Before I get to the list of stories to explain my hypothesis about English teachers thinking I'm crazy, I would like to make a quick point about my childhood: I don't remember it. Anything before 7th grade was kind of a blur. It was kind of a traumatic year for a number of reasons, which I am not completely willing to get into.
I'm going to start with the 6th grade. We were reading... umm... some book with a picture of some guy on the cover. (See? My memory's all jacked up!) I was goofing off with a friend of mine, and I was pretending to seductively lick the guy's face on the cover because we were really mature kids. At that particular moment, I did not realize that my English teacher was standing right behind me. My friend started laughing, and I turned to see him both cracking up and rolling his eyes. I don't really remember what he did next, but I feel like he probably walked away and tried to forget about my awkwardness.
7th grade: My 7th grade English teacher was a crazy, sadistic bitch. She was about 6 feet tall and about 400 lbs. I was about 4'6" and 80 lbs at the time, so I thought she was enormous. The scariest part about her was the way she yelled. I think she may be the reason why I am so introverted. Before that class, I was always a very outgoing child, who wasn't afraid to talk to people. A few weeks ago, I ran into her at CVS, and she was coughing like crazy, like her lung was trying to dislodge itself from within this repulsive person. I couldn't help but think, "That's what you get for thinking I'm dumb." Anyway, I was always in the honors classes, from the time I was in 5th grade. When I got to her class, she scared me shitless. She would call on people if their hand wasn't raised. I don't understand why teachers do that. It's obvious that I don't know the answer. Did she really want to embarrass me and make me feel stupid? Did she want me to look dumb to the other kids and give them an opportunity to make fun of me? Did she really want to lower my self-esteem? Several times, she called on me, and I did not know the answer. Rather than helping me, she would make the class sit in silence while I flipped through my book, desperately hoping the answer would magically jump out at me, which it never did. One day, I decided I would not say a word or move a muscle when she called on me. I sat there, avoiding eye contact. I stared at her shoes, waiting for her to move on to torture the next student. When I got home that day, my mom confronted me and told me that she had gotten a call from this teacher, saying she wanted to schedule a meeting. My mom went to meet her. Apparently, this teacher thought I had an attitude problem. I turned my work in on time and tried my hardest, but I would not look at her or say a word to her. She suggested that I should be moved down a grade in English. My mom explained that I was afraid of her because she yelled a lot. She then proceeded to yell at my mom about how she resented that and how she doesn't yell. Ironic, eh? Anyway, she continued to call on me, and I continued to avoid looking at her and saying anything. I turned my work in on time and managed to squeak by with a B-. My mom was perfectly fine with that, and for once, took my side.
8th grade: I was still traumatized by that one insane teacher, so I didn't know what to expect from the next. I guess I had not gotten over my fear of English teachers. Anyway, my 8th grade English teacher was... peppy. She was one of those people who was "suuuuper excited to be here today!!!" even though she was there every freaking day. I kind of wanted to try and teach her about cynicism, but that would require speaking to her. I never said a word to her, so she thought I was a trouble-maker. I sat in the back of the room, and I never warmed up to her. I was terrified. I never said a word throughout the course, but I still passed the class. One day, we were talking about Anne Frank and the Holocaust. I was horrified by some of the stuff that was happening, and for once, I spoke up. Not really "spoke up." I quietly said to a friend, "Oh my God. That is so... cruel!" However, for whatever reason, I kind of tripped over my words, so "cruel" kind of sounded like "cool." You can see where this is going. My teacher looked disgusted and said, "Be quiet, class! I don't know who said it, but I just heard someone say that this was 'cool.' This is not cool. It is awful..." and yada yada yada. I was afraid to say that I hadn't said cool. She knew it was me, though. I spent the rest of 8th grade in the back of the classroom, avoiding all eye contact with everyone.
9th Grade: I kind of tried to block 9th grade out of my mind, and it pretty much worked. However, I will remember this story for quite a while. I was essentially taking freshman English in 8th grade, but my mom wanted me to focus mainly on science because I always wanted to be a scientist. So, I took freshman English again. I knew how to act in a high school setting. It seemed that nobody else knew that it was unacceptable to talk in class, throw paper wads behind the teacher's back, or lack a fetus in their uterus throughout the year. I always followed these rules, yet my teacher never really believed me, since freshmen are stupid and there can't be any that follow the rules. One day, during the TV announcements before class, my friend's marker had exploded all over her bag and on her hands, so she asked me for hand sanitizer. I was one of the cool kids, so I had a bottle of Purell in my backpack. I gave her a little bit. While I was doing so, my teacher suddenly turned around and yelled, "KATHRYN! NO TALKING. GET IN THE HALL. NOW." I tried to protest, but she cut me off. These were her favorite punishments: taking away our freedom to prove our point, and sending us away for whatever amount of time she wanted us to be gone. I left the classroom and sat in the hall for 15 minutes, and she sent out another kid to tell me to come in. Later in the year, she realized that I am smarter than she assumed, and I think she regrets her decision to punish me. Or she still believes I'm dumb and crazy. I guess I'll never know.
