I DID IT! I completed my master degree in Material Science and Engineering. I wrote and defended my thesis successfully (on the first try!), I completed the required classes, and took my last final.
Well, I think I did it. Grades haven’t posted for this semester, and that last final (my final Final, I like to call it) was a doozy.
As in, an evil SOB exam. Ya know, the one where the teacher says, “Study these things. You won’t have to know how to assign a point group—don’t even try to memorize them all—but you will need to know how to interpret them if given one.” And then there are shapes on the exam and I’m expected to add rotational symbols AND identify the point group.
In my world, that is beyond mean. That’s EVIL. Cruel! I studied all day Sunday with two of the smartest students in the class, in addition to all the hours that I studied on my own. I had visions of going out with a bang! With getting a 100% on the final Final Exam of my Graduate School Career and wowing the professor, so that he swooned at my great intelligence and asked me out.
So much for that day dream.
Howevs, I do have a B without the final, so HOPEFULLY I passed the class anyway. <Fingers crossed> I’m checking grades on the website several times a day. I know it’s the weekend, but I have this fantasy that the Prof is busy grading final exams and posting grades hourly.
Ya, I have a healthy fantasy life, I know.
I went out with friends (fellow students) after the exam.
“Boobs!” Sheldon Cooper said.
Ok, he’s the guy that I call Sheldon Cooper. In reality, he’s a really cool PhD student who has been my study buddy this semester. But now, at the bar, he was tipsy and letting loose.
He continued, “If I was a girl, I’d just touch my boobs all day. I mean, I haven’t gotten tired of what I’ve got, if you know what I mean!”
We laughed, and the girls tried to tell him that he’d get tired of breasts if he were a girl and had them. I just sat back and laughed. The whole convo was too much.
One of the other guys—let’s call him Fitz, because Fitz is a fun name and he’s a fun guy—was kinda flirty and said, “I’m older than you think.”
I answered, “I think you’re 22, based on the fact that you said, Such and such happened three years ago, when I was 19.”
He looked surprised and said, “I’m 21, will be 22 soon.”
I smiled and looked directly in his eyes when I said, “My son is 21. I’m about twice his age.”
The cliché, “His jaw dropped,” is over-used, but very appropriate.
I pulled up a pic on my phone of me and Jack and passed it around.
“I swear, you look 30,” I heard mumbled under someone’s breath.
I love it!
I talked to another student about her hobbies, and she answered, “Mice! I caught a mouse and made it my pet. Her name is Fugitive. I made Halloween costumes for her. Look! She’s sushi here (that’s last year) and here she’s in Super Mario World.” The background was, indeed, the game and was the perfect scale for the little mouse. It was super adorable!!
It is now one of my missions to think up Halloween costumes for my new friend’s little pet. So far, I’ve only thought of obvious ones: Ratatouille, Jerry (of Tom and Jerry) and Fifel (from The American Tale). Is there a book where a mouse is a ballerina? Hmmm, need to get more creative with this. I can do better.
Wow, did I have a 20 minutes convo about mouse costumes?!
Later, when we hugged goodbye, Fitz said, “So that’s it? We won’t ever see you again?”
That was so sweet! Fitz and I didn’t have any classes together. We had gotten to know each other between classes in the hallway, and sitting next to each other at the department’s weekly visiting lecture series (aka Seminar). To think that I, a non-traditional student, had made a real friend, touched me very deeply.
Netflix and Chill
I’ve been flirting with this cute guy up at school, and since my school career is officially (hopefully!) over, I went ahead and asked him to hang out. I was super sly about it; I brought him cookies. Then I said that we should get together some time. He agreed. I gave him my number; he gave me his. He said, “Let me know when you’re free.”
I answered, “Hiking Saturday morning? Or dancing Saturday night?”
After a text discussion over what “morning” meant (7 a.m. to me, much later to him), we decided on Saturday night. We continued texting and had a nice chat about our children (he has a daughter) and such.
Tonight he texted me, “I’m a little short on cash, need to reschedule.”
Damn it. My first date in forever (or maybe a couple of months; it seems like forever, though) and he’s broke?!
I debated my options. Most obviously, I could say, “Ok” and maybe one day we’d go out. (Probably not though.) Or, I could offer to pick up the tab. After all, I am an Independent Career Woman with My Own Fortune. If the situation was reversed and the woman was broke, no one would think twice about the man paying.
However, I still live in Texas where a woman offering to pay could hurt a man’s pride. Furthermore, it would set a precedent that might mean that I am always expected to pay. Would that bother me? Should it? Well, I’ve dated poor guys before, and I’m told that I deserve more. But then again, I’d REALLY like to go out and have a good time.
“Maybe I’ll just invite him for some wine and Netflix,” I told Jack.
“You know that Netflix and Chill is a thing, right?” he answered.
“Oh, that sounds nice,” I answered. “I’ll say that.”
“MOM! That means you’re inviting him over for SEX!” Jack said.
“WHAT?! Netflix and chill means sex?!” I answered.
“Yes. Yes it does. My Facebook feed is blown up with my friends upset about the Hook Up Culture of my generation. Like the 70’s and Free Love didn’t happen. It’s silly for my generation to think they’re the first to have casual sex. And it’s silly for the people to be having casual sex. Everyone in this situation is silly,” Jack sagely said.
“I almost invited the guy over for Netflix and Chill. I had no idea. I’m glad we had this talk,” I answered.
The child had become the master. My son was schooling me on DATING, of all topics.
I’m stressed out worrying about grades (even though I probably don’t need to stress). Anyone want to come over for Netflix and Chill?
Um, I mean wine. Lots of wine.