with a Ph.D in the future, I mean.”

“I’ll be 24, er, 25 maybe,”  I say, doing quick Math in my head.  He gives a theatrical start of surprise.

“Oh, wow, you’re saying you’re 22 now?!”  He exclaims, looking at me as if seeing my plainly for the first time.  The look on his face is different, I can’t tell if he’s trying to figure me out or is mildly impressed, the shocked look remains on his face as he looks at me.  A few more minutes pass as I pack up my stuff, him talking excitedly about a new class he will be teaching in the fall.

Soon after that, we say our good-byes, and I’m on my way, feeling suddenly like my future is laid out before me, a very clear road.

I start with one class this Summer — should I write “INSANE” on my forehead now, or wait a few months, you think?

While she was here we did all sorts of fun things, including frolicking in the sunflowers, suntanning on a beach and shoveling snow. Well, that last idea is the only probable one because it’s the MIDDLE. Of. Winter.

We did all the usual things, like go shopping and whatnot, and then we went to the Milwaukee Art Museum, or, better known as (BKA) the Milwaukee Museum of Artistic Adventures. We also went to the Domes, but I figured I would save those pictures for another post; I’m running out of my stored posts, alright?!

So, this is the actual building, and I must say, it is JUST…like that. However you want to interpret it. When you go inside, it’s a tiny desk and elevator music playing softly in the background as you walk in to this HUGE fake-marble hall. Of course, that big white ship-looking building isn’t even the art museum itself, oh no, they have you walk down this long hallway into the rejected art building made of mud and bricks, no, bricks and mortar, erm…rejected art and rubber glue, dammit! Well, the hall was nice enough, anyways.

That is looking out into Lake Michigan. I have to say it was a terribly overcast day, and I did a bit of doctoring techniques I learned in Photoshop recently from a library book. Not half-bad, eh?

That is looking up at the ceiling, it seems to go on FOREVER.

But, it doesn’t.

The conversation kinda went like this:
Mom: Jillian, why is there a guy standing over there?
Me: Looks like a Janitor.
Mom: I think it’s ‘art’…?
Me: Uhm, well, if it isn’t he is standing awfully still…

We walk over, and there is a guard standing RIGHT next to the guy. I couldn’t believe how realistic it looked! As tall as a regular human, and it looks EXACTLY like a janitor. The sign next to him says that his clothes are fashioned from a janitor in the 1970’s-era. There is a sign next to him, demonstrating what human contact can do to destroy an art piece. The guy is really, REALLY interesting, and in great condition, considering the amount of time it has stood without any rope surrounding it, and how many people have visited the museum, etc.

These TV’s were in a HUGE room, must’ve been stacked about 20 feet high, and all displaying different pictures at different points in time, really interesting to stare at, it was almost like a reverse lava-lamp, instead of it being soothing or calming and not being able to take your eyes off of it, you can’t take your eyes off of it because you are trying to catch a glimpse of all of the images whizzing past the TV’s. The room was dead-silent, no noise from any of the TV’s, just images flickering very fast.

Suddenly, I hear something faint, coming from behind me. I turn around to find the source, and I see a doll sitting on the ground, with a chair toppled over. I guess a famous artist is known for projecting faces onto dolls, it was rather creepy. As I got closer, one could hear what sounded like a monotonous speech coming from a small tape recorder on the floor by the doll, which was part of the ‘art’. It said things like “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough”, and “I just wanted it all to end”. Let’s just say I moved on quickly from that one.

Now THIS, THIS was weird, man. It was call “infinity”, and created in the 60’s. It’s an entirely glass box, where one has to put on these ’slippers’ to get inside the box, and only two people are allowed at a time because of weight limit or whatnot, but man, that is what was inside. At first I like “No, I’m not going in there,” because you look down and you just see these, well, you know it was lights but it looked like it fell into nothing.