10th grade: Well, he is probably reading this post because he is totally cool like that and we still keep in touch. I want to talk about the first day of school in my Honors American Literature class. I remember this quite clearly, but I don't think he does. I had a small group of friends in the class, and we all sat in the front row. That day, I had decided to wear a brand-new pair of shoes to class. They were really cool black and white checkerboard Rocket Dogs. I absolutely loved them, and I still have them to this day. I had gotten compliments on my shoes all day, and I was feeling super-confident, especially because my friends were there with me. My friends and I were all laughing at something when my teacher walked into the room. We were seated near the door, so we were the first 4 people he saw when he walked in the classroom. He said hi to us and then noticed my shoes. He said, "I really like your shoes!" I guess he expected me to say thanks, but I'm really bad at accepting compliments. If someone compliments my shirt or clothing or whatever, I agree with them because I know that it's awesome. That's why I bought it. Anyway, I said to him, "Yeah. They're awesome." I had said it without a thought, but then I saw a look of shock on my teacher's face. Then he said, "Usually people say thank you." I replied, quick as a flash, "Yeah? Well I don't." Then I realized that what I had said may have come off as rude, so I stopped talking and kind of stared at the table in front of me. Then I introduced myself without looking at him. I assume he thought I was completely insane, and through getting to know me, that belief has probably been strengthened. Especially because of the handcuffs incident... That happened in 11th grade though. I'll get to that in a minute.
11th grade: Well, I had the same teacher that I had in 10th grade, but I was also taking another English class at the time. I have always been interested in psychology, so I chose to write a lot about it. I wrote this one story about a girl who had hallucinated her entire life, which had really been spent in a mental institution. Another story was about how people are actually supposed to have wings because they are generally good, but people have become cruel and sick, so they will never fly. I am pretty sure that that teacher thought/still thinks I'm crazy, but whatever. I'm sure he comes across hundreds of even weirder kids. So, the handcuffs incident... That was with my 10th/11th grade teacher. I was carrying a bottle of perfume because I was giving it to a friend. I also had a stiletto in my bag because I was drawing it for art class. I also had a pair of handcuffs. I had won these handcuffs in a game, and chose them as my prize as a joke. I put them in my purse and sort of forgot about them. Anyway, I sat in the desk right in front of my teacher's. I was talking to him about how I had a really busy weekend and searching my purse for a pencil before class. I pulled out my makeup, the perfume, and the shoe. I was saying, "Saturday was just so crazy for me!" when I pulled the handcuffs out of my purse. I realized the implications of all of the things that were strewn across my desk, and stopped myself mid-sentence. It sounded kind of like, "Saturday was just so crazy for me! I was in downtown Detroit for-- I'm not a hooker." I stuffed all of the stuff into my bag while face-palming. I hoped to face-palm hard enough to knock me unconscious, but it didn't work. It was possibly the most awkward, yet hilarious moment of my life.
12th grade: Wow. Now that I think about it, I didn't really have any issues with either of my English teachers. I had my creative writing teacher again for mythology, and a new teacher for a reading class. I'd say we got along pretty well, and we liked to make fun of the other kids in the class because they were all morons. He never came out and said it, but his thoughts on the subject were pretty obvious. Nobody picked up on his sarcasm, and I think I was the only one in the class who realized that he was really smart.
The Early Years: Well, I'd say that in my elementary school, all of my teachers thought I was awesome when I wasn't scaring the other students. I always loved to tell stories. More than that, I have always loved to tell scary stories. Before I could write, I told stories of a man in a black cloak who followed you around. Whenever you turned around, he moved directly out of your line of vision. If you moved fast enough, you could sort of see the shredded ends of his cloak moving in your peripheral vision. Of course, this scared the living shit out of all of the other kids, who then told our teacher, who then told my parents. They made me stop making up these stories. When I learned to write, I wrote of haunted houses and murder stories. (I was a very grim child.) I shared my scary stories with the class. They always loved them, and people always asked me to tell scary stories at recess. So, due to my oddly creepy mind as a child, my teachers thought I was completely insane. Around 5th grade, I realized that it isn't socially acceptable to scare people with stories that could give them paranoid delusions unless you're in the film industry (ba-dum tss!), so I stopped telling scary stories.
Now that you have read all of my weird rambling, I'm sure you think I'm crazy, too. Whatever. I can honestly say that I don't have a problem with that.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Excuses and Lies, Plus the Chicken Suit Story!
Hooray! I'm starting to write regularly again... kind of! It's because I'm trying to avoid writing 3 chemistry papers that have to be done by tomorrow so I can work with my lab group... yada yada yada you don't care.
I just want to talk for a moment about excuses and lying. I am the most amazing liar in the entire world in most situations. I can get anyone to believe just about anything, as long as it is at least somewhat plausible. I think that might be a sign that I might be a sociopath, but I do feel guilty for stuff besides lies I've told. I know lying is wrong, and I feel bad about certain things that have happened in my life, and I know that lying in some situations is absolutely terrible. I have always tried to avoid lying in very serious situations because I know it's wrong. So I know I don't really have problems.... Or do I?
No, I don't. Anyway, now that I'm done conversing with myself, I've decided to talk about the most ridiculous lies that I've ever told anyone. Oh, and those people actually believed me.
