i was going through some old blogs today, and i stumbled across my very first college-days blog on the now ancient, but then so hip xanga. i decided to post a few choice and selected excerpts…
“my mom recently had conferences with my little sister’s teacher. the lady was frustrated that none of the kids answered questions in class. my sympathetic mother felt bad for her. so my mom tells charlie that if she’ll pay her to answer questions. 5 cents for a right answer, 2 for a wrong. my ever industrius sister made $1.60 in an hour and a half long class. i love that kid.”
“me and my car have this love hate relationship. seriously, we need counseling or something. it went awol on me the other night. after some tweeks and aLOT of antifreeze i can drive it, kind of. so until i find time to fix the hose, i have to check the coolant level everyday. i’m considering getting a camel. i hear they drink alot of water, but water is so much cheaper than gas and it could eat grass while i’m in class. plus traffic would be better because it could just walk over the other cars.”
“i have changed around my schedule so many times, i hardly know what i’m taking now. i switched calc3 classes from a normal day class to a ridiculous 7pm class. no bueno. i missed the first day and went last night for the first time. frustration is inadequate here. my prof sounded like the mumbling guy on napolean dynamite (eating lunch after the egg farm) with a very thick chinese accent. i understood about 15 words he said all night. i could not follow a single proof he did. i was lost and so sick of him that everytime he would start a new sentence i thought i would vomit.
this morning i went to go buy the book for the class. i found the book that looked like the one all the other students had and was on my way to go pay for it when my eye caught the sign which said MATH 513. i had spent and hour and a half in conceptual algebra. my class is TU/THUR not M/W. brilliance.”
“i went rollerskating last night.
so my little amigo and i got to the skate east and lined up with all the other troubled youth in the lobby waiting for the rink to open. we stood next to two little girls that could not have been a moment over 6 years old. interestingly, both these girls were wearing more makeup than i was, had extremely short hoochie skirts on and spent the wait time practicing their pelvic thrusting “club dances”. hmmmm.
we gave our ticket to the rollerskate librarian and went to put them on. yeah, i forgot socks. gross. i could feel the athlete’s foot and podiatric stds osmosing through my the soles of my feet. pleasant. but at least they fit. the skate fitting was followed by the discovery that i suck at actually using said skates. monique and i decided to practice on the carpet first. a wise choice. after a bit of that, we graduated to the coned off end of the rink reserved for 5 year olds and under. monique was inspired by the blaring bow wow and we eventually were daring enough to get on the actual rink. ok, i was a wall hugger all night, but i didn’t break anything.
skate east is quite the sociological lab. there were the afore mentioned 6 year old showgirls, along with a plethora of middleschool girls with more eyeliner than KISS. these girls are followed around by pimply, groping, voice-cracking boys who apparently havn’t showered in, well, a while. there’s juan, the two foot tall hispanic child who gets back on his feet, only to take a step, trip, lunge, trip, fall, repeat ad nauseum around the rink time and time again. the wierd forty year old men who practice their fancy footwork at the ends and wink at you everytime you have to pass them on your cling-to-the-wall path. <cringe> and no trip to the rink is complete without the “hot” rink referee who all the eyeliner laden girls conveniently fall near in order to have him help them up and go home and cry themselves to sleep over later.
somehow, coming out the otherside of middleschool makes me feel so much better…”