In the end my mom literally had to PULL me into the box; I have to say it resembled too much like a very high bridge for my comfort, not stable at all and if it broke I would fall into nothing, FOREVER! The only way I went into that stupid box was to tell myself over and over again that the floor is below, and NOT nothingness. Really odd feeling of floating-type when you went inside and pulled the black flap closed.

This was pretty cool, called “The Matrix”. I was leading in front, going through the Matrix-like hall. When my mom said to ‘keep going’ because the path wasn’t through yet, I stopped suddenly, looked up and said “Mom, It’s a ROOM”. I too thought it was mirrors and lights like how the “Infinity” box was set up, but it was an actual room filled with these strands of blue lights shimmering oddly. The room was HUGE!

Annnddd finally I give you, what I thought was one of the cooler ‘artworks’, it was just this giant table filled with glass objects.

I know you can’t see it very well, but this is a close-up of one of the objects on the table; it’s a fruit bowl with glass apples, glass grapes, etc. VERY cool. Some of it was cracked around the edges, I wasn’t sure if it was done on purpose or if some stupid art-goer did it, but either way most of the glass objects were intact and it was nice!

Overall, I had a lot of fun, at the art museum, with my mom (and the tequila that followed…). I’d have to say, mission, accomplished!

Driving slowly, deeper into Milwaukee, I note that the only thing marking my way into the run-down neighborhoods is a rusted green bridge with graffiti all over it. I drive past dozens of run-down houses and apartments, with people out front smoking, kids playing in the nearby trickle of water that, I’m sure, during the summer is a small stream. A bunch of people are gathered inside the small, stained glass building where a bus stops nearby; a couple is arguing, very loudly, right in front of a Walgreens, all the while a car sits nearby, blasting it’s bass. It seems odd that a five-building nursing home/assisted living place, a place where things happen slowly and calmly, is situated in a place like this.

I have no idea why I decided to do this four months ago, I guess I was just looking for something to do. Boredom is probably a good factor in that decision.

“Hello Jillian,” Charlotte says happily. She’s, SURPRISE, an older woman whom, I swear, has a copy of my schedule. I pass her quickly in the hallway with a curt, “Hello”; I’m late…again. I get the money box out of it’s appropriate spot and head back down the hallway. Charlotte jumps up as if seated on a hedgehog and starts down the hallway with her walker.

She always orders the same thing, a single-scoop of butter pecan ice cream in a sugar cone. For 35 cents.

No, I’m not kidding.

The prices are so low I wonder most days how in the hell they make money. The most expensive thing on the menu is a double-scoop hot fudge sundae for 1.35 - let’s just say normally I buy myself an ice cream, or…six.

Let’s fast-forward an hour later from opening…

I’m trying to hold everything together, but I’ve got people lined up 5-deep, and another group in the back who’s been waiting FOREVER. I don’t think I’ve ever been this busy…EVER.

“Miss, I didn’t get my…”
“…single-scoop of vanilla and a single-scoop vanilla hot-fudge sundae,” The woman finishes. I’m scribbling with my stubby pencil as fast as I can.
“Can I get a straw please?”
“…we’ve been waiting here –”

“Must be the weather,” Charlotte yells over the crowd. She’s situated in her usual spot at the end of the bar. I nod at her and laugh, all the while the woman waiting for her order is shoving a five into my face and looking murderous.

“Ma’am…you’re going to have to relax a bit, I’m a little busy,” I say.

“But…I’ve been waiting here for 5 minutes! What’s the hold-up?!” The soccer-mom screeches, clearly having a Starbucks withdraw. I turn around slowly and stare at the raging crowd around her.

“You’re…joking right?” I say incredulously. Without another word of explanation, I snap back around and continue making the hot-fudge sundae.

“Can I get a straw?” I hear someone yell. I turn around and am facing about 20 people gathered around the ice-cream bar.