The Background Story: This is probably one of the most believable lies I've told. First of all, you should know by now that I don't drink or do drugs. At all. I only have one alcoholic beverage on New Year's Eve every year, and it's champagne. Not the expensive stuff, but the cheap stuff that you can buy for like $10 at CVS. I hate champagne anyway. I always take one sip at midnight, and then I dump my glass down the sink. I tried making it into a mimosa this year, but it was absolutely disgusting. I don't understand why people drink anyway. I've tried beer, but it just tastes like piss to me. I don't ever want to try any sort of liquor you would drink from a shot glass ever because when I was little and I refused to take Nyquil, my mom would get a shot of whiskey and torture herself with the taste so that I would take my medicine. She hates that sort of stuff, too, but she will drink beer or wine. The look on her face whenever she would do this still tortures me to this day, and I never want to taste anything that seems like it would be about as delicious as cough syrup. However, if I tell people that I don't drink because I don't want to, they will think that I'm boring and anti-social. (I'm anti-social, but I'm anything but boring!) The truth is, I don't need to drink to have fun. I act like I'm drunk or high when I am completely sober, and I'm proud of my insanity.
The lie: "Oh, no thanks. I'm allergic to alcohol." People believe me and don't realize that I'm boring! Only my close friends and my roommate know that I choose not to drink because I don't want to look like an idiot or ruin my chances of getting into vet school. It's actually really sad that I have to tell this lie, but if I didn't, I would seem like a loser. This will also be a perfect excuse when I attempt to join the fraternity that I plan on joining this semester.
The Background Story: Ok. This is one of the most ridiculous lies that I've ever told, and it is also the most pointless lie I've ever told. However, someone actually believed me. I obviously have Irish and English blood in me. Come on! I am about as pale as a drowning victim, I love Monty Python, I sometimes spell -or words with a u, and I drink disturbing amounts of tea. I like tea that (apparently) tastes like sock water, Earl Grey. Nobody likes Earl Grey besides the British! On top of it, I can fake an English accent like perfectly. When I was younger, I went to camp, and the counselors were all either from England, Australia, or New Zealand. From an early age, I was able to tell the subtleties of each accent and fake each one perfectly, and I learned certain phrases that they said. Like, chips are fries, runners are shoes, the lift is an elevator, etc. I can imitate 11 different accents from around the fairly well. (English, Australian, New Zealand, Indian, German, Mexican, Southern US, French, Spanish, Canadian, and Swedish. There are more, but these are my best ones!) I figured I'd just screw with someone's mind and pretend that I'm from London just because I knew that I could pull it off. Also, I had bad teeth when I was little. Talk about bad stereotypes!
The lie: "Yes, I'm originally from London. My parents moved here for my father's job when I was 4, but my accent stuck with me!" A friend of mine actually believed this until I decided that it went far enough, and I started speaking with my usual Michigan accent. Currently, I call all of my professors "professor" in an English accent so I can feel like I'm in a Harry Potter movie.
The Background Story: I hate vegans. Actually, I hate other vegetarians. I have only met 2 vegetarians that I actually like. The rest are all nut jobs. But I hate vegans with a burning passion. Unfortunately, I am on the path of veganism. The truth is, I can't eat eggs unless I decide that I'm going to be a nice person that day. They gross me out really badly. Their texture is just... jiggly and kind of nasty. It isn't a moral issue. There isn't anything immoral about eating eggs. I also don't drink milk because I hate the taste of it. I have always hated milk, though. The idea of cheese kind of grosses me out, but I think it's delicious. Don't get me wrong, though. I will have milk and eggs and butter in things like baked goods or whatever, but I won't have them by themselves. I won't put butter on a bagel and call it a day because I really don't like butter. It is not easy to explain this to people, so I usually have to tell a lie.
The Lie: "I'm lactose intolerant and can't drink milk. I can have cheese and some stuff with dairy products, but not too much or I'll get really bad stomachaches." I tell them the truth about eggs because I know that a lot of people have issues with eggs. However, the whole lactose intolerance thing might be true. I've never had tests done, but I do seem to get stomachaches when I eat dairy products. I guess I'm slowly morphing into a vegan, which is probably the most horrifying thing in the world.
The Background Story: This is kind of a longer story, so be prepared. When I was a freshman in high school, I decided that that would be the last year I would go trick-or-treating. I was 14 at the time, but I could pass for a 12-year old. I've always looked younger than I am, so I knew I wouldn't have any problems, especially because it would be dark out and I would be in costume. Currently, I'm almost 19 and I still look like I could pass for 16 for whatever reason (lack of chest? my height? my weight? No clue.) unless I'm really tired. If I'm tired, I look about 2 or 3 years older than I am. Anyway, I decided that I would probably look tired on Halloween, so I wanted to go for a full body costume. My mom took me to Target for a costume because we are super classy people and buy everything we own at Target. We went into the costume section. I looked beyond the slutty French maid's uniforms and found a chicken suit for $75. I begged my mom for it, and she agreed to pay for half if I paid for the other half. I agreed with that deal, and decided to try it on before purchasing it. I want to clarify something before I continue with this story. I have hearing difficulties sometimes. I have always played a loud musical instrument (excluding the year I played the flute), whether it be the saxophone or the drums. At this point, I had just started playing the drums and I didn't have noise-cancelling headphones yet, so my ears were perpetually ringing. Apparently, my mom had told me that she was going to go get some stuff while I was trying on the chicken suit, but I didn't hear her. I pulled it on and put the hood up and buttoned the buttons. I stuck my arms through the wings and put my feet into the chicken feet. It took about 10 minutes to put on because it was so fluffy, but it was so worth it. I turned around to show my mom how beautiful I looked, but she was gone. I will admit that even now, if I lose my mom in a store, I have a mini panic attack until I find her. I started freaking out and running around the store. Still in the chicken suit. Target was crowded that day. I decided that I didn't want to look like a complete weirdo, so I started pretending that I was just kidding around and doing this on purpose to entertain people. I started sliding around the aisles and moon-walking as families stopped, stared, and laughed. (I can moon-walk like the King himself, and I still do it as a fun trick to impress people. It's the only dance move I can actually execute.) Eventually, I found my mom in the cereal aisle. At that point, a small crowd of people had been following me just to watch, and my mom looked at me and asked me what the hell I was doing.
