Do I smell?

Do I smell?

 Do I look like I’m smuggling rabies infested pygmy hippos under my jacket?

 Why won’t people sit with me on the bus? This has been a problem my entire life. I’m not sure if I just put off the vibe that I might steal your soul or what but it always ends the same way. I sit, sad and alone.

As a little kid I thought maybe I just looked unfriendly so I would smile as big as I could in hopes that people would sit near me. It’s possible that backfired.

About high school I decided in a fit of rebellion that I didn’t give a damn…which really didn’t improve things either.

Now I’ve had many a conversations about my bus handicap. My best friend Kate thinks that it’s like something to do with a bad aura or something. Maybe spiritually I’m throwing wet frogs at bus riders. I like to think I’m throwing fuzzy puppies at them, but it’s probably something in the middle like wet puppies…and I guess that the smell of wet dog is sorta off putting.

I guess the point of this particular odd entry and to say I’m tired of throwing wet puppies. I want bus partners. I wanna experience that awkward ride with not enough personal space. I long to be forced to breathe someone’s BO on my way to school. I want to be like the rest of you. I want to learn to overcome my handicap and live my life happily BO and all. 

Bosoms

Have you ever had a test or a class or just a day that you couldn’t dread anymore if you tried? Like you could sit in a corner and try to add horrifying things and just can’t make it any scarier or any more horrible. Oh, I have. Oh, boy, I have. I’m in Latin. Great language, interesting culture, dead and all, but, ya know, still impressively cool. Well, I’m in 5^th semester Latin, which means Virgil’s Aeneid is my own little personal hell.

 Which, day to day class isn’t that bad. Normally I walk in and sit down and wow the class with my impressively witty comments, stupefy the teacher with my intelligence, and then try not to make eye contact and just force myself through the next hour. It’s really not too bad. I mean, wooden skewers under my fingernails would probably suck more….or maybe that nifty waterboarding thing I’ve heard so much about. The ungodly, unspeakably awful part of Latin comes in the form of the tests.

 This particular little delicious bite of hell was a brain melting 600 lines. Not that we have to translate 600 lines in one class period. I would just give up. I would quit school, become a hobo, and maybe earn my money turning tricks in a rural town in Oklahoma. Ya know, do something that would make my dear ole momma proud. 

No, none of that. We just have to study and memorize 600 lines. I say memorize and not just like, learn to translate, because honestly no one COULD know 600 lines of Latin vocab. If you did the entire class would probably be forced by the Geneva Convention to beat you up and take your lunch money for your own good. So I, the unholy studying terror, spent my lovely Halloween weekend translating again and again and again little bits of the funniest phrases you’ve ever heard, all in the hopes of catching that elusive “good grade.”

I only give candy to kids who can say trick or treat in latin. 

Now, most would think that in hell the things you would have to translate would be horrible and just god awful. Like maybe they would star a quadriplegic kitten who liked to play in the acid factory or something. Nope. What hell actually does is royally mess with your head. You have to translate things that really, in all honesty tickle your particular funny bone. I’ve decided to share with you my particular favorite so far this semester: “He seeks to the queen, this one clings to him with her eyes; she clings to him with her whole bosom, and meanwhile Dido fondles him in her bosom, and knowing not how great a god settles on the miserable one…”

Now, because I know any sane person thinks that particular quote really makes no sense at all, I’ll translate my translation. Basically there’s the “boy;” best we can guess he’s about 12, but honestly he could be like 5—we don’t really know, and he’s goin to hang out the with Queen, good ole Dido, and basically be his dad, Aeneas‘s, wingman. Honestly, worst wingman-ship I’ve ever heard of. I mean as  a little boy he not only gets to sit in his dad’s lady love’s lap, which honestly as a 5 year old is not that weird, but then she clings with her eyes…weird right? It gets worse…and honestly this is the part I think should be taught in schools. She clings with her bosom. Girls just don’t have this skill anymore. I can honestly say that’s a lost art, and I for one would like to see it come back. Oh, and then there comes the fondling. Pedophilia always makes for a good day in Latin.

