I have started school. I should have blogged about this earlier, except I haven't. I may or may not in depth at some point, however today was a particular adventure I feel the need to share it at once. Instead of doing my homework, meaning I get less sleep.
You see the importance of this.
My History Professor is Crazy. Mad as pants, "lets have a tea party" crazy. A spastic and random lecturer. A non-working knowledge of the intricacies of what she teaches and a complete nut job. Everyone in the class dislikes her, myself being possibly the only exception. (She is a derivative of my kind of crazy and I happen to completely enjoy her eccentricities) Our class has dropped about a dozen people. In a class of 42, that is quite a bit.
It doesn't help that the book wasn't in and we have no reference to what she is talking about. When people would ask her to clarify things in short stories we were assigned or references she has no idea. Then the next week happens and it is a new region of the world and we have new questions she can't answer.
This week it was Egypt. We were separated into small groups to discuss short stories we had read from the prior week. Stories not in the book, that she presumably selected for significant reasons. This is not so. These were love poetry, hymns, and short stories. She couldn't answer the simple question of who a character was (what is Nut goddess of?). I can understand if it is some obscure question in the book, but this is a story she picked out for us to read, and presumably has read herself. She should know these things.
Other than her odd lecturing method " Um, uh, incomplete sentence, um, change topic incomplete sentence, random opinion, uh, first topic complete sentence. " which forces us to write notes in circles, I must address her choice in wardrobe:
The first night of class, she taught in a teal sweater and black yoga pants with the jolly roger on the thigh. Her hair was in a long braid and an absolute mess. Which was casual, unprofessional, yet somewhat explainable.
The second class she was wearing a grey sweater and a broach (or Broooch for more refined readers) her hair was neat and in a bun. Then she walked out from behind the podium and she was wearing black cargo pants with straps and buckles on them. You know... bondage-casual.
Today there are no words for what she was wearing. A cable knit sweater. A blue one. That's it. It started at her shoulders and touched the floor.
My partner in crime in the class, and I busily discussed the possible names for whatever it was that she was wearing:
Me: That is an overaggressive sweater... Sweatress?....dreater?...Snuggie ("soft over sized fleece blanket with sleeves") 2.0?
Her: Polyester Robe?
Me: Was she shopping at the tall girl shoppe? How much did she pay for that?
Her: I hope not much... Hopefully it was from good will because I don't know where else you could get something like that.
Me: Maybe 15 years ago....
Then it struck me. The name descended like manna from the ancient gods she knew nothing about:
Me:UBER TUNIC!
Her: HA!... You know, I don't want to sound mean, but she reminds me of someone who might work at the Renaissance festival.
Me: I have been there enough times to know she is too strange for Ren-fest.
Me: I never thought I'd say this, but I wish I had a camera phone right now.
At near the end of class:
Her: (tap tap tap)
Me: (sees sketch of the Uber Tunic) you did record it for posterity!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I hate you all.
Hair-
I hate you. I hate every single strand of you. I hate the strands that curl one way, and the strands that curl the other. I hate the strands that start to curl, then stop half way through and the bastards that don't curl at all. I hate the blonde ones, I hate the dark ones and I hate the red motherfuckers that make me feel the need to dye the rest to match. I hate that you grow at the speed of tectonic plate movement. I hate that the half ponytail I put in my hair this morning is just a nub. I hate the little baby hairs that stick out in all different directions no matter how much pomade goo I use. I would shave you off if it wouldn't make me hate you longer. You are the bain of my existence and I hope you feel pain every single time I use the curling iron to tame you.
The END.
I hate you. I hate every single strand of you. I hate the strands that curl one way, and the strands that curl the other. I hate the strands that start to curl, then stop half way through and the bastards that don't curl at all. I hate the blonde ones, I hate the dark ones and I hate the red motherfuckers that make me feel the need to dye the rest to match. I hate that you grow at the speed of tectonic plate movement. I hate that the half ponytail I put in my hair this morning is just a nub. I hate the little baby hairs that stick out in all different directions no matter how much pomade goo I use. I would shave you off if it wouldn't make me hate you longer. You are the bain of my existence and I hope you feel pain every single time I use the curling iron to tame you.
