Things I've Learned This Week #2

I know it’s mid-week but…my Sunday nights (when I would normally expect to post an entry like this) are filled with lesson plans, drinking quietly in my room alone, and hot waxing my face. You wouldn’t believe all the stray little buggers that I have to pluck with tweezers. It takes hours. Anyways…

What I’ve learned this week:

Don’t Drink to Make Awkward Situations Less Awkward

I went to a social event organized for people in my program with 2 of my girlfriends. We looked hot, we sat at the front of the room, and we laughed loudly at each other’s lame jokes. We were hoping to meet some cool new people in our program. Boy, were we wrong.

Crazy #1, who is a stern-looking middle-aged woman, comes and sits down right next to the three of us deep in conversation. She interrupts and starts talking about how experienced she is, how she’s taught all over the states, how Canadian students suck, and how she’ll be our competition when we apply for jobs. This lasted for an hour, and we could hardly get a word in. I downed a couple of beers to avoid keeping eye contact with her.

Crazy #2, an acquaintance of one of my girlfriends, comes over and starts chatting with her. He’s very touchy-feely. He then talks to me as if we’re best friends. He inches his way closer, reaching between me and my friend to rest his elbow on the table. His arm is touching me. The more he’s talking, the more he starts half-sitting on my lap. My stool is almost falling over at this point, but because it’s a high stool, and can’t really shift it away from him because I might topple over. So, I half-balance and down some more beers, hoping the beer bottle in his face might make him back away a little.

Crazy #3, a balding man in his late 50s or early 60s comes and sits right next to my other friend. He introduces himself briefly, stays there for the rest of the night silently, smiling, staring at us. At one point, I write down a website on the back of an old receipt for my friend. Bald man asks, out of the blue, “Are you giving me your number already?” Ewww. I wistfully look at all the young, attractive, cool kids playing pool. I can’t leave my friends with these weirdos, so I stay, and down a few more.

By the time we leave to go to another bar for dancing, I’m shmammered. While we were dancing, I was apparently saying to anyone that approached me, “Are you black or a drag queen? Because I’m only attracted to those kinds of guys.”

I also almost fell off a balcony & ate street meat from a vendor who wasn’t wearing gloves or napkins. Yuck.

How street meat should be: covered with only ketchup and properly wrapped IN A NAPKIN.

Vanessa Hudgens Can’t Sing

I’m sure most of you knew that already, but I never watched any of the High School Musicals, because I knew that they would be a disgrace to the word “musical.”

I’m a huge RENT fan, and I watched clips from the production directed by Neil Patrick Harris at the Hollywood Bowl on Youtube. It stars a few people that were in the recent Broadway run of RENT. I was also excited to see Wayne Brady (didn’t disappoint), Nicole Scher-something from the Pussycat Dolls a.k.a. the head slut (she was better than I expected, but definitely didn’t have the fierceness to bring the part of Maureen to justice), and of course, Vanessa Hudgens, because I had a feeling she would suck.

She plays the part of Mimi, the stripper/junkie, and does a horrible rendition of the song “Out Tonight.” Mimi is supposed to be dancing provocatively in this number, but Vanessa just made me extremely uncomfortable & praying that she would close her legs. Plus, she was so off-key that I was going “Why, Neil Patrick Harris, why did you cast her?” Urggh.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, go watch the movie RENT (not nearly as good as the Broadway version, but still awesome)!!!

My fave character from RENT, Angel. 

Men Use Breast Cream

I went into a Lush store and a well-groomed, attractive, polite young man tried to sell me Lovely Jubblies Breast Cream. It’s a cream that you put on your melons that is supposed to tighten them and keep them smooth and firm. He tried to convince me that I would love this product because he said, “I use it all the time. You can even put it on your butt!” There are a few problems with this statement:

1)   You are a dude.

2)   Even if you had manboobs (which you don’t), you shouldn’t be caressing them with floral scented lotion that costs $25 for a small pot. The visual image is frightening.

3)   Because you DON’T have boobs, you shouldn’t be telling me how much you love the lotion because YOUR CHEST IS ALREADY FIRM (if you don’t believe me, I don’t mind double checking). Way to rub it in my face.

4)   Are you telling me that my boobs need firming? Because if you are, well you must have been squinting to find them. Thanks for looking. Let’s date.