Now, as a public service announcement, I must admit that not every day in Latin has a bosom section. I mean, there are a lot of bosoms and quite a lot of really awkward situations, but it’s a day by day thing. Some days you get sections about bees that no one understands, or maybe a section on Fame that you think is really dumb, but some days, and those days are magical, you get a bosom or a wedding marked by shrieking nymphs watching two bad ass people havin storm sex in a cave.

With all that sex and creepiness, you’d think I’d just jump at the chance to test my knowledge of the weird and unholy. That’s where hell gets you. Now you have to take these weirdnesses that you loved so and you have to permanently etch them into your brain. Picture the creepy hand cutting pen Umbridge inflicts upon Harry in the 5^th book. Now, instead of something bad ass like “I must not tell lies,” you have to write bits about bosom clinging and pedophilia and screaming nymph sex. That just warps a kid. Warps them good. And, really. the worst part is when people ask you what you’re studying, and you can’t just be like, “Oh, ya know, pedophilia, death, screaming sex, and kingdoms.” You have to blush and be like, “Oh, just Latin. Boring stuff, you know.” It’s torture, I say, cruel and ungodly torture. 

Women of Trachis...REMIX!!

For those of you who don't know, I love all things myth related. I know more Greek and Roman myths than I've EVER known phone numbers. One of the reasons I like them so well is that the myths in my head aren't QUITE what they are on paper. It's probably the result of being dropped on my head a few times as a baby, but, hey, it gave me a major in college right? and who doesn't need a useless but fun major when they get to college?
Anyway, so I'm going to show you all a bit of how my brain works and retell one of my favorite myths, and if this one goes well, maybe you'll get a few more. This one is the myth of how Herakles died.
So Herk was married to this sexy broad named Deianira.

I will be playing the lovely Deianira for this little remix. Aren't I just gorgeous?

 You see, he'd won her in this huge fight with a horny river god, and because she was so stinkin' foxy, he decided why not take her home, right?

Kate is playing the Manly Herakles. And for the record the river god really was part cow. Yay random animal sex!

On the way home they came to this river. You'd think Herk would have remembered it from when he came to get the broad, but whatever. They're just sitting there twiddling their thumbs being bummed because they can't cross the river.
When a tricky Centaur named Nessos comes by and he's all, "I can take your bitch across the river, Herk, my man."
And Herk's all, "Okay but watch your hands bud, cuz I just kicked some river god ass for her and I'm not about to lose this fine dame."
Nessos just smiles, grabs Dei, and into the river they go. About half way across Ol' Nessos decides Herk can't get him and goes in to cop a feel. But Herk isn't about to be fooled and gets him with an arrow.
His dying little speech to Dei is pretty much, "If you think Herk is ever gonna cheat on you, just take some of my blood and rub it on his clothes, and he'll love you again."
 And miraculously Dei  just happens to have a jar on her and collects some blood, and they're on their way home.

This is actually a replica of a Hellenistic period vase painting.
Apparently Zelda was way more widely loved than we thought.

Well a couple of blissful years pass, and Herk's off killin' shit like he does, when all of a sudden Dei gets this bad feeling. She goes and tells her son about a prophesy Herk had told her about a while back. This was to be his last Earth-savin' trip, and if he made it through this one he was gonna get the title of most bad ass god and make his way into immortality. Well it had been a while since he'd left, and she was nervous, so she sent the son to go creep on her husband cuz that's what good wives do.
Right after her son leaves, she notices that there's her husband's friend Lichas. Lichas has a group of slave women like he do and is bringin' them to Herk's house. Dei is like, "Hey, that one's pretty AND cryin'. What's her deal, Lichas?"
Lichas is like, "You don't wanna know. Trust me."
Die is like, "Aww, come on. You know you wanna tell me."
So Lichas says, "Well, maybe later, but she won't talk."
Dei is like, "Well the poor thing must be traumatized, havin' her family killed and all. Bring her in, and we'll help her out."
While the other slaves are being all slavey with the new slaves, Dei weasels it out of Lichas that the mystery slave's name is Iole and she's Herk's favorite. Dei freaks out and goes in and makes Herk a new cloak cuz that's what she do.
Then she remembers the creepy jar of Nessos blood she has in the closet, whips that shit out and covers Herk's new cloak with it.