“…also I need a spoon.”
“Where’s my chocolate malt?” A man nearby says
“Can I get a towel over here?”
“This doesn’t have enough milk…”
“…I want a hot-fudge sundae mommy!” A little boy says, tugging at her mother. She points at him, and starts to give her own order out, but I can’t hear her over the noise.
“How much do I owe again…?”
“Ma’am, my CHANGE,” The woman with the 5-spot wails, waving her money towards me.

“ALRIGHT,” I say, banging my fist on the counter a few times. The whole parlor falls silent. Even the card game has stopped. “Everyone needs to RELAX.”

The woman with the five slams it onto the counter and stalks off to her table. I start to feel some heat creep up into my cheeks and neck, but I try to ignore both that and the woman’s gesture, and continue.

“Listen, as you can all clearly see I’m a LITTLE busy here, which means that you wait time is AT LEAST five minutes,” I say, with a significant look towards Starbucks Soccer-mom. She glares back at me, unmoving. “If you could all quiet down a notch I would be able to hear a lot better, anddd that means ice cream faster!”

I turn back around and start to make change for the angry starbucks woman and finish up the hot-fudge sundae; I try to ignore the fact that the chatter is a lot quieter now. When I turn back around, I’m expecting to take on the full-fledged mob. However, everyone who was crowded around the ice-cream bar looking like a riot was about to start, is now in a line. I stare as the line winds around the bar, by Charlotte. She looks surprised, too.

“Wow, where’d you get THAT skill?” She asks, looking at me with with an odd expression.

“Erm…” I say, a little surprised by my sudden authoritative skill as well, “I…”

“Thanks for the ice-cream,” The little boy interrupts, taking his sundae and handing me some change. Pretty much everyone in that line gave me a tip of some sort, which was equally surprising. I just donated it to the manor, since all the proceeds from this place go there anyways.

At the end of the day, I write down how much I made, as is required, and leave 20 dollars worth of change in the box. On average, on the Sunday that I work, I pull anywhere between 15-20 dollars in profit, 20 dollars is a little on the high side.

Today, I made 37 dollars.

So…happy.

MAN I haven’t blogged in awhile, feels like years, buttt then again it has only been a month. In my last post, I alluded to a PowerPoint presentation that I had to give regarding Joomla. Well, I gave it, and of course at the end, I had to dump the bucket of sweat that was coming off of my ass-crack; I was THAT nervous.

Mmmm, nice visual there.

It ended up being really good actually, about 10 people asked me for my business card afterward, but I just stared stupidly at them all as if to say, “Business card? Is that the same as a cookie?”. Yes, yes it is. A very delicious cookie.

Did I mention I’ve been accepted into the Masters of Software Engineering program at Carroll University? As in, a Masters. Program. Of. Software. Engineering. Telling people I’m going back to college, well, it’s probably the equivalent of saying coolly that I’ve booked the first seat to the moon. People just look at me crazy, laugh and say, “Good luck!”.

Anyways, apparently three groups that came to the presentation want a Joomla site for their own Lions club, so I have to say: I think the presentation went alright! Maybe I’ll be invited back next year. :-)

More college? Am I a glutton for punishment or what? Here, let me roll over…so you have a better angle for kicking my ass, thanks!

I think I’ve pretty much offended everyone by now, blog mission: accomplished!

I got about halfway through the rough-draft outline when I decided to go on a rampage and start completing my portfolio on my website.  I know, CRAZY!

Naw, it wasn’t that bad, but seriously, whoever invented outlines was a genius.  I spent about 2 hours staring at a blank Powerpoint, got up, played piano for an hour or so, and then came back and was like, “Why did it take me so long to think to do an outline first?!”

Nope, still no idea.

Crunch.

Crackle, Crunch.