Until the next random week…

Tongue Surgery: An Awkward Tale

I weighed 3 pounds when I was born. That’s equivalent to 3 packages of butter. My dad said he could hold me in one hand; my head would rest gently in his palm and my toes would touch the end of his forearm. My parents say that I am their “miracle baby.” My mom revels in telling the story about how my Dad had to choose between saving his wife or his child, with her being pushed away on a stretcher, dramatically yelling “save the baby!” Apparently my Dad got down on his knees, prayed to Jesus that both of us would survive, and poof! Who would have known he’d end up with TWO high maintenance women with clashing personalities.

Miracle? If you ask me, nature didn’t want me to happen. Now the world is punishing me for not playing by its rules. 

You think you’re clever, do ya? You want to live so badly? Fine! You will be cursed with the inability to play sports. You will have the chest of a 10-yr. old boy. You will be extraordinarily awkward in any social situation. See how you like living now!

The world thinks I’m a virus, and is trying to dispel me with its antibodies. Damn you, mother nature.

Thus, I have a lot of awkward stories about my cursed life to share, but today it will be…tongue surgery.

My tongue was deformed since birth – it looked like it had a skin tag on it (gross, I know). People would often ask me, “Do you have a tongue ring?” I would feel humiliated when eating ice-cream, sticking my tongue on a metal pole outside in the winter (we do that up here in the north to rip the skin off…), and mere talking. It was a hard time for me, with my friends making goofy faces, and me having to resort to the blowfish funny face. Sometimes I still lay awake at night, crying big, hot, juicy tears of shame.

A hilarious funny face made a person blessed with a normal tongue.

The blowfish face, for all of us who are disfigured in the tongue.

Being the vain 13-year old that I was, I said, "Mom, oh my goddd, you totally have to get this super-gross like ewwww thing operated on, because like, I will commit social suicide, cause like, nobody in high school will think I'm like cool, although I totally am awesome cool for reals."

So we went to the local dermatologist (who would have known that tongues lie in the dermatology field?) who made me lay on a table in an open room, surrounded by old ladies with skin growths and recently skinny people with saggy skin bat wings. Under the fluorescent light, I was commanded to lay there, tongue out, while he administered the needle to numb it. If you've ever had your mouth frozen, you'll know how this feels -- like a dead fish. Drool rolling down my cheeks like a fat kid in a candy store, the doctor approached me with a knife and I could see him slicing off skin with a frenzied look on his face.

The operation didn't accomplish much, though. I still have a ridiculous-looking scar that prohibits me from making any traditional goofy faces, sadly. And trip to a new dentist last year proved that people don't normally have tongue operations. 

Dentist: What is that thing on your tongue?

Me (trying to talk while still sticking out tongue:): Ummm, well it's hard to explain, but I was born with a weird-looking tongue.

Dentist: Uh huh...

Me: I had it operated on and it left this scarring. It's nothing.

Dentist (poking and prodding the scar): Well, I'm going to send you to a specialist who charged a wack-load of money to get this looked at. It could be cancerous! 

Me: Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, I went through this years ago. It's just a scar. I already had a doctor look at it. Honestly.

Dentist: Sorry, dear, I can't understand a word you're saying, what with your tongue sticking out and all. If you'll excuse me, I have a patient in the other room waiting for me.

The moral of the story is: If you have a disfigured tongue like me, don't get tongue surgery if you can help it. It accomplishes nothing and a disfigured tongue will guarantee that men won't want you to go anywhere near any part of their body with that thing. It could help you tremendously down the road.

So You Like Glee? You should really give credit to what came first.

What with all the talk of the Glee Season 2 premiere, I think it’s important to give credit where credit is due. That is, Fame. 

As much as I love Glee, I'd rather be with the vibrant, laughing Fame kids below, than stuck in a dumpster. Just sayin'.

Joyful and dumpster-free.

When Glee first hit TV, I was totally against it. That’s because I’m a huge Fame nerd. The film Fame  is great, but I’m really in love with the TV series.

Don’t get me wrong, I am now a certified Gleek. I succumbed to the power of the commercials and watched it. I loved it. It’s clever, witty, entertaining (not to mention the singing/dancing is fantastic) and features a lot of my favourite songs. But my true love will always be for the leg-warmer-wearing, cheesy 80s burst into-song-kids.

What truly annoys me is that Ryan Murphy (the creator of Glee) as well as many of the cast members have said in interviews that “there’s never really been a show like Glee before. We’re the first television-musical” (or something along those lines). Umm, what?!?

To illustrate my point, I suggest you look at the vids below. Both show the school glee kids bursting into song at a music store.

Don’t lie to me: I know you’d rather be with the Fame kids, jumping around, dancing in roller-skates/leg-warmers/booty shorts.

