One more year. ONE MORE.

Here it is, the hard toy project that nearly killed us:



I didn't design this. We built this project, based on an existing design. We were just learning about construction methods for this assignment. Thankfully, mine looks pretty decent, but it's not properly constructed. We were supposed to screw most of it together, but we ended up super-gluing most of it, due to lack of time. And who knows if this floats like it's supposed to. We gave up on making any of the parts squirt. My doors open, and the flag can turn, so that's a lot more than I expected to get done.

Here are some of the other Marina sets built by my classmates:



That front one, by Soo, is nearly perfect. She is one of the very few that actually completed every part. But even she didn't attach the rooftop to the house. I chose to leave my rooftop detached as well, and I gave up on making the nozzles for the firehose and gas pump, myself. You might notice that some of them gave up on finishing a lot of the parts. And I don't blame them. In the same week, we had papers due, plush toys to finish sewing, oral presentations, and exams to study for! I could only finish what I did by pulling a couple of all-nighters. It was painful.

So, even though finals were done Monday night, I am still recovering from the exhaustion. Well, I was almost recovered yesterday, but then I went out for a late night of dancing with the new Senior class (my class) and the newly graduated class of Toy Designers from FIT.

So now I'm recovering from:

• manual labor of building hard toys (during which I breathed toxic fumes, callused my fingers, and coated my fingertips in crusty superglue and paints)


• frantically sewing plush toys (which caused me to have my first sore back in years and left most of my clothes and bedroom in a layer of aqua-fur lint)


• lack of sleep from writing papers and sewing all night


• drinking plentifully at Elmo's Lounge in Chelsea


• dancing a few too many hours in gold heels at Sway in West Village

I know of three different students who started crying in despair during finals week. Note: they were not all female, and I was not one of these students. Honestly, it was too much to work to expect from us. We had to make compromises toward the end on the quality of what we were going to finish. It's difficult to make those decisions, because flaws are so obvious on a visual end-product.

I'd say I was probably the best in my class at staying calm about the whole process. (It might be all those years of working with unrealistic deadlines.) Luckily we mostly retained a sense of humor together toward the end, which kept us sane. A few got caught up in ridiculous drama over who got more assistance time with the sewing teacher and whatnot. I wasn't too concerned with any of that, because I was pretty independent about my sewing work. And fortunately most students were pretty generous about helping each other out, as we were all struggling to finish.

During finals week, I started to mutter a lot to myself. Most often, I would say, "Ohhh, you little SHIT!" when something wasn't working like I wanted, and someone would say, "What?" And I'd say, "Oh nothing. Talking to myself again."

Sunday night, at around 1am, I got agitated while painting one of my hard toy pieces in white, because I kept seeing tiny splotches of red show up randomly on it. I said, "Tschh. Where is this red paint coming from? Aggh. How annoying." Then I kept trying to wipe it and reapply the white paint, until I said, "Oh. Is this red paint? Wait. This is blood, isn't it? Oh yes, I see the cut now." I had cut my finger slightly on an exacto knife earlier but didn't notice.

Also, I wounded my knuckle on the sander machine, while working in the Toy Shop (–not a store, but the wood shop, with vacuum-molding machines and a paint room). I didn't even really feel it too much, but I saw it, and thought, "Crap. That doesn't look good. At least it didn't really hurt... maybe it's not that bad... it's not bleeding... yet? Ohhh is it going to bleed now? Dammit, it is. Now I have to interrupt my workflow to clean this thing and bandage it? Sheesh."

So I calmly dug up the one crappy Hello Kitty band-aid in my computer bag. (We ran out of bandages in the classroom's first-aid kit, and nobody had refilled it.) However, it may come to you as a surprise, that Hello Kitty bandages don't stick that well. I tried to ignore the flimsy bandage flying around as I cut more wood and molded more plastic, but the bleedy wound peeking out was a little distracting. And I probably didn't want sawdust getting in there. So finally, grabbed some blue artists' tape to stick the bandage better to my hand, which looked utterly ridiculous, but I didn't have time to be concerned with appearances at that point.

So anyway, I'm relieved it's over, and I'm really happy about my two-week break before my internship starts. –Except, I will have lots of homework to do over the summer on top of the internship, and frankly, we are afraid of senior year. It doesn't sound like it will be that much easier at all.

Not to mention, that working this hard does not bode well for a social/dating life, which is a travesty for someone living in a nice apartment in New York City. Will calls me the "femme fatale" of the class, and K-boy has asked to marry me, which is sweet, but sadly, I think I will only ever get this kind of flattery from gay men. Straight men seem to be incapable of expressing actual feelings with me until it's too late. Also, I'm super picky, so I may end up being single for life. And I think I could be okay with that.

On the other hand, maybe I'm not missing that much, because I've had a string of disappointing relationships, with guys who have mostly asked to get back together with me a year later. Also, they've all gone on to marry the next girl they dated.

I never had that weepy "When Harry Met Sally" reaction; in fact, I've predicted it half the time, and I'm relieved they found someone else good for them. I certainly couldn't deal with them anymore. I'm just a little tired of being the trainer girlfriend. Can't I get some kind of referral bonus or something for the time spent on these guys?

Plus, the recent guy I dated has demonstrated some real jackassery. I knew the crocs were a bad sign! The pretty eyes, Scrabble skills, and karaoke talent must have distracted me, but I know better now. It's ALL IN THE SHOES.