The END.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Haircut $35, Postage $6, the smile of a child- priceless.
Other titles for this post:
me - 12 inches = new me
I get the cut
Little Orphan Gilly
As most, if not all of you, know on Friday January 2nd. I got a hair cut. (Jesse: "Finally you damn hippie!") I cut one foot of hair off my head to donate to locks of love.
Jenni reccomended an amazing stylist by the name of Jackie, who also has curly hair and completely understands my frustration with stylists, and my involvement in taking care of my hair. She was very pregnant and it made me a little nervous to let her wait on me. I felt the compulsion to make her sit down, get her a cup of herbal tea, and a foot massage. Despite her (not so) little bundle, she was fantastic at what she does and I couldn't have been more pleased.
Since Jenni was the one that gave me the phone number, she knew the day I was going to cut my hair. Jenni told Sarah, and she was so damn excited a girls night was planned for afterward. We went to the Chinese Buffet and ate ourselves sick with wontons and General Tzo's chicken, and those sesame jell-O things that we found out are sweet potato. Then went to the grocery store for snacky things for later. We proceeded to drink entirely too much fancy pants gin and be loud and obnoxous for the neighbors, using obscure words and claiming Metro Transit as a distant cousin.
I have had some time to get used to my hair. My conclusion: It is dramatically easier to take care of and dramatically less pretty. I am relearning how to take care of short hair. As the last time I had hair this short, I was 10 years old and probably didn't take care of it at all. This is the challange of my life. I finally had my system down on how to make my long curly hair pretty and WHAM! I am starting from scratch and learning an entirely new system. I found one very pretty style, but to achieve this it requires more time and effort than I can allow, about 24 hours.
I may be over sensitive, but I hate that I don't have luxurious hair anymore. I tried on all my hats and my fedoras looked very nice now that my hair is 1940s short. For the real test: the Tiara. I have had princess length hair for so long I couldn't imagine a tiara with shoulder length hair. I put it on, took a deep breath and opened my eyes. It didn't work. AT. ALL. I tried pinning parts of it up and it still didn't work. I pinned it all up and let the illusion of curls at the top frame the tiara, that kind of worked but the curls weren't quite tall enough to make it complete. I didn't cry or throw things, but some small part of me wanted to. My princess hair is gone, as I slipped the tiara off and on between styles, I noticed that my tiara fits like it always did, effortlessly, weightlessly, perfectly. Which was a comfort knowing the tiara still knows me, despite its lack of hair to decorate it. And of course, my hair can grow back.
Until then, Queen for a day, will be for a different day as I open a new chapter to the book of looks: The femme fetale.
Code of Morgagod Tidbit 1,240: Hair may come and hair may go, the shape of your head lasts forever.
me - 12 inches = new me
I get the cut
Little Orphan Gilly
As most, if not all of you, know on Friday January 2nd. I got a hair cut. (Jesse: "Finally you damn hippie!") I cut one foot of hair off my head to donate to locks of love.
Jenni reccomended an amazing stylist by the name of Jackie, who also has curly hair and completely understands my frustration with stylists, and my involvement in taking care of my hair. She was very pregnant and it made me a little nervous to let her wait on me. I felt the compulsion to make her sit down, get her a cup of herbal tea, and a foot massage. Despite her (not so) little bundle, she was fantastic at what she does and I couldn't have been more pleased.
Since Jenni was the one that gave me the phone number, she knew the day I was going to cut my hair. Jenni told Sarah, and she was so damn excited a girls night was planned for afterward. We went to the Chinese Buffet and ate ourselves sick with wontons and General Tzo's chicken, and those sesame jell-O things that we found out are sweet potato. Then went to the grocery store for snacky things for later. We proceeded to drink entirely too much fancy pants gin and be loud and obnoxous for the neighbors, using obscure words and claiming Metro Transit as a distant cousin.