Oh, and I guess it's a coincidence that there's a kid named Jessie in Fame and in Glee. Purrrleeeease.

Left: the original Jessie, his coolest/cheesiness oozing in this photo. Right: Leroy, possibly one of the best dancers ever, who kicks Brittany from Glee's ass.

Jessie from Glee, played by Jonathan Groff. Actually, I think Glee deserves a point in this case, mostly because I have a huge crush on him. Plus, he's super talented (he was in Spring Awakening on Broadway, which made me fall in love in the first place).

Although Glee has super talented people like Matthew Morrison, Lea Michele, and Jane Lynch, they ain't got Debbie Allen. This video makes me nostalgic for the 80s (although I was 2 in the 80s). It makes me wish I was one of the Fame kids so I could meet Debbie Allen. Maybe if she'd met me, she would have adopted me. Sigh.

Apparently there was a hugely successful Glee tour this summer. Kudos to them. But there was also a Kids From Fame tour that started in 1983, where they did a Michael Jackson tribute during the year that Michael Jackson was actually cool. Sure, Glee did a Madonna tribute, but I'm pretty sure Madonna didn't release the biggest-selling album of all time like Thriller this year. Shucks.

I'm not gonna lie, I love watching the interaction between Sue Sylvester & Will Schuester on Glee. She constantly taunts him about his hair (which is perfect, Mr. Schu. Marry me.) 

Best Sue Sylvester hair lines:

"I don't trust a man with curly hair. I can't help, but picturing birds laying sulfurous eggs in there and I find it disgusting."

"Oh, hey William. I thought I smelled cookies wafting from the ovens of the little elves who live in your hair."

"...and, Wow, I just lost my train of thought. You have so much margarine in your hair."

"Oh I will bring it, William. You know what else I'm gonna to bring? I'm gonna bring some Asian cookery to wipe your head with. Cause right now you've got enough product in your hair to season a wok."

I'm sure Sue would have a field day with all the curly craziness on Fame:

The singing superstar Charice is supposedly a full-fledged character this season on Glee. Good for her. But let's see...Fame had Janet Jackson as a character named Cleo. Sorry Glee, but you can't top that.

"Mercedes from Glee ain't got nothin' on me."

In addition, Glee has a lot of crazy storylines. For example, Mr. Schu's wife pretends she is pregnant, and tries to convince one of the pregnant kids to give her the baby. The shop teacher drinks too much cough syrup and ends up cutting off both his thumbs. Olivia Newton-John makes a music video with the cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester. 

In Fame, however, Danny gets leukemia & ends up recovering from it in a day. Chris is a perfect look-a-like for a prince and ends up switching identities with him (until he almost gets shot by the prince's bodyguards). Leroy's apartment gets burned down by his niece, so he ends up staying with his teacher Ms. Grant & they dance in her kitchen & he kisses her (oh my!)

Okay, so I do love Glee. But I'm a little dismayed that they think they're the only TV musical. In the Fame theme song, it goes "Baby remember my name." Clearly, that hasn't happened.

Happy Deathday Marc Bolan

“People stared at the makeup on his face. Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace. The boy in the bright blue jeans jumped up on the stage. And lady stardust sang his songs of darkness and disgrace.” ­­– "Lady Stardust" by David Bowie (supposedly written about Marc Bolan)

Sorry about starting off this post with cheesy song lyrics. But considering today is Marc Bolan’s 33rd deathday, I think it’s allowable.

A Quick Overview of Who Marc is & Why He’s Awesome (if you don’t know already):

-Founded Tyrannosaurus Rex, which evolved into the more widely known T.Rex (he was also part of John’s Children, which we won’t talk about).

-Dabbed glitter on his cheeks, often dressed in top hats & boas, and practically kickstarted the whole glam rock movement (although I would argue that Bowie later blew Marc out of the water with his glamness).

-His songs are so wonderfully bizarre…it was probably was 1/3 creativity, 2/3 drugs. He sang about unicorns, witches, spaceships, swans, and most importantly, CARS.

Don't think I posted this pic just because it was on Wikipedia. I posted it because of Mickey Finn's shirt that says, "Cocaine. It's the real thing. Coke." From left: Bill Legend, Mickey Finn (Marc hired him because "he looked like an Italian film star"), Marc Bolan, Steve Currie (one of the most underrated bassists ever).