For the record some of the creep factor is lost when the blood is actually a
heart container...but just imagine a jug o' blood in your closet. It's like an
episode of Tales from the Crypt only I'm not seven and I didn't have to
reassure my sister she could sleep with me that night. 

She also gets a bit sloppy with it and gets some on some wool on the floor. That'll come up later.
So she wraps up Herk's neat-o present and gives it to Lichas to give to Herk.
Well just a bit after Lichas left, Dei goes to clean up her mess and takes that bloody wool out cuz it's probably trash day in Trachis or something and BAM! That crap catches on FIRE!

I think I'm getting better at hands. It's all in the disguise of the fingers. Fingers are evil.

She's like, "WTF!! Herk's gonna get all snuggly in the cloak I made him and CATCH ON FIRE!" Which for a while, I bet, she thought would be neat looking until she remembered he's not immortal yet. Then she freaked out again.
Well, about that time Dei's son comes back and is like, "WTF MOM!! You tryin' to kill dad? What a Bitch! AND you made Dad throw Lichas off the cliff, he was so pissed! Whore."
And Dei's like "Well, Shit."
So off she goes to kill herself on her bed, and her maid sees it and then tells her son what a bastard he'd been. About that time Herk comes in all in pain and crying like a pansy. The  son goes up to him and is like, "So, Dad, I think Mom only accidentally killed you."
Herk's like," Don't be talkin' about that bitch while I'm hurting. She can go to hell."
Son's like, "Well, Dad, she might have she just killed herself on your bed."
Herk's like, "Good. So about me dying. I want you to promise me you'll take me to the top of Mt. Oeta, burn me, and then marry that sexy bitch Iole that I brought home."
Son's like, "Uh, no. She's the one that started this shit, and I can't lift your fat ass to take you up the mountain."
Herk proabably cries a bit more then says, "Take some friends and drag me up there if you have to, but you're marrying that bitch."
Son's like, "Fine, Dad, I will."
And off they go to roast dad and marshmallows or whatever it is you do when you roast your dad on the top of a mountain.
Word.

Word to my homies.

The Uses of Bleach

So Kate and I went to a local well known buffet restaurant, lets call it Yellow Fence, and multiple shenanigans ensued. First of all I had the bright idea that instead of just getting my nails painted like normal on my aunt and my girl's night out I would get my eyebrows waxed. Bad move. I ended up with a bit of an eyebrow shadow really. Kate says I look a little like I'm shocked or inquisitive all the time.

I have been slowly trying to find ways to disguise the fact that I only have three eyebrow hairs on my entire face.

Drawn on just never looks right.

Covering them with hair makes me look like a bit of a Chewbacca.

A head band makes me look like a ninja or a really boring hippie.

Well to cheer myself up I decided that Kate and I would go to the yummy Yellow Fence. The thing we didn't realize was that it was Mother's Day. Apparently every mother in the entire state of Arkansas only wanted to eat at Yellow Fence for their gift. As Kate and I drove up we noticed the grass field that is normally filled with bunnies, slumbering homeless men, and probably an old roll smuggled out of yellow fence, was now filled with cars. Row upon row of cars.

I'm fairly proud of my hobo and I'm sorry the bunny looks like it's trying to poop.
Also the yellowish thing in the corner is a roll not a rock.
As a side note I'm fairly certain I intended my hobo to be seductive.

Yes that is a school bus.

Me and my three eyebrow hairs would not be deterred. I found and fought for our parking spot and off we went into the yummy restaurant. Once inside we realized this was one of those nights where you may only eat if you are not afraid of judo chopping an old lady in the throat. And I wasn't. Me and my three eyebrow hairs had a lot of pent up frustration that could only be released through the glory of a well placed judo chop.

Why yes, those are nice man hands aren't they?

Once seated kate and I put our receipt on the table like responsible people to hold our table and off we went, a flurry of judo chops and arm bars all in the name of really good rolls and mashed potatoes. We finished off two plates (cuz we're emotional eaters and I only had three eyebrows) with little cause for alarm. I had an old lady steal a roll off my plate but I fixed her get-a-long and reclaimed my wrongfully snatched roll with glee.
The true problems came about when we went questing for delicious desert. Kate got some lumpy pudding thing and I came back with a mound of cherry cobbler to try and ease the pain only we came back to a old couple happily munching on rolls in our table.
My eyebrows finally had the proper setting for the emotion the conveyed.

