Monday, January 26, 2009

More Monday Morning Professionalism

I wasn’t in a fantastic mood Monday morning. I spent my entire weekend, if you can call it that, working/writing like some kind of pep-pill popping crazy bitch. I’m like Jessie Spano from Saved by the Bell. I’m so excited! I’m so excited! I’m so…so…I’m so scared.


So my weekend was a bust. Fauxhawk was here for one night, but I had to stay in to work and he was visiting friends, so he got to go out and do shooters and dance to the pulsating rhythm of strobe lights while I had to sit at my laptop, cry, and eat 10 pounds worth of bulk chocolate.

I was feeling the stress after FauxHawk left on Sunday. One of my story ideas for my current affairs program didn’t pan out, I have 6 more assignments due this week, and I’m not going to have sex for three weeks. Oh, and my apartment smells like some kind of mystery rot and my cat has dandruff. Ah, life.

I went to Spaz’s apartment for a visit Sunday afternoon, right after FauxHawk left. I guess the stress of the weekend had caught up with me, because this is how Spaz describes my apparently hilarious visit:

“She stumbled through the door holding a plate full of chocolate cake. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, watery, and she had eye makeup streaked down one cheek. I asked her if she had been crying and she shrugged, trying to be all casual, and was like “Ya, I guess,” and then her lip started quivering and she started crying again! In my kitchen! Then she ate the cake.”

I suppose that is an accurate description. Although she left out the stained hoodie sweatshirt and tattered lulus.

Perhaps this is the point in the story where I should mention my hatey uterus before any of you call the suicide hotline for me. This bad mood is brought to you by the letters P, M, and S.

I felt better when I left Spaz’s an hour later. Then MC came down to my apartment and helped me get started on one of my four million assignments. I fed her bulk chocolate for her efforts.

But then I was up until 2:30 in the morning finishing said assignment, which meant I got 4 hours of fitful sleep before my day of class.

I was not feeling the J-love when I tripped into class this morning.

But then…the flamboyant man-types started talking, and my suicide levels came down.

First, they said “Low hanging fruit” within the first 10 minutes of the lecture. I made eye contact with a few classmates, which was a mistake. I tried to hide my smirk behind my hair, but then I remembered that I have bangs now instead of layers that cover my face. Foiled! So I bit my travel coffee mug like a gag and shook with silent hysteria.

And then. THEN! The best gift ever.

Before I go on, there is an ongoing debate amongst my classmates as to whether or not the flamboyant man-types are actually gay. One of them wears a wedding ring, but he also looks like he would easily fit right into a bar full of topless, glittery men in thongs. The other has definite gay-face, and no ring.

I stand firmly on the homo side of the debate. Both gay. Probable that they go home together after class and whip each other with leather straps.

Not everyone agrees with me.

But today I think my argument gained some serious footing.

The flamboyant man-type with the wedding ring was describing…well, I have no fucking idea what he was talking about…business reporting something something…

Anyway. He decided to use a metaphor to illustrate his point. The metaphor:

“People don’t care how the sausage is made. They only care how it tastes.”


There was no hiding the laughter this time. My entire side of the classroom burst into quick but violent laughter, which we immediately quelled with horrified looks on our faces. Shit. Did we just laugh out loud? Maybe the man-types didn’t notice?

Then I made the mistake of making eye contact with HotMess.

It was all over for me. I shook. I tried and failed to hide behind my bangs. I bit my travel coffee mug. I didn’t look up from the desk for 15 minutes.

They only care how it tastes.

I slid super low in my chair. I tapped my foot. I pinched my hand until I left a mark. I tried to relive the time my fish died. The time Dana from “The L Word” died. The time my grandma died.

People don’t care how the sausage is made.

Oh fuck. I’m going to fail this class.



Radule said...

I was waiting for this blog since the class. Yes! Lol.. YES!

soup na(t)zi said...

I really appreciate the reference to Jessie Spano, thanks for making me pee ;)