"Aw man, we're gonna be stuck in a hotel full of journalism nerds all weekend," I complained the day before a few Tech Talk members and I left for a journalism conference in Florida.

"They'll want to be editing everything. I better not hear anyone editing a menu."

I made this complaint a couple years ago when I had gone with the other Tech Talk editors out to dinner.

It was all big talk; I was really looking forward to the weekend conference.

Then, halfway through my soapbox speech, I interrupted myself. "Look, they misspelled 'potato!'"

As my friends and colleagues made fun of me, I went into immediate denial: The Tech Talk had brainwashed me, I was mocking other journalism nerds, Dan Quayle made me do it.

But then I accepted the truth (admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery).

I am a journalism nerd.

My life played back in my head, like a montage at the end of a psychological thriller, and I didn't know how I hadn't ever seen it before.

Back in third grade, I couldn't stand English class because of its simplicity. The books were full of colored illustrations explaining the meaning of nouns and verbs. At the end of each chapter would be a few exercises with no more than 10 questions.

Where was the challenge? I lived for the day before a test, when all we did was correct sentences for an hour.

While my classmates groaned at the seemingly endless pages of grammar, I squirmed with excitement.

Pathetic, I know.

Probably to the dismay of my friends who had to put up with my constant urge to pull out a red pen, this was not just a phase.

Throughout high school, I edited everyone's English papers. One of my friends still calls me when she needs "to consult her dictionary."

One of my favorite scenes from "Friends" is when Ross screams at Rachel, "Y-O-U-R-E means 'you are.' Y-O-U-R means 'your!'" because I can completely relate to his angst.

But somehow I had never considered this a career option; I never thought such a dream job existed for outcasts like myself. You mean they'll pay me to be anal about other peoples' grammar?

Eventually I found journalism, or more likely, it caught up with me, and loving what I do sort of makes up for the weird looks I get when I use the word "whom" correctly.

I now have a group of people with whom I can have intellectual arguments on the use of the semicolon.

It's not the guy in my grammar class who insists that "swang" is the past tense of "swing" or a friend from high school who argued that "acted" could not be the past tense of "act."

I think of going to work as a type of group therapy.

So now I've grown comfortable enough to say that, yes, I buy grammar books for recreational reading (on second thought, I don't think I'm ready to admit that yet).

And now, when I walk into Ponchatoulas, I simply don't look at the door, which says the building was established in "Febuary 26, 1996."

In other bars around town, I've learned to position myself so that my back is to the beer advertisement that says, "According to a resent taste test É" (I'm glad I never liked that kind of beer anyway, because a typo like that is enough to make me start an embargo.)

But every once in awhile, you'll still hear my high-pitched cry of frustration: "Don't they have people to edit that?!"

Like I said, I've gotten better, but something this serious can never be cured. Besides, it is my job.

So I apologize to any of you who ever sit by me in restaurants; you'll probably hear this journalism nerd editing the menu.

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Heidi Hausmann is a senior journalism major from Opelousas and serves as editor for The Tech Talk. E-mail comments to heidi

hausmann@hotmail.com.