There are no words.

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!