The lie: "Oh, nothing. I just decided to joke around and entertain some people while I looked for you." Really, I was kind of freaking out a whole lot while this was happening, but I didn't want her to know. Now that I think about it, this lie was one of the least convincing lies I've told ever besides one time that I broke down in tears during English class in my junior year and I tried to tell people that I was fine. That's a different story that I don't want to get into... ever. Anyway, my mom made me take off the chicken suit, and we paid for it and left. I still have the chicken suit, and I wear it every Halloween. It has come in handy for so many things, like an English project that I had to do in my freshman year of high school in the spring. Also, I look like I actually have a mind of my own and decided that I don't care about getting attention from guys with T&A. Instead, I want to be myself and dress in a chicken suit instead of impressing people I don't care about.
Here is an artist's interpretation of that day at Target:
I have never told a serious lie, by the way. I don't lie unless it is to avoid some sort of embarrassment or social rejection or just for shits and giggles. I hope you enjoyed this ridiculous post that for whatever reason took me about 2 hours to write. No kidding. Ok. I should probably stop procrastinating and start writing my chemistry papers. I'll post again next week!
I just want to talk for a moment about excuses and lying. I am the most amazing liar in the entire world in most situations. I can get anyone to believe just about anything, as long as it is at least somewhat plausible. I think that might be a sign that I might be a sociopath, but I do feel guilty for stuff besides lies I've told. I know lying is wrong, and I feel bad about certain things that have happened in my life, and I know that lying in some situations is absolutely terrible. I have always tried to avoid lying in very serious situations because I know it's wrong. So I know I don't really have problems.... Or do I?
No, I don't. Anyway, now that I'm done conversing with myself, I've decided to talk about the most ridiculous lies that I've ever told anyone. Oh, and those people actually believed me.
The Background Story: This is probably one of the most believable lies I've told. First of all, you should know by now that I don't drink or do drugs. At all. I only have one alcoholic beverage on New Year's Eve every year, and it's champagne. Not the expensive stuff, but the cheap stuff that you can buy for like $10 at CVS. I hate champagne anyway. I always take one sip at midnight, and then I dump my glass down the sink. I tried making it into a mimosa this year, but it was absolutely disgusting. I don't understand why people drink anyway. I've tried beer, but it just tastes like piss to me. I don't ever want to try any sort of liquor you would drink from a shot glass ever because when I was little and I refused to take Nyquil, my mom would get a shot of whiskey and torture herself with the taste so that I would take my medicine. She hates that sort of stuff, too, but she will drink beer or wine. The look on her face whenever she would do this still tortures me to this day, and I never want to taste anything that seems like it would be about as delicious as cough syrup. However, if I tell people that I don't drink because I don't want to, they will think that I'm boring and anti-social. (I'm anti-social, but I'm anything but boring!) The truth is, I don't need to drink to have fun. I act like I'm drunk or high when I am completely sober, and I'm proud of my insanity.
The lie: "Oh, no thanks. I'm allergic to alcohol." People believe me and don't realize that I'm boring! Only my close friends and my roommate know that I choose not to drink because I don't want to look like an idiot or ruin my chances of getting into vet school. It's actually really sad that I have to tell this lie, but if I didn't, I would seem like a loser. This will also be a perfect excuse when I attempt to join the fraternity that I plan on joining this semester.
The Background Story: Ok. This is one of the most ridiculous lies that I've ever told, and it is also the most pointless lie I've ever told. However, someone actually believed me. I obviously have Irish and English blood in me. Come on! I am about as pale as a drowning victim, I love Monty Python, I sometimes spell -or words with a u, and I drink disturbing amounts of tea. I like tea that (apparently) tastes like sock water, Earl Grey. Nobody likes Earl Grey besides the British! On top of it, I can fake an English accent like perfectly. When I was younger, I went to camp, and the counselors were all either from England, Australia, or New Zealand. From an early age, I was able to tell the subtleties of each accent and fake each one perfectly, and I learned certain phrases that they said. Like, chips are fries, runners are shoes, the lift is an elevator, etc. I can imitate 11 different accents from around the fairly well. (English, Australian, New Zealand, Indian, German, Mexican, Southern US, French, Spanish, Canadian, and Swedish. There are more, but these are my best ones!) I figured I'd just screw with someone's mind and pretend that I'm from London just because I knew that I could pull it off. Also, I had bad teeth when I was little. Talk about bad stereotypes!
The lie: "Yes, I'm originally from London. My parents moved here for my father's job when I was 4, but my accent stuck with me!" A friend of mine actually believed this until I decided that it went far enough, and I started speaking with my usual Michigan accent. Currently, I call all of my professors "professor" in an English accent so I can feel like I'm in a Harry Potter movie.
