Tuesday, January 11, 2005
"Go underground. It's warmer." - Roy, from the bus stop who misses his woman. At least he has a woman to go home to.
Well, that time that always incites little shuddery orgasms down my spine everytime I waltz into a new classroom has arrived. I love school. So far, all of my courses, most notably my MWF courses have been pretty cool. The only ones I'm not so sure about are my ESL course, and of course EDPY 442, but only because I haven't gone to the latter yet. ESL- a frumpy young man with the potential to induce hypnosis with the tone of his voice, or make me herniate with the severity of his flopping jokes. You don't expect the young guys to be frumpy or unfresh, but this guy is as stale as dumpster food. Take that- TZING! Parry, thrust, stab, stab. I'm such a bitch.
"Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk, or as my ESL prof would spell it, njuk."
Promptly after that, I hung about the entrance to humanities before one of my abusive friends showed up and slapped me around momentarily. Afterwards I phoned another one and he came and sat with me. Friends- it hurts so good. Then, we stalked back through the halls to fetch Fenton, abandoning all heartless tactics before sweeping him off his feet with our magnificent glaring beauty off to Remedy. You see where I'm going with all this crap? I'm warming up before I attempt to write another Opinion, though I may have just psyched myself out by stating that.
My fingers are cold, my dungeon is cold. If only my speakers radiated heat. Or my subwoofer. I mean, it sits there and belches base, why not belch some heat too? Preferably 25 degrees of warmth, which by the way, is the opposite of what it is outside right now. Tomorrow is supposed to be bitterly cold, and I pride myself with the unbending academic spirit I have, because unlike all you dad-funded ho's out there, I will be at school tomorrow. Hell or high snow. Maybe I'll strap on my snowshoes after I get off the LRT, just for the dramatic effect. "Intrepid academic sloughs to class despite minus one million degrees outside temperature. What does she have to say about her courageous feat?"
"It's easy to persevere and get to school when you're listening to Gwen sing 'Bubble Pop Electric' on your discman. I could climb mountains listening to that crap. Damn," she said. Her nose fell off and crumbled into a billion pieces on the threshold carpeting. "Double-damn. Well, guess I'd better get to class now."
I figured out the ultimate toll of constantly being exposed to my dad's sisters in all their multitudes. I may lose my sense of humor. That scares me. That is the common link between them all, that they have no sense of humor whatsoever. They could see "the world's most rotund man" roll down a hill screaming out a Menthos ad, and not crack a smile, a snicker, a humored glint in their eye, nothing. As a sidenote, the Harlot came over last night, which is when I had this epiphany. Also, I realized that she is the epitomy of "Jelly Fish Woman" from that stupid Bridget Jones movie I saw- one of those people (and everyone knows at least one) who casts barbs left and right (or in this case, stinging blobbly jellyfish) though she seems completely oblivious to the fact that she does it. Meanwhile, we, the victim, are left tallying our jellyfish scores.
"Jeepers (yes, she says this word often), it's a good thing I came over, things are falling apart huh (in reference to grandma being ill, Grace Kelly being on her back due to her back)?" One Jellyfish.
"I really like your hair like that Emerson. It's probably the nicest it's ever looked." One Jellyfish.
"So, you must have had a pretty relaxing holiday huh? Unlike the rest of us, you know, because of grandma and stuff. God, what I would give to be so young and uncaring like you." One Jellyfish.
"Thats cute. Oh, how cute. (All instances regarding the word cute, count). That's so darling! Awww, adorable (they count, because they're in reference to all the "grown-up" things I do)." Four Jellyfish.
Total Jellyfish: Seven. And Thus My Life Is That Much More Fulfilling.
No more Bridget Jones talk though. Although, I'm sure my readers would enjoy an exercise in the destruction of grammar this stupid movie could take me on.
Example: "Got out of bed today with difficulty. Priority number one: get more sleep, and stop obsessing over every single shag you've ever had. Work not fulfilling. School, very fulfilling. Met with all my bagger friends...Miss my boyfriend (and typically, we would ruminate for about half a movie here on how "peachy" it is to have a significant other, and how now we are saved from becoming spinsters to be eaten up by their cats, or from becoming aged cougars (read: alcoholically preserved tanned pieces of teriyaki)). You get the point. Will now go to write article as highly respected member of Le Papier. Do you see the formation of the illusion of grandeur happening here that also carried that movie to the end without a break? Unhealthy.
Parting note: I was starting to have this little neuroses about death a while ago, and have finally settled on a solution to get over it and die without fear. When it happens. If it happens. I got a new watch for Christmas, a TMX, which is basically another sporty chapter of Timexes immortal watches (I say this jestingly, never having a lot of consumer faith in anything but the phone company). How this plays into my could-die-at-any-given-
moment-aphobia, is that the watch has an 8-ball feature that essentially answers all my yes or no questions with "Hazy", "Not sure", "Yes", "No doubt!", "Sure!", or "No," "You're Going to Die Infidel Scum," and other equally hip vague answers for my quandries. Specifically, for my little problem, I have thus been asking my watch, if the apprehension of dying from an activity strikes me, whether I will die or not. And the trivialness of the whole idea and watch feature trivializes my fear, and makes it go away. I mean, that doesn't mean I'm going to go play in traffic anytime soon, but at least I won't develope some deep-seated fear of living life on the "precarious" well-lived-on branch as I was starting to think about. And it's funny, and anyone that can laugh at themselves can get over fears.
