It was the last day of class. Finally I would be free from the toils of the mountains of essays and the relentless onslaught of writing page after page of dull, lifeless prose that sucked out my soul and left dark rings under my eyes. No longer would I have to sit in the classroom that smelled of wet cardboard and stale kitty litter and listen to Professor Hammond’s twin prattle on about Iambic Pentameter while making a makeshift beat on his podium, losing it about five seconds in and restarting the lesson from the top.
On a side note here, it honestly scared me how much he looks like my professor. Down to the hat and cane.
I was positive that I had begun to develop a brain tumor out of stress, not due to difficulty, but out of frustration that he insisted on using the space bar when the tab key would indent the correct amount already. I was mentally exhausted from holding back audible screams of rage when ever he would look into my eyes and proceed to center his words using his fast little clicks.
Tiptiptiptiptiptiptiptip “Oh darn, too far” Tack Tack Tack Tack Tiptiptiptiptip Continue reading
“Does anyone not know how to log on to a computer?”
I lean back in my desk and feel the glaze on my eyes further solidify as I join the rest of the class in silence. The curve of the chair bites into my tail bone but at least I feel something again. I check the time on my phone from the pocket of my dress. We’re entering hour two of our three-hour tour. I was forming a theory that this was a psychological experiment of some sort over how long it will take for millennial’s to go all Planet of the Apes on an old man.
“Okay, so you start with your name, usually it has this format with a name box and password box.”
Lord have mercy he’s doing it again. I could not count the times that I had seen this exact presentation. It was a good fifteen minutes about the importance typing with the correct fingers.
“Now, some people do, I think it’s chicken beak type style, like this”, he held up his stubby little hands, “Notice my pointer finger is up, like this, and the rest of my fingers are curled under like a fist without the raised finger. Now watch.” Continue reading
Posted in Season I
- Tagged blog, college, diary, flirting, Humor, lifestyle, love, MySuddenlyOkayLife, selfesteem, storytelling, teens, women
It started like any other regular day on campus. I was obnoxiously early, the parking was ridiculous, and the packs of feral cats were in full swing. The golden light of day heated the drainage tunnels where they resided just enough to give the whole campus that lonely old cat-woman smell. It was a pungent mix of cat urine and indifference that stung the interior of your nostrils and made you wonder if the smell lingered on your clothing. It was like a bouquet of Pepe le Pew from that time he went to Bonnaroo.
On any other day, I would have been content to enjoy the solitude and silence of the sanctum that was an empty classroom, but on this particular day I decided to enjoy the finer things that this humble college had to offer and enjoy a nice visit to the library. Previously, the library had been like stepping back into time. It used to have the entire original everything from its Mad Men era origins plus free wifi. You almost expected Don Draper to walk out and put a cigarette out on a book in the Women’s Studies section and were almost surprised when he didn’t. It was amazing how intact and preserved it was. Everything was in pristine condition in the same state in which they were first rolled into the room. It was immaculate and one of the main attractions to taking classes on campus. Continue reading
A post about one of the many reasons I have been so busy as of late.
I awoke early on Saturday morning with a groan as my dog river-danced on my calves, whining to be let out. I glared at him. All night he had forced me to take him outside to bark at toads and his own shadow. Over and over again I shuffled through the house to open the door and shut the door before passing out again, praying that each time would be the last. Yet it never was. I begged for just one R.E.M. cycle but Max had other plans.
Was this my punishment for allowing him to be fixed? I would be angry too if my testicles had been cut off but this was just cruel. I rolled out of bed once more and glanced at my phone. I only had about 15 minutes until my alarm would go off to get ready for my father’s birthday party. My feet scraped along the wood as I limped into the laundry room to get my duck out of his carrier. He stuck his head out of the top as I approached, like a little duck submarine, and began talking.
“There he is! Mr. Amerrrriduuuuck“, I sang to him as I popped the lid and lifted him into my arms.
He pecked at my shirt and nibbled my hair as I opened the back door and set him down as Max ran out.
“Bye bye, duck!”
I shut the door and started on getting ready. My hair was halfway curled when I heard the dog barking to be let in. I let him in and he took his usual position in a leather armchair but his eyes were locked on mine with cold fury. Was this about the balls? I had a feeling it was but I put it out of my head and got back to doing my hair. Continue reading
Last week, I got accepted into an actual university. It isn’t a community college or trade school but an actual four-year university with a football team and obnoxious mascots. I bet if I asked around I could even find underground hazing rituals. Ever since I applied I’ve been anticipating its arrival like a Golden Ticket. I only applied a few months ago but I feel like I had been waiting for that Charlie and The Chocolate Factory moment since the day I graduated high school two years ago.
Back then the plan had been to go to a community college, get my basics done and then transfer to a university, but I have always wondered if I made the right decision. As stupid as it may seem, seeing the college adventures of former classmates on Facebook drives a sword of regret piercing through my heart, twisting each time someone posts an obscure collegiate music event. Maybe I made the wrong choice and I convinced myself that I was making the smart decision when in reality I was just scared of the future. Scared of the unknown and yet to be discovered. Even now the thought of it still makes my heart race and my breathing become labored and strenuous because the worse that letter could say was “no” and that “no” would seemingly seal my future in this cesspool of a town. Continue reading
This is the sequel to the Independence Day Special “Born In the U.S.A.. You can find that by clicking right here!