I have had some time to get used to my hair. My conclusion: It is dramatically easier to take care of and dramatically less pretty. I am relearning how to take care of short hair. As the last time I had hair this short, I was 10 years old and probably didn't take care of it at all. This is the challange of my life. I finally had my system down on how to make my long curly hair pretty and WHAM! I am starting from scratch and learning an entirely new system. I found one very pretty style, but to achieve this it requires more time and effort than I can allow, about 24 hours.
I may be over sensitive, but I hate that I don't have luxurious hair anymore. I tried on all my hats and my fedoras looked very nice now that my hair is 1940s short. For the real test: the Tiara. I have had princess length hair for so long I couldn't imagine a tiara with shoulder length hair. I put it on, took a deep breath and opened my eyes. It didn't work. AT. ALL. I tried pinning parts of it up and it still didn't work. I pinned it all up and let the illusion of curls at the top frame the tiara, that kind of worked but the curls weren't quite tall enough to make it complete. I didn't cry or throw things, but some small part of me wanted to. My princess hair is gone, as I slipped the tiara off and on between styles, I noticed that my tiara fits like it always did, effortlessly, weightlessly, perfectly. Which was a comfort knowing the tiara still knows me, despite its lack of hair to decorate it. And of course, my hair can grow back.
Until then, Queen for a day, will be for a different day as I open a new chapter to the book of looks: The femme fetale.
Code of Morgagod Tidbit 1,240: Hair may come and hair may go, the shape of your head lasts forever.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Happy Birthday Paul!
It was December the 30th. A cold winter day, when Jenni, Casey, and myself went out to visit Paul for his birthday. Bowling, Ugh. I hate bowling. Not only am I spectacularly bad at it, every time I am at a bowling alley I attract the dumbest, drunkest person there. "Blah-blah-blah you are tall, blah-blah-blah I am a moron," and so on and so fourth. To complete the trifecta of the fucktardary that is bowling, you have to wear someone else's shoes, there seems to be something fundamentally wrong with that. So I abstain from the act of bowling and two of the three irritants. Thus making it a tolerable once in a while event.
When we arrived we met Paul and the rest of the group in the bar. While the boys played pool, the girls sat around and tried very hard not to pull out each other's hair.
IN THE RED CORNER: THE CRAAAAAAAAZY TAXI, THE REIGNING CHAMPION, JEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIII!
IN THE BLUE CORNER: THE CHALLENGER, THE TINY SLUT, KKKKKKKKKAAAAAARRRRRIIIIIIII!
These two have been duking it out for years. This year, I was called in as backup to prevent some cataclysmic event from happening. As Kari tends to attempt make out with/hump anything that stands still long enough (men, women, curio cabinets) I was a shade apprehensive about being the referee. At a Halloween party she was so wasted she started grinding on some one's leg while sitting on the ground. This person was having a conversation with another person at the time and not paying attention to Kari at all, which did not seem to thwart her plans. I quite literally picked her up by the seat of her pants, and helped her stand so she could be in a safe place because 1) I felt a little bad for her, 2) I was helping Jenni keep tabs on the drunkies at her party. She turned around and stuck her tongue out at me and played with her tongue ring in what I would guess she thought as an enticing manner, it was certainly suggestive, I ignored it (this memory affirmed I was safe, as there was no way she could reach me). I began to steer this tiny person to a place for a glass of water because she obviously would need it in the morning, when she fell to the ground towards the bathroom and told me she had to go. At this point I left her to her own devices. I had a cemetery cake to cut. Yes, I did wash my hands first.
I did not know what to expect, had she matured at all? Was she still humping people that weren't paying attention to her/random objects? I knew I was more of a backup than an actual enforcer, Jenni could take care of herself, she already super glued this girl's fingers together when they briefly worked at the same place. I was mainly there to be extra bitchy on Jenni's behalf, and finally see August after I don't even know how many years, oh and be there for Paul on his birthday.
Fortunately Tinfoil is not 21 yet. So we had an opportunity to be "forced" to move away from the tiny slut and the people unfortunate enough to sit next to her without causing much of a stir.