¶ 8:45 PM
"Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk, or as my ESL prof would spell it, njuk."
Promptly after that, I hung about the entrance to humanities before one of my abusive friends showed up and slapped me around momentarily. Afterwards I phoned another one and he came and sat with me. Friends- it hurts so good. Then, we stalked back through the halls to fetch Fenton, abandoning all heartless tactics before sweeping him off his feet with our magnificent glaring beauty off to Remedy. You see where I'm going with all this crap? I'm warming up before I attempt to write another Opinion, though I may have just psyched myself out by stating that.
My fingers are cold, my dungeon is cold. If only my speakers radiated heat. Or my subwoofer. I mean, it sits there and belches base, why not belch some heat too? Preferably 25 degrees of warmth, which by the way, is the opposite of what it is outside right now. Tomorrow is supposed to be bitterly cold, and I pride myself with the unbending academic spirit I have, because unlike all you dad-funded ho's out there, I will be at school tomorrow. Hell or high snow. Maybe I'll strap on my snowshoes after I get off the LRT, just for the dramatic effect. "Intrepid academic sloughs to class despite minus one million degrees outside temperature. What does she have to say about her courageous feat?"
"It's easy to persevere and get to school when you're listening to Gwen sing 'Bubble Pop Electric' on your discman. I could climb mountains listening to that crap. Damn," she said. Her nose fell off and crumbled into a billion pieces on the threshold carpeting. "Double-damn. Well, guess I'd better get to class now."
I figured out the ultimate toll of constantly being exposed to my dad's sisters in all their multitudes. I may lose my sense of humor. That scares me. That is the common link between them all, that they have no sense of humor whatsoever. They could see "the world's most rotund man" roll down a hill screaming out a Menthos ad, and not crack a smile, a snicker, a humored glint in their eye, nothing. As a sidenote, the Harlot came over last night, which is when I had this epiphany. Also, I realized that she is the epitomy of "Jelly Fish Woman" from that stupid Bridget Jones movie I saw- one of those people (and everyone knows at least one) who casts barbs left and right (or in this case, stinging blobbly jellyfish) though she seems completely oblivious to the fact that she does it. Meanwhile, we, the victim, are left tallying our jellyfish scores.
"Jeepers (yes, she says this word often), it's a good thing I came over, things are falling apart huh (in reference to grandma being ill, Grace Kelly being on her back due to her back)?" One Jellyfish.
"I really like your hair like that Emerson. It's probably the nicest it's ever looked." One Jellyfish.
"So, you must have had a pretty relaxing holiday huh? Unlike the rest of us, you know, because of grandma and stuff. God, what I would give to be so young and uncaring like you." One Jellyfish.
"Thats cute. Oh, how cute. (All instances regarding the word cute, count). That's so darling! Awww, adorable (they count, because they're in reference to all the "grown-up" things I do)." Four Jellyfish.
Total Jellyfish: Seven. And Thus My Life Is That Much More Fulfilling.
No more Bridget Jones talk though. Although, I'm sure my readers would enjoy an exercise in the destruction of grammar this stupid movie could take me on.
Example: "Got out of bed today with difficulty. Priority number one: get more sleep, and stop obsessing over every single shag you've ever had. Work not fulfilling. School, very fulfilling. Met with all my bagger friends...Miss my boyfriend (and typically, we would ruminate for about half a movie here on how "peachy" it is to have a significant other, and how now we are saved from becoming spinsters to be eaten up by their cats, or from becoming aged cougars (read: alcoholically preserved tanned pieces of teriyaki)). You get the point. Will now go to write article as highly respected member of Le Papier. Do you see the formation of the illusion of grandeur happening here that also carried that movie to the end without a break? Unhealthy.
Parting note: I was starting to have this little neuroses about death a while ago, and have finally settled on a solution to get over it and die without fear. When it happens. If it happens. I got a new watch for Christmas, a TMX, which is basically another sporty chapter of Timexes immortal watches (I say this jestingly, never having a lot of consumer faith in anything but the phone company). How this plays into my could-die-at-any-given-
moment-aphobia, is that the watch has an 8-ball feature that essentially answers all my yes or no questions with "Hazy", "Not sure", "Yes", "No doubt!", "Sure!", or "No," "You're Going to Die Infidel Scum," and other equally hip vague answers for my quandries. Specifically, for my little problem, I have thus been asking my watch, if the apprehension of dying from an activity strikes me, whether I will die or not. And the trivialness of the whole idea and watch feature trivializes my fear, and makes it go away. I mean, that doesn't mean I'm going to go play in traffic anytime soon, but at least I won't develope some deep-seated fear of living life on the "precarious" well-lived-on branch as I was starting to think about. And it's funny, and anyone that can laugh at themselves can get over fears.
¶ 8:45 PM