It was later in the day now and after endless bouts of going inside and outside to back inside I had officially had enough of the mosquitoes. I could already pass as someone with chicken pox and I was beginning to worry if I would have any blood left after this incessant holiday. I rejoined my allies at the kitchen windows.
We were like spectators at a zoo watching the children swim in the water.
Earlier before our journey into the outdoors, our scantily clad guests had wandered upstairs to change and we each gave each-other a look that, in-turn, assured us that our thoughts were in the same place. After noticing how the girl seems to walk on her tip toes, someone suggested that if she had relaxed on her feet, the shear force of how high her shorts were pulled would either A.) rupture her clitoris and create an elevator-from-the-Shining-esque mess of blood or B.) split her in half altogether. Either way, I would be stuck cleaning it up and it would be icing on the patriot cake on my least favorite day of the year. Continue reading
While registering for the summer semester someone told me I should sign up for a physical class to get out more and meet new people, which sounds horrible. I don’t want to intermingle. If I was Tom Hanks in Castaway, I would not have ever left and Wilson would have been turned into a funky hat or canteen. It would have been a really boring movie. I crash. I get to the island. I go full Swiss Family Robinson and retire at 19. It would have been very anticlimactic. I’ve seen enough Naked and Afraid to know how to live out there. I would be Naked and Having an Alright Time. Someone get the Discovery Channel on the phone.
Yet there I was at 4:30 humming along the freeway in my car. Off to mingle with other twenty-somethings and talk about Instabook or Facegram and how my sweater was gluten-free-range from local farmers. The thought made my heart race and small beads of sweat form above my eyebrows. This was my nightmare. I looked down over my outfit. It was pretty trendy. It was a bright blue dress with geometric cuts strategically placed along my chest and a square, strappy neckline. Very Modern. Continue reading
Back from my holiday hiatus! I’ll be writing about America’s birthday in two parts.
It’s the 4th of July what a day it is. Full of fireworks and the aroma of succulent lips and assholes ground into sludge and packed into a phallus fill the air and they spittle and crackle on open flames. It is a day where we celebrate what makes our country wonderful and we celebrate the day that our country rose up and said “we don’t need no man”. A day where family and friends celebrate their freedom by doing keg stands and mosquitoes feast like the very kings we fought to reject.
Most of all, it is a day for the children with their face stained red and blue from the endless patriotic confections and treats. The children who look forward to the risk of blowing off limbs and appendages with great rockets of fire and spark. Innocent games of football and chicken can be seen all along the shoreline as I looked out onto the great sea that will soon sport a sunset. Then the festivities would begin as stars are replaced by blooms of colored flame. Magical.
Until then there I was sitting in the kitchen as the only twenty-something at the party, avoiding all questions of college and future plans. If one more person asked me what I have been up to I was going to start my own firework finale right there aimed at their open nonsense holes. What did they want me to say? That I’ve been raising llamas in my panty drawer? That I had been giving out free tattoos to children in Africa? That I had been selling my own blood to fetishists in Kazakhstan? I just binge-watched “Orange is the New Black” for three days on netflix. Is that pleasing? It was for me. Continue reading
Ah, breakfast. The meal where we break our fast of the night and welcome the new day with foods that we’ve cruelly segregated from the others. A virtual farmyard of foods ranging from the stolen eggs of chickens to the belly of Babe’s mother and possibly the rest of his long lost family. To be honest, you shouldn’t feel bad about that. The rest of those piglets ended up as right jerks. I saw one kick a pigeon once. Just punted it right across the sidewalk. It really caused a scene at the annual Christmas festival that year. Especially since it was right in front of the line for Santa. Also because his family is just genetically delicious or so I’m told.
Breakfast is also a time where one can enjoy the fruits that an underpaid worker probably tended with his own hands. You can almost taste the civil injustice with every sip of my tropical smoothie.
A wonderful concoction of banana and mangoes did I crave as I awoke this morning with bright eyes full of wonderment. Oh happy day! I practically floated into my kitchen and dramatically threw open the cabinet to retrieve my peacock print smoothie cup. A beautiful cup for a beautiful assortment of vitamin c and potassium rich fruits.
I set it aside and prepared myself for the unveiling of the contents of my freezer. With a smile I opened the freezer door to happiness and looked upon my prized smoothie shelf.
Nothing. Continue reading
What a wonderful era we live in to be able to see a doctor that won’t go through your organs with waste covered hands. An era of medical breakthroughs and being able to find out exactly why your Aunt Martha smells like maple syrup after she eats creamed corn. What a world we live in to be able to give butter faces a fighting chance and to permanently freeze a look of childlike wonder on the face of someones aged grandmother. We can even remove enormous uteri to put photos of on the internet for imaginary points and approval. Let’s just admit it, America, we have it pretty good.
Pretty good, indeed. Until some cantankerous nurse decides to move your appointment to 7 a.m. on a monday morning. I’m not sure what about my persona gave her the assumption of “early-riser” or “morning person” when she was playing chinese checkers with appointment times. Maybe it was the dark circles under my eyes or the way my I wear a blazer. I will never know her reasoning and not even Robert Downey Jr. as Sherlock Holmes could decode it, but damn would he look good trying.
Either way, there I was, driving along empty streets at 6:30 a.m., smoothie in hand, wondering if I really needed to see a doctor. I should have just craigslisted a witch doctor to rub eggs and squirrel tails on me while singing the national anthem of Saudi Arabia in B flat. At least then it would probably be around 4 and I’d at least get a free squirrel tail. Continue reading