We dined alone and had fantastic sandwiches and fries with good company (I don't count brad as good company, although I mostly do my best to ignore him, and at that point he was heavily medicated and a sort of null entity, so he doesn't count when tallying people). The gossip was mostly hair related. Kari is a professional hair stylist, and somehow always manages to have hair that looks awful. This time it was dyed black (the color Jenni mostly dyes her hair), but unevenly so, as if she tried a different color and failed, which was then over processed and still different colors in certain places, and cut choppy but had no movement. Little wisps were pulled in front of her ears in an attempt to create an elfin look (or at least we think so). However, her hair was so thin her ears just looked like they were sticking out at an unnatural angle. It was, well, a little sad.
Finally it was time to bowl.
Casey: I am so excited, this will be just like Wii bowling, only real!
Me: Yes, one step up from virtual reality, actual reality.
Me and Casey: (grin)
I sat with Bob and Tinfoil and chatted while everyone else was bowling. I filled Tinfoil in on the gossip about all of our former close friends and the schism that makes Paul's birthdays a little awkward.
Bob was zoning out, most likely tired because he has an early start for his job. So, I tried to bring him back into our conversation.
Me: That's the story Bob.
Bob: Huh?
Me: I was filling her in on the story of the tiny slut.
Bob: Who?
Tinfoil: The Witch with the big nose.
Bob: Oh, her.
We talked about other things, the housing market, 401k investments, the way brad kept chest hitting Casey after every single time he knocked a pin down. I attempted to win a hippopotamus (for Christmas) out of the claw machine about 6 times and failed, stupid new-fangled claw machines.
Finally August acknowledged me, with a real smile and a greeting. We didn't have a chance to talk much, but our one conversation was playful and reminded me of all the good times we had staying up all night talking until we could hear the birds start to chirp, then fall blissfully asleep despite the relatively uncomfortable place we were about to pass out (usually the floor).
Jenni gave up bowling after the third game or so, and sat with us. Then, Kari came over to the table.
Kari: What are you party poopers doing?
(crickets)
Jenni: Sitting up here. (takes off her hat)
Me: Your hat messed up your part (reaches across the table to fix it)
Jenni: (sakes her hair) There?
Me: (reaching again, just out of my reach) ::sigh:: No, that didn't work.
Kari: No it didn't Morgaine, GOD! (stomps away)
Me, Bob, Tinfoil: (bewilderd looks)
Jenni: (rolls eyes) UGH.
(previous conversation continues)
At the end of the evening Paul claimed to have a very happy birthday even if there was a little tension. It might have had something to do with the amount of alcohol he consumed. He gave everyone hugs goodbye about six times, but we weren't complaining.
After we left Jenni filled us in on some of the very immature and inappropriate things Kari was doing when people weren't around, like rubbing herself against Jenni when she was turning in her shoes and saying "God, Jenni don't be such a perv!" to which Jenni replied "Whatever, psycho." and walked away.
Unfortunatly, sitting around holding a gossipy conversation about a person while in the same room with them, with the occasional break of a video game, or decent conversation was by far the more mature behevior between the two.
THE WINNER AND STILL CHAMPION: JEEEEEEEEENNNNNIIIIIIIIIII!
Oh, and Happy Birthday, Paul!
When we arrived we met Paul and the rest of the group in the bar. While the boys played pool, the girls sat around and tried very hard not to pull out each other's hair.
IN THE RED CORNER: THE CRAAAAAAAAZY TAXI, THE REIGNING CHAMPION, JEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIII!
IN THE BLUE CORNER: THE CHALLENGER, THE TINY SLUT, KKKKKKKKKAAAAAARRRRRIIIIIIII!
These two have been duking it out for years. This year, I was called in as backup to prevent some cataclysmic event from happening. As Kari tends to attempt make out with/hump anything that stands still long enough (men, women, curio cabinets) I was a shade apprehensive about being the referee. At a Halloween party she was so wasted she started grinding on some one's leg while sitting on the ground. This person was having a conversation with another person at the time and not paying attention to Kari at all, which did not seem to thwart her plans. I quite literally picked her up by the seat of her pants, and helped her stand so she could be in a safe place because 1) I felt a little bad for her, 2) I was helping Jenni keep tabs on the drunkies at her party. She turned around and stuck her tongue out at me and played with her tongue ring in what I would guess she thought as an enticing manner, it was certainly suggestive, I ignored it (this memory affirmed I was safe, as there was no way she could reach me). I began to steer this tiny person to a place for a glass of water because she obviously would need it in the morning, when she fell to the ground towards the bathroom and told me she had to go. At this point I left her to her own devices. I had a cemetery cake to cut. Yes, I did wash my hands first.