The Background Story: I hate vegans. Actually, I hate other vegetarians. I have only met 2 vegetarians that I actually like. The rest are all nut jobs. But I hate vegans with a burning passion. Unfortunately, I am on the path of veganism. The truth is, I can't eat eggs unless I decide that I'm going to be a nice person that day. They gross me out really badly. Their texture is just... jiggly and kind of nasty. It isn't a moral issue. There isn't anything immoral about eating eggs. I also don't drink milk because I hate the taste of it. I have always hated milk, though. The idea of cheese kind of grosses me out, but I think it's delicious. Don't get me wrong, though. I will have milk and eggs and butter in things like baked goods or whatever, but I won't have them by themselves. I won't put butter on a bagel and call it a day because I really don't like butter. It is not easy to explain this to people, so I usually have to tell a lie.
The Lie: "I'm lactose intolerant and can't drink milk. I can have cheese and some stuff with dairy products, but not too much or I'll get really bad stomachaches." I tell them the truth about eggs because I know that a lot of people have issues with eggs. However, the whole lactose intolerance thing might be true. I've never had tests done, but I do seem to get stomachaches when I eat dairy products. I guess I'm slowly morphing into a vegan, which is probably the most horrifying thing in the world.
The Background Story: This is kind of a longer story, so be prepared. When I was a freshman in high school, I decided that that would be the last year I would go trick-or-treating. I was 14 at the time, but I could pass for a 12-year old. I've always looked younger than I am, so I knew I wouldn't have any problems, especially because it would be dark out and I would be in costume. Currently, I'm almost 19 and I still look like I could pass for 16 for whatever reason (lack of chest? my height? my weight? No clue.) unless I'm really tired. If I'm tired, I look about 2 or 3 years older than I am. Anyway, I decided that I would probably look tired on Halloween, so I wanted to go for a full body costume. My mom took me to Target for a costume because we are super classy people and buy everything we own at Target. We went into the costume section. I looked beyond the slutty French maid's uniforms and found a chicken suit for $75. I begged my mom for it, and she agreed to pay for half if I paid for the other half. I agreed with that deal, and decided to try it on before purchasing it. I want to clarify something before I continue with this story. I have hearing difficulties sometimes. I have always played a loud musical instrument (excluding the year I played the flute), whether it be the saxophone or the drums. At this point, I had just started playing the drums and I didn't have noise-cancelling headphones yet, so my ears were perpetually ringing. Apparently, my mom had told me that she was going to go get some stuff while I was trying on the chicken suit, but I didn't hear her. I pulled it on and put the hood up and buttoned the buttons. I stuck my arms through the wings and put my feet into the chicken feet. It took about 10 minutes to put on because it was so fluffy, but it was so worth it. I turned around to show my mom how beautiful I looked, but she was gone. I will admit that even now, if I lose my mom in a store, I have a mini panic attack until I find her. I started freaking out and running around the store. Still in the chicken suit. Target was crowded that day. I decided that I didn't want to look like a complete weirdo, so I started pretending that I was just kidding around and doing this on purpose to entertain people. I started sliding around the aisles and moon-walking as families stopped, stared, and laughed. (I can moon-walk like the King himself, and I still do it as a fun trick to impress people. It's the only dance move I can actually execute.) Eventually, I found my mom in the cereal aisle. At that point, a small crowd of people had been following me just to watch, and my mom looked at me and asked me what the hell I was doing.
The lie: "Oh, nothing. I just decided to joke around and entertain some people while I looked for you." Really, I was kind of freaking out a whole lot while this was happening, but I didn't want her to know. Now that I think about it, this lie was one of the least convincing lies I've told ever besides one time that I broke down in tears during English class in my junior year and I tried to tell people that I was fine. That's a different story that I don't want to get into... ever. Anyway, my mom made me take off the chicken suit, and we paid for it and left. I still have the chicken suit, and I wear it every Halloween. It has come in handy for so many things, like an English project that I had to do in my freshman year of high school in the spring. Also, I look like I actually have a mind of my own and decided that I don't care about getting attention from guys with T&A. Instead, I want to be myself and dress in a chicken suit instead of impressing people I don't care about.
Here is an artist's interpretation of that day at Target:
 | ||
| Maybe not an artist's interpretation... Ok. I drew it. |
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Let's Get Serious for a Minute, Guys
Know what drives me crazy? I hate my generation, and I have no choice but to be a part of this group of people. My generation is absolutely ridiculous, and it kind of disturbs me that we are actually better than the kids who are just a few years younger than us. People who don't remember 9/11. Those are the people I'm talking about. However, my generation is actually pretty bad, too.
I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas, and I absolutely couldn't be happier. No, it was not because I could play Words With Friends (although that is a lovely perk!), but it is because I love to read. I miss the feel of a book in my hands when I read, but being able to carry around one portable, hand-held device rather than a bunch of heavy books makes it worth it.
Before I get into the whole book subject, I just want to say that I don't understand the lack of proper grammar used in everyday language. People who mix up then and than, their, they're, and there, your and you're (or say "ur") make me absolutely crazy. Did I miss something? Is it "cool" to sound like a moron? Is it "cool" to have a potential employer look at your Facebook profile and deny you a job because you have the grammatical skills of a duck on heroin? Apparently, I'm a grammar Nazi because it bothers the living shit out of me when I see someone mix up "collage" and "college" or to, too, and two. No, I'm not afraid to correct your grammar when I see someone my age misspelling something or making some sort of obvious error that an elementary school child could point out. People who don't use adverbs correctly make me crazy. If I say, "How are you doing?" and someone says, "I'm doing good," I might just come back at them and say, "Whoa! You slut! Who's Good? Why haven't I met him/her?" Haven't we had the same education, or at least learned something similar?
