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.