I look up from my outline festivities and over to the noise.  My cat, and, I’m not even kidding here, was trying to get inside of a Macy’s bag.  It’s not the first time she’s done that, either.  Case in point:

That, is the box to my Christmas Tree.  It’s made to fit, SHOCKER, a Christmas Tree.  I go to pick it up, and I hear a loud “Meow!” come from the box followed by a soft thump as my cat hurdles to the other side of the box.  Of course, I put the box back down and she didn’t even come out!  Oh, no.  Emergency situation where she is dying in my Christmas Tree box and she doesn’t even try to escape.

This, is the Macy’s bag today.  Yes, she was asleep.  No, I did not force her to go into the bag nor was there catnip or a fluffy warm blanket in there.  I paid 10 dollars for each cat bed, and my cat. is. asleep. in a 10-cent paper bag.

Step 1.  Invent a bed that is enclosed like a box and/or bag, make the bottom hard-ish and yet soft like carpet.

Step 2.  Patent/Copyright said bed.

Step 3.  Profit

Step 4. ???

So, I sent off my application to Carroll University.  I’m hoping that by only sending off one application, that it means that I will be accepted.  It’s either that or saw off my limbs and sell them to the black market in order to go to Marquette, because THAT is what it will cost me.

Let’s just say I did a little good-luck dance as I sent off my application.

Secondly, yes, I’m doing web design in my free time.  I have no idea how I got roped into this, but I’m going down to a convention sometime later in January to give a PowerPoint presentation on Joomla (kind of like Mambo and Wordpress).  No idea why, just because I hacked Wordpress to bits and have it displayed so prominently, that people think that I’m an expert on content management systems like Wordpress and Joomla?

God help me.

Also, over New Years I drank entirely too much; and I have to say that if any incriminating pictures end up on the Internets, I can neither confirm nor deny what happened.

You KNOW that it’s a good party when a boyfriend, which happens to be the boyfriend of the owner of the house, ‘fell’ onto the toilet and SHATTERED the water tank.

Yeah, I know that the pictures are horrible, but they were taken with my cellphone.  Nothing says “Happy New Years” like a broken toilet!  Also, I did get a kiss on New Years when the bell tolled midnight, however I’m not sure if it was a kiss or a slobber…Eh, we were both drunk, so who cares!

Oh God, I was just looking at everything that I need to explain, and don’t think I can do this selling pitch to all those people in a few weeks…

Although I try to reassure myself that it was my communication skills that got me to this spot in the first place as far as giving the powerpoint presentation, I’m still nervous as hell.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

Now, excuse me while I go and cry silently in the corner.

What…what’s that?  You want me to send you a check?  Can’t I just give you the OK over the phone?

No?  Why not?  I mean, it’s my credit card, I can give you my drivers license number if you…

Oh come on…don’t be like that.

ISU don’t…don’t cry it’s alright.  Please don’t…ISU get up off the floor; what–what are you doing?

You are EMBARASSING me!  Get up off the floor ISU.  What did I just tell you?  Now, now, come on, get up off the floor.

Oh god that can’t be sanatary, DON’T put that in your mouth BAD ISU!

Alright FINE I’ll send you a check you archaic son of a…

Oh I didn’t mean that ISU I’m sorry, please…oh lord here we go again.  Don’t cry ISU don’t…come on now let’s try to be a grown-up alright?  Come on I’m sending the check in the mail as we speak; it’s alright.

Yes, I’ll buy you a toy if you send me my transcript; look, it’ll be your favorite!  Yes…yes it can be ice-cream as well.

“Oh may I get you anything Miss Kimberlin?  Do you have a map Miss Kimberlin?”  A young student says, skipping around me like he’s never seen someone dressed in business casual before.  Hey, I just came from work.

“Please, call me Jillian,”  I say, wincing at the name ‘Miss Kimberlin’, “I just graduated with a bachelors degree and…”

“Oh?  From here Miss Kimberlin?  You know you can transfer some of your credits Miss…”

“Stop,”  I interrupt, holding up my hand. “Jillian.”

“Of course Miss…”  He starts.  I glare him down.  “…Jill?”

“…Better.”  I say, nodding.

