I swear, it wasn't the drugs

So I've done it. I've applied to culinary school.

Can I just mention that I didn't miss filling out applications and financial aid forms? And that I don't relish the "mandatory loan meeting" that I will have to attend if I am indeed offered student loans. What are they going to tell me that I don't already know, as someone who had student loans in her younger life, and paid them off some time ago? That the loan money cannot be used to finance a trip to Paris. That I must begin repaying the loan within six months of graduating or abandoning my education. That there is (gasp) interest on the loan. That if I default on the loan, government agents will hunt me down and kill me. (OK, I totally made that last part up.) No, I understand why every loanee has to attend those meetings (sigh). It's because there are enough stupid people who don't know the difference between a grant and a loan, and you can't always tell who the stupid people are just by looking at them. So everyone must suffer.

I have to get a food handler's card, too. Which apparently requires that I sacrifice two hours of my life for a class and test. ("What? Raw meat can't be stored at room temperature? Color me shocked!") Never mind that I once had a food handlers card...literally half of my lifetime ago. Egads!

One bright point (perhaps): Because I was neither a priviledged nor difficult-to-handle child, my parents decided that public schools were quite sufficient for my educational purposes. Translation: I never had to (got to?) wear a school uniform. That is about to change! We're talking white chef's jacket, ubiquitous black-and-white checked pants, chef's hat, and little neck kerchief thingy. He Who Puts Up With Me is quite jealous about the hat and kerchief. Hee!

As part of the taking-up-time-I-don't-have admissions process, I had to have my former university (Go Ducks!) send the culinary school a copy of my official transcript. Just for fun, I had the university send me one, too. And can I just say...there are classes on there that I have NO recollection of taking. And no, I don't think the university is lying. And no, I wasn't in a drug-induced haze when I was supposed to be going to class (I pretty much avoided illegal substances in college). Apparently, in winter of 1991 I took a geography class...and got a C+. Yikes. I did, however, remember the C I got in calculus winter term of my freshman year. But I blame that on the case of mono that slammed me two weeks before finals. (Incidentally, I hated calculus. I only took it because I didn't make it that far in high school, and it was like some stupid badge of honor that I take it in college.) Hmmm...I'd forgotton how I totally kicked ass in almost every single one of my sociology classes (that was my minor). All in all, not too shabby.

In other news. 56 days until U2!