It's really the only expression that one can have while an old couple eat their tasty rolls. 

I can not express the confusion I felt in words so I will show you in the size of this question mark
large very large question mark with miniscule person for scale.
As kate and I saw it we only really had three options
mark our territory like I've seen my puppy do

Lots of tea will do that to you. Yup, that was a pee joke. You're welcome. 

Stand and eat while creepily staring at the old couple

Why yes that is ex-ray vision too.

or rub our crotch on the table thereby claiming it as ours for ever and for always.

For those of you not familiar with the last option it was a discovery we made freshman year of college. No matter what the object is if you rub your crotch on it it is now yours. No one wants it back. It's far more effective than licking it. Go home and try it. Rub your crotch on your roommate's pillow. You now have a new pillow. Want that last cookie? make it a crotch cookie and it's yours! This only works if they see you do it. If they don't see you rub your crotch on the object is is merely funny when you see them spit it out or try and wash the shame off of them after you've told them.
I learned one thing that fateful night at the Yellow Fence. Bleach can even get crotch off. Pun intended.

Names have been entirely left out to protect the innocent

I have this class. It's a religion class. I study religion. I thought I would be in love with it, and well, you know that feeling when you go to a movie that has been hyped until it hurts, and then it sucks? Ya, disappointment, bone crushing disappointment. That's it. Well, my religion class has a lot of that.
I'm not entirely certain how a cultural anthropologist can be so abrasive and rude, but my teacher has both of those...in spades.
My war with her started my first day in class. She had this syllabus, and I thought, "Awesome I'm gonna be a good student and read the stupid thing and understand!" Right? Wrong. She started telling us about a day she wouldn't be in class, and when that tapered off I politely raised my hand, unaware of the anger that was going to rain down upon me, and said, "So, I noticed you have dead day scheduled as April 3. I was just wondering when it actually is."
 Three second anger pause. Note the beams of hatred shooting from her eyes and piercing your soul.

"It's on your syllabus. This is a Tuesday Thursday class. So it must be a Tuesday or a Thursday. Get a calendar, and look it up."
"But I don't think you understand, I mean dead-"
"Okay. Well, does anyone else have any questions?"
I would not have my let's-make-friends-I-am-a-good-student topic ripped from me, so after class I walked back up to her, and as politely as I could, I re-asked my question.
"Ma'am," (because I am southern, and she's old. No matter how rude she was to me, ma'am it is), "I wasn't asking about what day you were leaving but about dead day."
"I already addressed this question."
My quest would not be thwarted by her vast stores of evil. I brought my syllabus with messed up date highlighted and everything. I promptly shoved it into her face.

"No Ma'am, this date."
"That's a Tuesday. Thank you."
This is me trying not to bite through my tongue in anger
"NO. DEAD DAY. WHEN IS DEAD DAY? "(frantically pointing at this point)
"Oh, oops...must have miss labeled dead day."
And then she moved on to someone else. She did not apologize, nor did she warn the rest of class that finals would not start a full month early.
The next time I encountered her wrath, I was once again like a bunny just waking up, unaware that a hawk is already circling.
A group of us was chatting about a future assignment in a different class in which I did not understand the group we were to write on. I unwittingly said, "Looks like I will have to do some Wikipedia for this one."
WRONG THING TO SAY.
Then, she sprung forth from the depths of what I can only imagine is the seventh level of hell from a tea party with Satan and went off on her little rant.