The school, in itself, was very nice.  We get to a “classroom”, which consisted of about 6 students gathered around a large round table situated in what looked like a small meeting room.  Only, the walls were covered in posterboard projects and it had the strange smell of glue and marijuana…maybe it was just me.

I stood outside foolishly, the door wide open and the deep voice of the professor echoing down the hallway.   I look back at the student giving me the tour; he stares back at me wide-eyed - He clearly wasn’t going to interrupt.   I felt like I was interrupting a meeting, not a class.  After I sat down he started talking about Bioinformatics again - I forgot that is what the guide told me I was sitting in.

It’s a nice school, but I honestly don’t think I can justify paying 800 dollars Per. Credit. Hour. For. Tuition.

The periods are necessary.

The second school I went too is Carroll University.  They JUST changed their name to “Carroll University” from “Carroll College”, and dammit they are proud.  Even while I was sitting with a woman explaining the program, she pointed to my folder and said playfully, “Oh, you can cross out the College and write ‘University’ if you want extra brownie points”.

So, I did.

VERY nice school.  It’s situated in downtown Waukesha, WI.  Which, I didn’t realize was about 75% people my age who just graduated.  It seems that all of the houses and general residence in the surrounding area are bought up by students who just graduated from Carroll.  It’s actually pretty nice.

Oh yeah, and the tuition there is only $425 per credit hour.  HALF of Marquette.  I get the feeling all I’m paying for is the name “Marquette”.  I guess it makes sense, I mean, people pay more for brand names like “Sony”, “Tommy Hilfiger”, and “Michael Jordan”.  Why not college, too?

The girl who showed me around was very nice.  Most of the buildings on the campus look like they have been there for awhile; older-type stones make up every wall.  Nothing is drywall except for the gym; kinda feels like they made the school from leftover parts of a castle with the high wooden crossbeams and stone columns holding up every piece of the building.  I’m half-expecting to see torches in brackets along the wall as she gives me the tour.

“And, this is our largest lecture hall,”  She says, motioning down the stairs.  At the bottom of the stairs it opens up into one room with about 5 rows of tables and 30 chairs situated in it.

“I’m sorry…did you say largest?”  I ask, thinking of the 300-desk class that I had Accounting in (twice), and two math courses.  Or the AUDITORIUM (no, I’m not kidding), where I had Psychology that easily had 500 plus students, even some were in the balcony on test days.

“Well yes, of course,  we have about 3500 students here,”  She starts.  I think my mouth about hits the floor at this point, “What’s wrong?”

“Erm, did I mention that I went to a school with 20 THOUSAND students in it?”  I say, allowing myself a small laugh.  Her mouth forms a small ‘o’, and she nods.

“Wow,”  She says, “Well, you won’t find those large classrooms here!”

“That is a plus,”  I say.  It was at that point that I asked her, what could be quite possibly the most stupid of questions:

“Is this a private school?”

“Uhm…yes?”

“Ah…I’m sorry that’s what I thought, I just wasn’t sure about it…” I say, a bit flabergasted.  I trip all over my sloppy apology as I come to realize what a stupid question it was.  She assures me that it was fine, and leads me back to the computer labs, where they have (GASP) FREE PRINTING!

That makes up for the fact that their library is rather small and uninteresting, unlike the two-story Marquette library complete with over 100 digital catalogs and sound-proof study rooms.  I was practically drooling all over the brand new scanners as she led me around the computer lab.

However, overall, I think Carroll College is my number one choice.

Wish me luck as I send in about 100 different items worth of paperwork, because they don’t require that I take the GRE (Graduate Entrance Exam, basically).  So I have to practically write a NOVEL about why I want to come to Carroll and what will I do to help my work…no, the WORLD with my Masters?  Also, what EXACTLY is the function of a rubber chicken and please explain in less than 10 paragraphs the meaning of life - be objective and specific.

I guess the only question now is: would I like cream or sugar?