Pulling the old Switcheroo

The mark and measure of a society can be found in it's adherence to common nicety. For instance, the toilet paper roll. No, Roommate X, Y and Z, I do not consider the roll to be full when there is two squares left. Just because you cannot see the cardboard roll does not absolve you of toilet paper courtesy. In fact, I would say that the anorexic little skeleton of a roll should remind you of your angry down the hall roommate who is not above getting her own t.p. from the closet and hiding it behind the wastepaper basket, thus forcing you to confront the abject inevitability of the emaciated roll.
No wonder I bombed in Psych. Clearly not my brightest plan.

Tositito's-grab-two-and-use-them-to-lever-dip-into-crevice-Scoops

Holy false advertising Batman! My Tositito's Scoop Chips have done very little scooping and a whole lot of smearing my guacamole around the plate. Let's be honest, they should instead be called Tositito's-grab-two-and-use-them-to-lever-dip-into-crevice-Scoops.
On the other hand, I have guacamole and chips!

Plagues of Locusts...

Dear Institute of Higher Learning,
Are you trying to cause my head to explode? This must be some sort of sponsored experiment by which my suffering sanity is to be tested. You wait until there are three weeks left in the year, until I am two papers into my hell week, to remove my professor from office, to whom I just recently handed in my aneurysm-inducing term paper? Understandably, that kind of decision isn't made lightly and of course, one should wait until the content of the course has veered firmly into left field before considering a change in staff. Fantastic, excuse me while I scrape my now-exploded brains off the ground. But wait! The study continues, as the universe continues to bitch-slap me by crashing the University website. All in all, its not that rare an occurrence but considering that next year's class enrollment begins tomorrow, the stress is wearing me thing. And yes, you insipid monstrosity of theoretical learning, I am holding you responsible for the state of my kitchen.
Congratulations, I am now insane.

JUST BUY THE FREAKING RABBIT ALREADY!

No one whispers as quietly as they think they do...

High on the list of strange things overhead in class: the logistics of buying a bunny. Apparently more time consuming than I thought, because this odd conversation to my left went on for the entire 50 minutes of class. The cage, the food, the name, the lets-take-a-break-and-watch-youtube and it never ends!
My sympathies to their future rabbit pet. It will die as a result of an over-saturation of stupidity.

Teen 'Stache

Dear indie guy,
Your mustache is not ironic. It is just creepy.

Sincerely,
The Universe.

In which we introduce the "ick" factor...

The "ick" factor of a person, place or thing shall be determined as follows...
1) The amount of bleach it takes to leave oneself feeling clean again
2) The size and manner of the vein popping out in my forehead
3) The minimal period of time in which I may discuss said "ick" factor without retching or lapsing into a rage fueled black out.

The categories shall be judged out of a possible ten each.
0-10: Mosquito level irritation
9-20: Driving by a pig farm with a stiff breeze
21-30: Rush Limbaugh and the American Right

Let us begin. An innocent walk to the river valley in celebration of the city finally emerging from the bowels of winter suddenly taken over by lecherous fiends. No sir, slowing down to a crawl will not give you more time to look at me, as I will take this as a signal to flee. Also, you are on a busy road, and by slowing you rust-riddled heap of scrap metal to a crawl you will only offer yourself up to the mercy of the other drivers. No, the concern is not for your safety, merely that scraping your repulsive face off the pavement with a spatula will ruin someone else's commute.

On a scale of 30, you score a 12. That's right swine, it is where you belong.

Huzzah for Highlevel ice tea.

Attack of the Dread Puddle

My route to class has become the Ho Chi Min Trail. Post-napalm of course. What once was a straightforward A to B expedition has now become a A to end of walk, then around puddle, down the street (avoiding the now exposed dog poo) across the semi-frozen lake that is the end of the street, then crossing the street, over the frozen sludge mountain, avoid even more now revealed dog poo then cross the street to B. Then promptly walk into a puddle.
Curses.

But melting snow and exposed dog poo signals spring, so huzzah!

In which we encounter a quipper...

There is nothing worse than a quipper- that is to say, someone that quips constantly. The little side additions to every comment are enough to send Mother Teresa screaming in the other direction. It is the grating irritation of a shoe on a blister. The sighs and oohs and the incessant giggling. This is not a conversation conducive to giggles - it is King Lear, a fantastic but decidedly unfunny play. Be warned, to quip is not to actively listen or contribute to a conversation. It shows only that the quipee is able to string sounds together and project at inopportune moments. This is unneeded, unwanted and undesirable additions to a class reading. These quips are not stated in conjuncture to some other point. They are thrown in at random and whispered in an underhanded way. A sample,

"So you can see that this sentence holds significance, due to its repetition and -"
"Oh yeah, absolutely HEE HEE"
"-emphasis."

Sigh. At least the puddle at the end of the walk is beginning to evaporate.

Against Dainty Feet

Oh my wee feet. How you cause me to suffer. You are cantankerous and difficult to please. Slippers offer no support, and boots of any kind cause you to react in horror and inflame. Flats or sandals, it makes no difference to you. Admittedly, you are what keeps me from toppling onto my face. In my selfishness, I would ask that you do not cause me overwhelming pain at the sight of new shoes. I petition you thus; allow me to wear Converses without repercussion and I will not submit you to Alexander McQueen's torturous heels, whose prodigious heights would cause even Imelda Marcos to wince.

In the interim, I will partake in a shoe-less activity.... Banana bread.

An Ode to Those Unable (or Unwilling) to Tell Time...

Almost 25 minutes till the end of class and it begins. The periodic opening of the door by the students of the next class, peeking in to see if, in the thirty seconds between peeks, 50 odd students had managed to somehow sneak by them. Never mind that students are given ten minutes to settle in between classes. Apparently these students live in fear that a moment of time lost in their precious class will result in plagues of mad dogs. Ours is not a quiet class, so my assumption is that one standing in the hallway would be able to hear the microphoned professor or the fantastically loud mouth-breather two seats to my left. The next idiotic keener that attempts to subtly crack open the door (an impossible feat apparently) will be greeted with a face-full of hot tea.

Today, I am grateful for my hot tea. Tomorrow, I have to potential to be even more appreciative of my daily need for scalding hot beverages.