Today marks the day that Marc died in a tragic car accident. The whole thing is very ironic because Marc feared getting killed in a car crash so badly that he refused to get his driver’s license. Yet half of his songs are named after cars, are about cars, or at least mention cars. Creepy, I know.

Watch this ridiculous Bolan skit from the fantastic Born To Boogie DVD. Yes, he's in a car. Yes, that's Elton John & Ringo Starr. Yes, I have no idea what's going on.

There’s a whole bunch of other pre-meditated conspiracy things floating around about the circumstances of Marc’s death. For example, in the song “Solid Gold Easy Action” he sings, “Life is the same…And it always will be…Easy as picking foxes from a tree.” Apparently, the license plate on the car had FOX on it, and he died from the impact of hitting a tree. There’s also several other supposedly spooky things like the fact that Marc repeated over & over in interviews that he didn’t expect to live long, or even past 30 (he died 2 weeks before he turned 30). There’s other things too, that seem too stupid to mention, but the whole fear-of-dying-in-a-car irony is definitely noteworthy.

I feel like I'm alone in my Marc love. Only my crazy-cool England-obsessed friend & a friend's British father-in-law have ever heard of T.Rex. "Bang A Gong (Get It On)" was T.Rex's only top ten hit in the US. In the U.K., T.Rex were apparently the next big thing since Beatlemania. In North America, nobody cares. 

Below is one of my favourites, "20th Century Boy." Placebo do a pretty good cover of it in the film, Velvet Goldmine. Velvet Goldmine does a pretty horrible cover of the glam period. Don't watch it.

Anyways, I'm gonna go be like Billy Elliot's brother & sit in my room with my record player & my T.Rex records, like I do every year on Marc's deathday.

Here's proof that Marc was conceited: a shirt with his name on it. He performed at the Wembley Pool in 1972 wearing a T shirt with his face on it + images & cardboard cutouts of himself on stage. I still love him, though.

Like the die-hard Marc fans say, "Keep a little Marc in your heart." 

Wild and Untamed Things

It’s almost that time of year.

It started off with just my good friend, who shall forevermore be known as Helga (good thing she doesn’t read this blog. She’d kill me for calling her Helga. And I apologize if your name happens to be Helga, because it’s a very unfortunate name.) We then started recruiting more crazies to come with us. I’m talking about The Rocky Horror Picture Show of course. It’s the only cool event that occurs in my very un-cool town usually right after Halloween or sometime in November.

You can probably guess why I love RHPS. If not, here's why:

a) Tim Curry

b) Transvestites

c) It's a musical

d) Cheese

e) Tim Curry

My family is uber religious and doesn’t celebrate Halloween. So, as a child, I was never allowed to dress up or go trick or treating (one of the skills that sadly, I’ll never learn in life. Like how to throw a football or shave my legs without cutting myself). I stayed home in my pjs, watched movies on TV & gorged myself on carrot sticks while my friends got to dress up as serial killers and eat free candy. Brats.

It’s important that you know this sob story, because it explains my psychological need to dress up as often as possible. It’s like my brain is lacking in costume stimulation & I have to make up for all the lost years. Thus, I dress in costume as often as possible when the opportunity presents itself.  Halloween, costume parties, toga parties, 80s nights, zombie dances, grocery shopping, taking the recycling outside, etc. are great opportunities to dress up. Take that, parents.

Left: Helga as a generic transvestite/transylvanian (lame, I know). Center: our virgin rocky friend with no costume. Right: Me as Magenta.

Helga is my partner in crime because she was raised on RHPS. While my family was drilling me on the Bible, Helga’s mom let her watch RHPS daily since she was five.  The last time we went to the Rocky Horror interactive show, our group of ten won noisiest group & Helga won best costume (below). As you can see, we are wearing THE SAME COSTUME. It’s her giant tits that won it, I’m sure. 

Last year, with our floor show costumes. Helga is on the left and is dressed as Columbia, and I'm on the right dressed as a sort-of Janet.

The purpose of this post, however, is for you to help me decide what we should wear this year. Helga and I are low on funds & we can’t seem to make up our minds. We want to look cool, creative, and maybe just a tad slutty. We had our hearts set on dressing up like this:

...but neither of  us are skilled with a sewing machine or persuasive enough to get someone else to make it for us.

So here are our potential choices:

transylvanians

Janet in undergarments

We could wear/make this super awesome jacket (that Meatloaf, apparently, still has & counts as one of his prized posessions)...

...and could cover ourselves in blood & guts and become "Dead Eddie."

Janet dress (kinda boring...)