Now that I'm done with the whole grammar thing, I want to discuss the reading level of my generation. If you approach someone from my generation and ask them, "What's your favorite book?" you will get the same response 90% of the time. This response is possibly the most irritating thing anyone could say to me. I have had so many people say this to me, it makes me wonder why I haven't killed anyone. 90% of my generation will respond to that question with, "Oh. I don't read. LOL." My response to that is a bitch-slap across the face. Oh, I'm sorry! I thought we went to the same school together and learned to read together. I didn't realize that you were illiterate! I'm so sorry for misunderstanding! Maybe I should start making videos instead of sending you Emails. Maybe I'll start calling you instead of texting you. Oh, you're texting me while you're in class? Maybe you should start paying attention and learn some grammar. Or how to read.
A large portion of the leftover 10%, let's call it 9%, of the people who are leftover who actually read will probably say Harry Potter. Or Twilight, but Twilight is starting to die down, I think. I love Harry Potter. It is a wonderful childhood memory, falling in love with the books, and I still own all of them. Reading and re-reading Harry Potter every time a new book would come out was always ridiculously exciting. I still absolutely love Harry Potter, books and movies, yet it is not my favorite book. Not even close. People whose favorite book is Harry Potter tend to have only read Harry Potter in their lifetime. Now shall we discuss Twilight? Yep. I read it. However, I read the books before the first movie actually came out. I liked the books, but let's face it. I was a dumb, 15-year-old girl who lacked a social life, who realized that no guy could possibly ever be interested in me. I saw the first movie when it first came out, and I immediately realized how fucking creepy it really is. Let's be honest. It is about a boring, homely, possibly retarded girl's difficult decision between necrophilia and bestiality. After I saw the movie and was thoroughly creeped out, I re-read the books to see what I possibly could have seen in them before. I think that maybe Stephanie Meyer might have some serious issues. The books were horribly written, and the story had more holes than Swiss cheese. When people say that their favorite book is Twilight, I wonder if they are actually capable of any sort of intelligent conversation, and I am tempted to ask if they ever read anything besides Twilight. Then I wander away toward people who are in the last group of people, the 1%.
Yes. The 1%. (Not to be confused with the whole Occupy movement). The 1% are the people who actually understand basic grammar. They understand why I hate my generation and people that are younger than me. They understand why I usually hang out with people that are several years older than I am. These are the "literate and proud" people of the world. Their favorite books tend to be books that are not for children. These books also lack pictures and may or may not be realistic. Simply put, these people like to read. To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men, The Great Gatsby, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and Animal Farm might be one of their favorites. Or not. Maybe they like Stephen King's books, or maybe something like The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. That stuff is pretty awesome, too. I am talking about people who read for fun, who understand symbolism, who use their imaginations, and were not afraid to admit that they read beyond what the teacher assigned in their high school or college literature class. I remember reading The Catcher in the Rye in one night, even though my English teacher at the time did not ask us to start it yet. I read it because I wanted to, and it is still one of my favorite books. When I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower about a week ago, I will admit that I was in tears throughout much of the book. I sought and continue to seek out good books that are thought-provoking and interesting. I love hanging out with people that also love a good book more than a decent movie that tells the same story. I love that I can read a book and visualize what is happening, using my own imagination instead of watching another person's interpretation on a screen.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, what happened to my generation? Where is the enthusiasm for books, and exercising your mind? Where's the imagination?
I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas, and I absolutely couldn't be happier. No, it was not because I could play Words With Friends (although that is a lovely perk!), but it is because I love to read. I miss the feel of a book in my hands when I read, but being able to carry around one portable, hand-held device rather than a bunch of heavy books makes it worth it.
Before I get into the whole book subject, I just want to say that I don't understand the lack of proper grammar used in everyday language. People who mix up then and than, their, they're, and there, your and you're (or say "ur") make me absolutely crazy. Did I miss something? Is it "cool" to sound like a moron? Is it "cool" to have a potential employer look at your Facebook profile and deny you a job because you have the grammatical skills of a duck on heroin? Apparently, I'm a grammar Nazi because it bothers the living shit out of me when I see someone mix up "collage" and "college" or to, too, and two. No, I'm not afraid to correct your grammar when I see someone my age misspelling something or making some sort of obvious error that an elementary school child could point out. People who don't use adverbs correctly make me crazy. If I say, "How are you doing?" and someone says, "I'm doing good," I might just come back at them and say, "Whoa! You slut! Who's Good? Why haven't I met him/her?" Haven't we had the same education, or at least learned something similar?
Now that I'm done with the whole grammar thing, I want to discuss the reading level of my generation. If you approach someone from my generation and ask them, "What's your favorite book?" you will get the same response 90% of the time. This response is possibly the most irritating thing anyone could say to me. I have had so many people say this to me, it makes me wonder why I haven't killed anyone. 90% of my generation will respond to that question with, "Oh. I don't read. LOL." My response to that is a bitch-slap across the face. Oh, I'm sorry! I thought we went to the same school together and learned to read together. I didn't realize that you were illiterate! I'm so sorry for misunderstanding! Maybe I should start making videos instead of sending you Emails. Maybe I'll start calling you instead of texting you. Oh, you're texting me while you're in class? Maybe you should start paying attention and learn some grammar. Or how to read.