I did not know what to expect, had she matured at all? Was she still humping people that weren't paying attention to her/random objects? I knew I was more of a backup than an actual enforcer, Jenni could take care of herself, she already super glued this girl's fingers together when they briefly worked at the same place. I was mainly there to be extra bitchy on Jenni's behalf, and finally see August after I don't even know how many years, oh and be there for Paul on his birthday.
Fortunately Tinfoil is not 21 yet. So we had an opportunity to be "forced" to move away from the tiny slut and the people unfortunate enough to sit next to her without causing much of a stir.
We dined alone and had fantastic sandwiches and fries with good company (I don't count brad as good company, although I mostly do my best to ignore him, and at that point he was heavily medicated and a sort of null entity, so he doesn't count when tallying people). The gossip was mostly hair related. Kari is a professional hair stylist, and somehow always manages to have hair that looks awful. This time it was dyed black (the color Jenni mostly dyes her hair), but unevenly so, as if she tried a different color and failed, which was then over processed and still different colors in certain places, and cut choppy but had no movement. Little wisps were pulled in front of her ears in an attempt to create an elfin look (or at least we think so). However, her hair was so thin her ears just looked like they were sticking out at an unnatural angle. It was, well, a little sad.
Finally it was time to bowl.
Casey: I am so excited, this will be just like Wii bowling, only real!
Me: Yes, one step up from virtual reality, actual reality.
Me and Casey: (grin)
I sat with Bob and Tinfoil and chatted while everyone else was bowling. I filled Tinfoil in on the gossip about all of our former close friends and the schism that makes Paul's birthdays a little awkward.
Bob was zoning out, most likely tired because he has an early start for his job. So, I tried to bring him back into our conversation.
Me: That's the story Bob.
Bob: Huh?
Me: I was filling her in on the story of the tiny slut.
Bob: Who?
Tinfoil: The Witch with the big nose.
Bob: Oh, her.
We talked about other things, the housing market, 401k investments, the way brad kept chest hitting Casey after every single time he knocked a pin down. I attempted to win a hippopotamus (for Christmas) out of the claw machine about 6 times and failed, stupid new-fangled claw machines.
Finally August acknowledged me, with a real smile and a greeting. We didn't have a chance to talk much, but our one conversation was playful and reminded me of all the good times we had staying up all night talking until we could hear the birds start to chirp, then fall blissfully asleep despite the relatively uncomfortable place we were about to pass out (usually the floor).
Jenni gave up bowling after the third game or so, and sat with us. Then, Kari came over to the table.
Kari: What are you party poopers doing?
(crickets)
Jenni: Sitting up here. (takes off her hat)
Me: Your hat messed up your part (reaches across the table to fix it)
Jenni: (sakes her hair) There?
Me: (reaching again, just out of my reach) ::sigh:: No, that didn't work.
Kari: No it didn't Morgaine, GOD! (stomps away)
Me, Bob, Tinfoil: (bewilderd looks)
Jenni: (rolls eyes) UGH.
(previous conversation continues)
At the end of the evening Paul claimed to have a very happy birthday even if there was a little tension. It might have had something to do with the amount of alcohol he consumed. He gave everyone hugs goodbye about six times, but we weren't complaining.
After we left Jenni filled us in on some of the very immature and inappropriate things Kari was doing when people weren't around, like rubbing herself against Jenni when she was turning in her shoes and saying "God, Jenni don't be such a perv!" to which Jenni replied "Whatever, psycho." and walked away.
Unfortunatly, sitting around holding a gossipy conversation about a person while in the same room with them, with the occasional break of a video game, or decent conversation was by far the more mature behevior between the two.
THE WINNER AND STILL CHAMPION: JEEEEEEEEENNNNNIIIIIIIIIII!
Oh, and Happy Birthday, Paul!
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