Frank

We’re leaning towards the Frank option only because we already have the lingerie. But quite frankly (aha, clever pun!), I don’t think a woman dressing as a man dressing in drag is nearly quite as fun or effective as a dude doing it.

Our female Frank from last year

If you’re a rocky fan, let me know if you have any other costume ideas!

If you’re not a rocky fan, feel free to be annoyed for reading this whole post & not knowing what the hell I’m talking about. If that happens, I say to you: “Don’t get hot and flustered, use a bit of mustard.”

My Dad Colours On the Toilet

I’ve never really understood the whole business of people reading while they take a shit.

My friend keeps Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on top of her toilet. I commented on it once, and she exclaimed, “It’s my bathroom reading. I’ve read it twice!” That’s a lot of shit time. It took me a good 2 days to read the last Harry Potter book in a toilet-free setting. Let’s multiply that times two, shall we? That's 4 DAYS of sitting on the toilet.

When I read, I enjoy doing it somewhere peaceful. Somewhere quiet. Like, oh, let’s say, a library. Preferably somewhere that doesn’t smell like fresh shit.

I understand if you haven’t been getting your daily recommended amount of fibre. Yet the art of defecating should be akin to shopping at Wal-Mart: You get in & get out as fast as possible, holding your nose all the while.

So, can someone please explain to me why I found colouring books & markers in the magazine rack in my parents’ bathroom?!?

Apparently, my Dad colours on the toilet. He seems completely unfazed by it because “they're colouring book for adults.” No, it’s not connect-the-dots porn (although, that would be fun…) but rather a bunch of crazy & intricate designs. If you were getting a PhD in colouring, then you would use his books (and might want to wear gloves?).

The point is, where does it end? Maybe somebody you know reads those Uncle John Bathroom Reader books. Next, he’ll be boasting about how he finished War and Peace on the toilet. Then, he’ll start colouring, knitting, chopping vegetables, playing the guitar, typing blog posts, etc…

If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go wash my hands now.

                                          ***                                          

On a separate note, this is one of my ex-goats. They’ll be popping in every so often, because, well, I LOVE THEM. Read my first post if you want to know more about my infatuation with goats.

Speaking of shit & goats, I brought my goat Norman to show and tell in first grade. We wrapped a leash around him. He wouldn’t budge. So we dragged him down the hallway, and he shit a breadcrumb trail the entire way. The janitor had to follow us with a broom. You can tell I live in a redneck city, where it’s permissible to bring farm animals to school.

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In conclusion, I hope you will think of me the next time you take a shit and/or consider bringing your goat to school.

I Almost Became David Bowie...But Failed

I’m going to freak you out a bit.

Fail #1

I’ve been wildly, excruciatingly, disgustingly, fanatically, head-over-heels in love with David Bowie for the past 3 years. If you’ve read my blog once or twice (yay, I love you!) it’s crucial that you know from this point on that I’m CRAZY (if you didn’t know that already).

Fail #2

My blog is named after Bowie. My bookshelf is covered with Bowie. My music consists of lots of Bowie. I want to be Bowie.

All my Bowie shit. I had it organized into nice little piles, and then tried to mess it up a bit to make it look like I was cool and didn't care. And then I realized what the topic of this post was.

I dressed up as Ziggy Stardust (but drew the lightning bolt on the wrong side – I shouldn’t be allowed to live!) for Halloween. Nobody knew who I was. I also danced the Thriller dance with these lovely people below. My conclusion is that BECAUSE I danced to Thriller & was supposed to be a zombie, people were confused. 

Stupid closed-minded jerk #1: “Is that a lightning bolt across you face? I guess you’re dressed as Harry Potter, huh?”

Fail #3

I don’t care what you say, you can’t group me with Trekkies. You can’t group me with the KISS lunchbag carrying kids. Why? Well, the difference between me and these super crazy fans is that my object of worship is actually cool.

Fail #4

 Other than my everlasting love for Bowie, I’m completely normal...

...sort of.

Things I’ve Learned This Week #1

I think I’m going to make this a regular weekend blog post because…well, I’m sure there will be a bunch more stupid little things that need mentioning in the future (that don’t deserve a full post on their own). Yaaay.

Things I've Learned This Week:

I've Invested Thousands of Dollars in the Wrong Career Choice

It’s official. After only one week of teacher’s college, I’m ready to quit & become an unemployed Doritos eater in my parents’ basement. Seriously. My faculty advisor is a football coach and is NUTS and scares the SHIT out of me.