A large portion of the leftover 10%, let's call it 9%, of the people who are leftover who actually read will probably say Harry Potter. Or Twilight, but Twilight is starting to die down, I think. I love Harry Potter. It is a wonderful childhood memory, falling in love with the books, and I still own all of them. Reading and re-reading Harry Potter every time a new book would come out was always ridiculously exciting. I still absolutely love Harry Potter, books and movies, yet it is not my favorite book. Not even close. People whose favorite book is Harry Potter tend to have only read Harry Potter in their lifetime. Now shall we discuss Twilight? Yep. I read it. However, I read the books before the first movie actually came out. I liked the books, but let's face it. I was a dumb, 15-year-old girl who lacked a social life, who realized that no guy could possibly ever be interested in me. I saw the first movie when it first came out, and I immediately realized how fucking creepy it really is. Let's be honest. It is about a boring, homely, possibly retarded girl's difficult decision between necrophilia and bestiality. After I saw the movie and was thoroughly creeped out, I re-read the books to see what I possibly could have seen in them before. I think that maybe Stephanie Meyer might have some serious issues. The books were horribly written, and the story had more holes than Swiss cheese. When people say that their favorite book is Twilight, I wonder if they are actually capable of any sort of intelligent conversation, and I am tempted to ask if they ever read anything besides Twilight. Then I wander away toward people who are in the last group of people, the 1%.
Yes. The 1%. (Not to be confused with the whole Occupy movement). The 1% are the people who actually understand basic grammar. They understand why I hate my generation and people that are younger than me. They understand why I usually hang out with people that are several years older than I am. These are the "literate and proud" people of the world. Their favorite books tend to be books that are not for children. These books also lack pictures and may or may not be realistic. Simply put, these people like to read. To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, Of Mice and Men, The Great Gatsby, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and Animal Farm might be one of their favorites. Or not. Maybe they like Stephen King's books, or maybe something like The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. That stuff is pretty awesome, too. I am talking about people who read for fun, who understand symbolism, who use their imaginations, and were not afraid to admit that they read beyond what the teacher assigned in their high school or college literature class. I remember reading The Catcher in the Rye in one night, even though my English teacher at the time did not ask us to start it yet. I read it because I wanted to, and it is still one of my favorite books. When I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower about a week ago, I will admit that I was in tears throughout much of the book. I sought and continue to seek out good books that are thought-provoking and interesting. I love hanging out with people that also love a good book more than a decent movie that tells the same story. I love that I can read a book and visualize what is happening, using my own imagination instead of watching another person's interpretation on a screen.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, what happened to my generation? Where is the enthusiasm for books, and exercising your mind? Where's the imagination?
Thursday, January 12, 2012
New Semester and Adventures in Chem Lab With A Professor Who Thinks I'm Crazy
Well, it's the beginning of a new semester and new things to procrastinate. My winter break was pretty awesome and very much appreciated. I am currently moved back into MSU and readjusting to actually having to wake up before 3 pm. It's crazy. I have to wake up at 8am every morning. On a side note, my roommate is blasting really shitty rap music, so if my grammar doesn't make much sense or is degrading toward women, that is probably why, ma bitches and hoeezzzz!!!11!
Oh thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster! She turned it off. I could feel my IQ points drifting away by the second.
I need to talk about my chemistry lab that happened on Tuesday. Labs in my college are three hours long and are worth only one credit, so I do most of my goofing off in that class. I have heard things about my professor, and a lot of that stuff was negative. I was told that he is extremely sarcastic and can say some really weird things. I immediately knew that I would get along with him very well. I have this horrifying ability to go back and forth with completely nonsensical banter that pushes boundaries and eventually ends rather awkwardly. For example, the following is a conversation I had with a friend through text:
Me: "HI! I miss you!"
Him: "I miss you too!"
Me: "I was too nervous to try to get your attention. See, I'm standing on a ladder outside your bathroom window. I was watching you shower."
Him: "That's really weird. I was just in the shower."
Me: "Yeah. I was watching!"
Him: "Oh! I see you now! Why are you not wearing pants?"
Me: "A bear ate them."
Him: "Nice underwear." (He then described my skivvies. Not super specifically, but it was oddly accurate.)
Me: "Okay. This just got too weird. You literally just told me exactly what underwear I'm wearing."
Him: "Seriously? What the hell..."
Me: "Alright. I have to go to sleep now. When I'm in town next, I'm going to come over and touch your face. Okay?"
Him: "Okay! See you then!"
Then we both stopped texting. I probably should have mentioned before the conversation, but he is gay... so it wasn't weird or anything.
I try to have this sort of conversations with other people, but they usually end extremely awkwardly, and I know that that person is not destined to be a friend of mine.
SO. My point.... I was getting to that. I figured that my professor would have a sense of humor and be as weird as I am because he had said some stuff in lecture that hinted to this particular personality quirk. My lab group and I were discussing the ozone hole in Antarctica when our professor approached us. I decided to use this time to try to see if we would get along.
Him: "So how will this affect the world?"
Me: "Well, we were just discussing how it would affect Australia."
Him: "Yes. Go on."
Me (sarcastically): "We determined that there would be an increase in skin cancer in kangaroos."
Him: "Kangaroos?"
Me: "Well, I would say Australian people, but really, I just care about the Roos."
