Archive for February, 2010

February 18th, 2010

queen of the mountain

I don’t really know how to explain or where to start, but today I had a moment I will probably treasure forever (okay, more likely just for the duration of my collegiate experience).

I made a comment in my literature class today about a poem we have been studying, and received the highest praise a professor could give a student. The poem has particular meaning to me, and I shared insight into the poem that brought the discussion to an end.

I’m being vague because full explanation would require a recap of an hour-long discussion and the last six months of my life. Specifics aren’t necessary. I just wanted to document my victorious domination in the classroom today.

February 8th, 2010

a funny story and then some

I’m taking a “Race and Ethnic Relations” class that is meant to open my eyes and broaden my currently narrow mind to other races, ethnicities, cultures, religions, beliefs, etc. I call it my “racist” class due to some teacher-student comments and the pointless class discussions we’ve had.

I discovered my power over other females in the third grade, and ever since I’ve been using my manipulative, engaging, irresistible power to create little fan clubs, or “girl packs” as I will refer to them. I have established one of these girl packs in my racist class in order to cope with the general lack of intellectualism (basically, the class is a waste of everyone’s time, so far, maybe he’s saving the juicy stuff for later).

Moving on to my semi-funny story (this really isn’t a funny ha ha story, it’s more of a funny huh? story).

There are four of us in my girl pack. We sit in the same place every class, in the same order. We share notes, side glances, eye rolls, the occasional sarcastic remark, tallies on how often the professor talks about food, and bets on when he’ll randomly start yelling. This has been going on since day one of class. About two weeks into the course, some random girl sat at the end of our row and tried to get in on our girl pack. Not that I’m opposed to more members (this is a class about how bad discrimination is, after all), but she went about it in really weird ways. Over the last few weeks, she has continued to sit by us and give the impression that she’s too cool for us, while saying with her body language that she wants to be included. I don’t care if she sits by us or wants to be in our little girl pack, I really don’t. We talk to her and generally include her in our time-wasting efforts.

I walk into the lecture hall today and there is a girl sitting in the middle of where the girl pack sits. I walk down the row to discover that it is this same girl who has been trying to infiltrate the girl pack for weeks, only with a haircut exactly like mine. She sat right in the middle of the girl pack. I couldn’t stop staring at her hair. It’s eerily like mine. I emphasize: eerily like mine.

I tried for the whole hour to figure out if it’s all in my vain head or if she’s really weird like that. No conclusion was reached.

February 2nd, 2010

a butcher, a baker and a hairdresser with a razor

When Matt and I met, I had long hair. I don’t anymore. I briefly tried to grow it back out, but the nice lady who cut my hair decided to give me a “sexy” haircut instead (i.e., she cut three inches off and used her evil razor to bald me).

I’ve been thinking lately about a few of my psychological issues. I do inexplicable things, and I feel like looking at pictures of spilled ink would help.

  • For some reason, white chocolate and mozzarella cheese are connected in my head (just a stab, but I think it’s the color). When I am grocery shopping or looking at food recipes, I think that I don’t like mozzarella cheese–but I do like mozzarella cheese, it’s white chocolate that I don’t like. It’s weird that I can’t keep them straight.
  • I can’t cut/divide anything exactly in half. I cut/divide things exactly the same just-off-half way every time. No matter how hard I try. It’s kind of creepy. If you stack two sandwiches on top of each other after I cut them, they have the EXACT same proportions of one slightly larger piece and one slightly smaller piece. Even when I try not to, it still happens.
  • My mother-in-law is in almost every single one of my dreams, she has been since I met her. I don’t even dream about my own parents, but she’s always there doing stuff with me.
  • I can’t do simple addition or subtraction. I mean, elementary stuff–can’t do it. My brain shuts down and I just end up thinking really hard about nothing. Multiplication, division, quadratic equations, geometric proofs I can do wonderfully (well, I could once). Just now, to add 5 and 9 I had to use the fingers on my left hand to come up with 14, twice.
  • I really don’t like my the separate food items on my plate to touch before I’m digesting them. I really, really don’t.
  • I can’t eat soggy bread. It makes me sick to think about.
  • I never drink the very last little bit out of a glass. It grosses me out.
  • A lot of house plants and inside pets gross me out too. I start to itch and feel dirty thinking about them.
  • I had to borrow a pen from a girl at church on Sunday because I had left mine in the car. She generously allowed me to use her blue pen all day. I couldn’t use it. I wrote 1/4 of a page before I tucked it away. I only use black pens, and I had a hard time defiling my all-black notebook with blue. Literally, all-black, every page, every notebook (which is many). I’m not gothic or emo or whatever, I’m just meticulous about my notebooks.
  • My left hand is almost pointless. I rely on my right hand for just about everything, however, I type better and faster with my left hand.
  • I am a creature of severe habit (in case the black pen thing didn’t tip you off). I take the same route to school every day, I sit in the exact same seat in class (even when I have a class in the same room that I had a class in 4 years ago, I sit in the same place), I walk the same route to my classes (even if I discover there is a shorter one later), I sit at the same two rows of computers at the computer lab in the library every time I go (which is daily).

A picture of me with long hair (I promise I wasn’t in middle school when this was taken):