Crazy Football Coach: “Being a teacher is brutal. You definitely won’t get a job if you stay here (my town). If you do get a job elsewhere, it’s going to be a shitload of work. You’re going to be teaching subjects you hate. You’re going to hate your students. You’re not going to have a social life. You will ruin relationships – look at me, my wife divorced me because of it. Get out of it now if you can.”

I’m going to stick with it, mostly because I just spent a crapload of money on tuition. I also may decide to amputate/impregnate/shoot myself down the road as an excuse to get out of it.

Men Really Do Break Up with Chicks Via Text Message

This happened to my friend today. I immediately thought, “What man – after dating someone for several months – would break up with a text?” I didn’t believe it when Berger broke up with Carrie in Sex and the City with a post-it note. Apparently, it happens. FYI: I have fulfilled my talking about relationships on this blog quota for a year with this mention. It won’t happen again. I will slow roast my poodle if it does happen.

I Will Never, Ever, Be Good at Karaoke

No more “I can’t hear myself” or “I got a cold” or “the song was in the wrong key.” I. Really. Suck. I actually got booed last night. The ironic part is that I was in the most redneck bar in existence. There are animal heads hanging on the walls; crabs on the toilet seats; and biker & farmer men with beards down to their belts, with missing teeth, drinking beer. I’m not gonna lie – I looked hot. I was wearing a mini-dress, shiny black books, and had fully brushed all my teeth. Yet they were booing me?!?

I Sat in a Chair that was in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

I watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants this week (shut up, I love this movie!).  There’s one scene, where Lena (the girl who is in Santorini visiting her grandparents) is sitting at a table & writing in her journal. I noticed something vaguely familiar about where she was sitting, so I whipped out my Europe pics from 2 years ago and discovered this:

Lena from the movie

Grandpa is to the left & my face is being covered by glasses (it was good white wine!)

The movie was filmed 3 years before I was there, so renovations to this restaurant were made (note the balcony to the left). It couldn’t be in any other place on the island because this restaurant is the highest up & the only location that would provide this view. I do think that Lena's sitting at a different table in the restaurant, though, probably the one behind my grandpa. The crazy part is that the waiter was yelling at me to come up & eat and I was saying, “No, thank you!” but my Grandpa insisted on going up. If only they’d have put up a sign or something, then I would’ve known….geez…

That’s right, be jealous.

My Thighs Now Rub Together When I Walk

It’s true. Oprah talked about this once. About how she didn’t know that women should have a “space” in-between their legs when they put their feet together. She was flabbergasted to discover that she didn’t have a space. That her thighs touch. (P.S. note the clever use of “flabbergasted” which so obviously connects with what I’m talking about…flab).

I have Oprah thighs, saweeet.

I only noticed this 2 days ago. I got up, started walking, and realized that the flesh from both legs started touching. The skin on skin contact grossed me out…Like nails on a blackboard…Sandpaper…My father’s back hair that sheds at an extraordinary rate all over my parents’ bathroom floor…Anyways, I now have to waddle. Guess who’s hitting the thigh machine tomorrow?

Somebody, who has great thighs. I’m sleeping.

On a happier note, I started my 5^th year of paying to torture myself. The building where most of my classes are is a miniature version of all the horrible things you can remember about public school. Circular tables. Group discussions where you share your thoughts & feelings. Pictures of zebras on the walls & bean plants sprouting on the window ledges.

The worst part is that this building has NO AIR CONDITIONING & is a good 10-15 walk in the SCORCHING HOT SUN to get to the main campus. Each classroom has one tiny window. I had so much sweat happening the other day it was disgusting. I had back sweat, ass sweat, and belly sweat. There was so much sweat accumulating around my belly that I actually had a belly sweat spot on the front of my shirt. I spent the first day deciding whether to tie my sweater (don’t ask me why I happened to have one) around my belly to hide the sweat stain, or around my ass which felt like it was pruning after sitting in a hot bath for an hour. I know you probably didn’t want to hear all that, but it had to be told.

In order to make me feel not completely outside of my comfort zone, this year has presented itself with some familiarities. There is a professor that lists & explains his credentials for an hour at the start of class. There is a “mature student” who answers every question, asks ridiculous questions, and gives a ten minute statement about his days in the war. There is a bathroom loaded with pubes on the toilet seat & a handle to flush the toilet located in an illogical spot on the back wall (above it, in marker, it says in murderer-like writing: “Press & hold handal to flush.”)

Thank goodness, I was worried that I’d be a lost puppy this year.