Friday Confessional: If A = B, then B = Whaaa??

Greetings and salutations, friends! :) Thanks for stopping in today; I know there are more of you out there than comment regularly (XOXOXO to my commenting peeps; what was it that Shakira said..."Stats don't lie?"), so I wanted to take an opportunity to say hi to the lurkers, whoever you are, and that I hope you have a great Friday (or Saturday. You know, if you're that person from Australia.). I'm also working on getting a commenting platform with the "reply" feature, but can't download anything at the moment, so stay tuned.

Ok, let's cut to the chase. It's Friday. On Fridays, we wear pink confess our deepest, darkest, most embarrassing thoughts, obsessions and musings. 

So, without further ado, I do hereby solemnly confess:

B ≠ B. 

B = A.

As you all know by now, math is not my strong suit. In fact, one of my most humiliating high school memories involves my Advanced Math class (which is basically Pre-Calc, aka Trig, at my ridiculous public high school). Now, Advanced Math is typically a class for seniors -- the progression is generally Algebra I freshman year, Geometry sophomore year, Algebra II junior year and Advanced Math senior year. HOWEVER, if you happen to do well enough in junior high or, apparently, if you are straddling the fence between a B- and a B in 8th grade math and your moron teacher hasn't figured out you've been taking advantage of the formulas some industrious future Wall Street exec has engraved onto your desktop, you can end up a year ahead of the "regular" high school math schedule, finding yourself in Geometry with a bunch of sophomores when you're only in 9th grade.

Guess which side of the fence I ended up falling face first into?

Hint: I'm Tac, and my math skillz are responsible for the #highschoolsexjoke FAIL.

I wasn't ready for Geometry L3, but I took it, failed a few tests, then busted my ass (and a LOT of tutoring from my friend Meghan, who is now getting a PhD in chemistry) to get by with a B. Over the next year, I had a lot of ups and downs with Algebra II, getting a D the first semester and a B+ the second (I had a good teacher who worked with me), and, after a brief fling with Advanced Math L2 in which a member of my class said the fractional equivalent of .5 was 1/4, I ended up in Advanced Math L3, right back with the other juniors I'd started the advanced track with and a whole bunch of impressionable seniors.

As the majority of my classmates were preparing for graduation and gossiping about colleges, there was a small subset of us who needed to get our Class Selection sheets for the next year signed off on by our teacher. Of course, since Advanced Math is usually a senior class, the only option beyond it is Calc I. Reluctantly, but ever-conscious of the "you'll never get into college with only three years of math" rubric, I put it on my sign-up sheet, knowing full well I wasn't going to get approved by my teacher, Beelzebub McSatan. (The penalty for taking a class you weren't approved for was that you couldn't drop the class without taking an F, an awesome little "I told you so" from The Man.).

One day, class finished early and I was finally chatting with a cute senior with whom I'd been half in love since I first laid my bespectacled eyes on him freshman year. Just as we were getting past the whole, "hey, can I borrow a pencil?" part, this annoying, nasally squawk called out:

"Caitlin?"
"Yes (Prince of Darkness)?"
"Are you planning on taking a math next year?"
"Uh... yes, (Lucifer)."
"I suggest you don't."

Oh NO he DI'INT!

The entire class went silent, I turned the color of a blood orange and squeaked out, "thanks", and that was that.

MORTIFYING.

But not as mortifying as this. #Noshame

That was a really long-winded way of explaining that Geometry has been screwing with me since my formative years. And that the foundation for most of life's problems can be traced back to the fact that I never really understood the whole Transitive Property.

Until now.

As you all know, I blog-named my boyfriend "B" short for "Blaine", because I compared him to that moment in Pretty in Pink when Molly Ringwald finally gets the guy. But there is a problem with this alias. You see, I have a coworker named B, whom I refer to as such in work emails, etc., and it was getting really awksauce for me to write, "and then I went home with B!" on the blog. It's like saying you went home with your brother. Icky. Besides, I fear the day some colleague finds this blog and starts some scandalous rumor about how B and I are secretly shacking up. So, I decided to let the cat out of the bag (with the imposter "B"'s permission, of course): the man you have all come to know and love as "B", short for Blaine, is not, in fact, B at all.

He's A!

Princess loves her "Uncle 'Roo!"

As in Andrew!

He's basically the most awesome dude alive, so I figured it was time to have his formal debut -- as himself. :)

Thank goodness THAT'S finally out of the way. Henceforth, "B" will be known as either "Andrew", "A", "BF", "My Love" or "Jackass", depending on my mood and, most likely, the lunar cycle.

Oh, and Calculus? I took it. I got a D the first semester and a B+ second semester (Yes, I know it's highly improbable for someone to get a B+ on integrals after a D on derivatives. Shout-out to Mrs. F, who came in to school at 6:45 EVERY SINGLE MORNING to tutor me, coming up with countless ways to explain concepts until I finally understood the material. That woman is a saint and deserves tenure and a raise!).  I also not only got into college, but aced Calc for Social Sciences my freshman year. So, to Professor Damien McLucifer, I say this:

KISS MY FACE AND I'LL SEE YOU IN HEAVEN!

[Source]

So, tell me: Do you create code names for people in your life (and/or on your blog!), or do you just refer to them by their regular names? In high school, my friend and I were Code Name Masters -- on the blog, I kind of do a hybrid; if it's someone I'm going to be talking about a lot, I try to get their permission to use their name/photos, etc. on the blog. If not, I sometimes just use their first names!

Postscript: True story: Andrew decided to shave his beard last night (which he started growing LAST APRIL for the Bruins post-season run, and only shaved it totally in June for the wedding we went to, where the top pic is from), so that he can re-grow it this post-season. Half asleep, I rolled over and freaked out, wondering who this clean-shaven man was!