Thanks For That, Steph.

So for anyone that is not already aware, my first year of college did not go so well.  One could even say it was...well terrible, frankly.  My GPA didn't matter so much as the fact that the few credits that I could transfer were still not that great.  It was not a banner year for yours truly.  I returned home to Beaumont in a depressed daze, but eventually made it through to greener pastures (namely, Houston).

Flash forward to now-ish, and I live mere blocks from The University.  I'm also considering pursuing my MBA.  Because of sheer proximity, it makes absolute sense to try for enrollment at UT's business school.  Thus, I perused their website to sign up for an information session.  To do this required an electronic ID for their system.  No problem; I sign up for things very well.

Oh wait...problem.  It seems that the University of Texas, in their wisdom, had converted my old UT email account into their new IT system.  This would be fine if I had any idea whatsoever what my old password was.  So I went through their process of calling the helpdesk, only to find that as a "former student" I would have to verify my identity to the supervisor on duty.  Since this all happened before the days of "security questions", I would have to answer questions about my time at UT.

In The Lord of the Rings, when The Fellowship descends into the Mines of Moria, Gimli is eager to see his kin that owns the Mines; upon finding the remains left by orcs he lets out a painful wail of mourning.  When I was told I'd need to answer questions about my academic career, my brain let out a similar wail upon viewing the decayed visage of my pride. 

I wish I could say that I partied an appendage off, or was just up to my eyeballs in pretty ladies, but I can't.  I went to a few awesome concerts, went to exactly one (1) party (and hated it, for the record), and got a lot better at playing the guitar.  I don't really remember anything about that year, because I have tamped those memories down.  The only thing I really choose to remember about my time as a Longhorn is the sole A that I earned, in a class that I would gladly revisit on any given day: The History of Rock Music. 

It followed the same basic structure every Tuesday and Thursday; come in, listen to a weird or unique cover song, listen to our professor lecture about something totally awesome, listen to more music, leave.  It was great, I made an A, and I got exposed to some amazing music.  If only my Chemistry and French classes had been the same!  So I flunked out, went home and licked my wounds.  I also tried very, very hard to forget the entire ordeal.  For the next thirteen years, I did a pretty good job of that.  That is, until Stephanie decided to give me the third degree.

"What was your first and last semester?"

A sigh, and then "Fall '97, Spring '98."

"Were you ever on academic probation?"

"Obviously."

"Did you ever receive a degree from The University?"

"OK, clearly I did not."

"What was your address?"

"Ummm...dorm room in Jester...ground floor...I don't really remember"

"How about your mailbox number?"

"Seriously, are you just screwing with me here?"

And on it went.  Five of the most mortifying minutes of my life.  Not because of anything other than it was something I was not proud of.  I hadn't spoken much of this out loud in the better part of a decade, and now I was considering a graduate degree form the same university that dumped me.

But that's over with now, and maybe I can move on fully.  Maybe trying for a graduate degree from UT will help close that circle.  As long as I can top my first semester GPA, I'll be fine.

For the record, my first semester GPA was 1.466.  I honestly cannot remember how I ended the year.  I challenge anyone to top that!