Him: "Well, of course. However, there is a hole in your theory. Kangaroos wouldn't be as affected by the UV rays due to their fur."
Me: "Neither would Australians."
Him: "What?"
Me: "Australians are... a hairy people?"
Him: "What do you look at on the internet?"
Me: "Ummm... Nothing. I was... kidding. I promise I'm not really weird. Okay, I am, but... still."
Then he kind of looked at me like this:
and walked away. Later, he came back to talk to me both in lab and again in lecture, so I have a feeling that it is going to be a good semester in chemistry. Another time, he overheard me being cruel to one of my friends because we have that sort of relationship.
Me *slapping her hand*: "NO! SHUT UP, WOMAN. YOU DON'T TALK."
Her *fake crying*: "I'M SORRY!!!!"
Professor: "Whoa, Kathryn! I hope you didn't just meet her!"
Me: "No, we're going to be roommates next year! We're friends."
Him: "Oh. Got it."
Me: "You already know my name? That was fast."
Him: "I try to learn everyone's names as fast as possible."
Me: "Well, my name isn't hard to forget. There are so many Katies and Kathryns out there that if you don't know someone's name, you can just guess Katie and odds are, you'll be right."
Him: "Unless it's a guy. That would just be weird."
Me *in my best manly voice*: "Yeah my name isn't Katie. It's Mike."
Him: "Well, it's a very common name. Close enough."
Then he wandered to the next group. He kept coming back to my group throughout lab. I like to think that it is because we were a very entertaining bunch of people. Maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on me in case I snapped and decided to set something/someone on fire. We'll find out soon enough!
Oh thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster! She turned it off. I could feel my IQ points drifting away by the second.
I need to talk about my chemistry lab that happened on Tuesday. Labs in my college are three hours long and are worth only one credit, so I do most of my goofing off in that class. I have heard things about my professor, and a lot of that stuff was negative. I was told that he is extremely sarcastic and can say some really weird things. I immediately knew that I would get along with him very well. I have this horrifying ability to go back and forth with completely nonsensical banter that pushes boundaries and eventually ends rather awkwardly. For example, the following is a conversation I had with a friend through text:
Me: "HI! I miss you!"
Him: "I miss you too!"
Me: "I was too nervous to try to get your attention. See, I'm standing on a ladder outside your bathroom window. I was watching you shower."
Him: "That's really weird. I was just in the shower."
Me: "Yeah. I was watching!"
Him: "Oh! I see you now! Why are you not wearing pants?"
Me: "A bear ate them."
Him: "Nice underwear." (He then described my skivvies. Not super specifically, but it was oddly accurate.)
Me: "Okay. This just got too weird. You literally just told me exactly what underwear I'm wearing."
Him: "Seriously? What the hell..."
Me: "Alright. I have to go to sleep now. When I'm in town next, I'm going to come over and touch your face. Okay?"
Him: "Okay! See you then!"
Then we both stopped texting. I probably should have mentioned before the conversation, but he is gay... so it wasn't weird or anything.
I try to have this sort of conversations with other people, but they usually end extremely awkwardly, and I know that that person is not destined to be a friend of mine.
SO. My point.... I was getting to that. I figured that my professor would have a sense of humor and be as weird as I am because he had said some stuff in lecture that hinted to this particular personality quirk. My lab group and I were discussing the ozone hole in Antarctica when our professor approached us. I decided to use this time to try to see if we would get along.
Him: "So how will this affect the world?"
Me: "Well, we were just discussing how it would affect Australia."
Him: "Yes. Go on."
Me (sarcastically): "We determined that there would be an increase in skin cancer in kangaroos."
Him: "Kangaroos?"
Me: "Well, I would say Australian people, but really, I just care about the Roos."
Him: "Well, of course. However, there is a hole in your theory. Kangaroos wouldn't be as affected by the UV rays due to their fur."
Me: "Neither would Australians."
Him: "What?"
Me: "Australians are... a hairy people?"
Him: "What do you look at on the internet?"
Me: "Ummm... Nothing. I was... kidding. I promise I'm not really weird. Okay, I am, but... still."
Then he kind of looked at me like this:
 |
| Except he was much less pale and had way fewer ear piercings. Also he wasn't wearing mascara. |
and walked away. Later, he came back to talk to me both in lab and again in lecture, so I have a feeling that it is going to be a good semester in chemistry. Another time, he overheard me being cruel to one of my friends because we have that sort of relationship.
Me *slapping her hand*: "NO! SHUT UP, WOMAN. YOU DON'T TALK."
Her *fake crying*: "I'M SORRY!!!!"
Professor: "Whoa, Kathryn! I hope you didn't just meet her!"
Me: "No, we're going to be roommates next year! We're friends."
Him: "Oh. Got it."
Me: "You already know my name? That was fast."
Him: "I try to learn everyone's names as fast as possible."
Me: "Well, my name isn't hard to forget. There are so many Katies and Kathryns out there that if you don't know someone's name, you can just guess Katie and odds are, you'll be right."
Him: "Unless it's a guy. That would just be weird."
Me *in my best manly voice*: "Yeah my name isn't Katie. It's Mike."
Him: "Well, it's a very common name. Close enough."
Then he wandered to the next group. He kept coming back to my group throughout lab. I like to think that it is because we were a very entertaining bunch of people. Maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on me in case I snapped and decided to set something/someone on fire. We'll find out soon enough!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)