This rant has been greatly reduced because even my eyes started to glaze over after the thirty minute mark, and I was the one receiving the verbal castration. 
"You are a horrible person and should be flayed alive for all of us to watch and enjoy for mentioning Wikipedia in my presence. Also, if I even learn that you have read Wikipedia for fun after hearing this rant, I will do my best to get you expelled. Thank you."
I was in shock the rest of the day. I know this because the first sign of shock is that you go into a form of trance and don't remember your actions. After class I bought a subway sandwich, and I have no recollection of the buying. The eating I remember. The buying less so. That's shock, right?
The final straw was today in class. I have picked up this hobby of counting the number of times that she tells an individual, or the class in its entirety, that she is better than they are. Today the count was 8. Which, for her, is not a record breaking number, but it was the final time that I couldn't get over.
She was forcing us to interact, which no one is willing to do anymore because I'm not the only one that has been verbally castrated this semester. In this forced interaction one of the girls asks about Ramadan. I must say that it was a rather dumb question/statement reaffirming her ignorance, but in her defense I do live fairly firmly within the Christian South, and most people here have never met one of "them." That is a sad statement, but a true one. So the poor girl asked/stated, "Wouldn't not eating during the day take a toll on their bodies? It would take a toll on mine."
Three second pause for anger. Note the beams of righteousness this time.

This is a condensed version of what she said, but it is accurate. If you don't believe me, I dare you to ask her. Just once.
"I have fasted, and it does not take a toll on your body; it is actually quite pleasant. My ten year old son has actually fasted, and it was merely cute. You are useless for thinking otherwise. Thank you."

And then the sizzle that always accompanies her amazingly helpful incites moved on to another poor crying child.

Jefferied Kumquats

So I have this major addiction. It’s to British TV shows, and my dealer gave me some good shit. It’s the Meth of the telly.

For the record my meth TV is wearing a stocking cap, not a hot water bottle thing. I know they're easily confused and I thought I would set your confused little noggin at ease. You're welcome.

“Coupling” is amazing. Honestly it’s a lot like the British version of "Friends." It’s a group of mildly dysfunctional friends and their dating lives. The thing that makes it so very thrilling for me is, well obviously the sexy accents, but also the fact that British TV is a little less hung up on sex, which honestly shocks me a bit. I figured we chubby porn obsessed Americans had the market cornered on sex on TV, but nope.

Does anyone see the evil guy from Silent Hill?

The character that really has me addicted is Jeffrey. I just can’t help but feel like he’s the male version of me. I have the worst luck with boys. Not like I-end-up-with-the-boys-on-real-meth or like they-all-smell-like-beef-jerky or something. What really happens is I get like three fourths of the way into a conversation with a pretty boy and then my brain short circuits.

You may not believe this but I am not stoned in this picture, nor am I being abducted by aliens.

 

Sometimes it doesn’t even take that long for the short circuiting. Like Kumquat Guy. Yes, kumquat. See, what happened was my gorgeous roommate and I were all prettied up to buy some fruit for a few delicious fruit smoothies when we stumbled upon kumquats.

Aren't we lookin right purdy in our goin' out clothes? Or so my grandma would say.

These confusing little orange fruit threw us for a loop, but we decided that we were big girls, and that, of course, meant we would try them but we’d have to ask a grown up how first. So we ran down the first older lady we could find and asked. 

She tired to help help but was so very creepy. She made me think that maybe she was
some kinda ax murderer's wife or maybe she was that weird kid in elementary who
ate bugs. 

                                 

Once located, the old lady was extra helpful. She told us that not only were they safe to eat, but they were also not for dogs or used to clean floors or anything. She explained that you just eat them like grapes, so we then absconded with our fruits. Okay, really we just made a beeline for the 20-items-or-less checkout because there is a very man-pretty checker there whom I’ve had a serious crush on for months

So making this picture I found out I cannot draw men. Although he does look a little like Jesus with a bad haircut. Admit it you see it now that I pointed it out huh?

So I worked up a little gumption and decided I would actually talk to him for once. And talk I did. Talk all about kumquats. Or what little I knew about them anyway.

Have you ever had a kumquat?

Nope. I don’t even know what they look like really.

Oh, well, you have them in your hand actually.

Oh, wow.

Ya. I’ve never had one before; apparently, you eat them like a grape. Or so says an old lady in the produce section, although she kinda smelled, so I’m not sure if I trust her. (Apparently smell greatly effects validity)

Ya. I’m not sure I’d want to eat them whole. They look like they have a peel.

Ya. Well, I’ll try them and tell you later.

Ya. Sure.

And there you have it. I Jeffrey-ed. Although when he does it it usually involves more reassuring people he doesn’t collect ladies ears…or talk of boobies. I guess I can say I’m not quite that bad, but it’s definitely the reason my mother is getting a bit anxious.