Chattering Teeth

It’s the consequence of mere chattering teeth
Wound so tight, working so hard
Dread’s lurking in the silent, smothering air
Keep chomping, keep clacking
He’ll pounce even at the slightest refrain
Distract him now, convince him now
Know that he’s keen to this diversion
Forever frightened, forever fearful
For he sees the day where they’ll unhinge
Cracking too soon, crashing too fast
And chattering teeth lie silent again

Taking a New Twist

Well, it seems Flying a Kite needs to take a new twist. Yes, I'll still be posting stuff about undergrad as I get them done. And, yes, there will be the slightest bit about grad school. However, in the light of taking a long break from school to get settled in at my first real job, my focus has shifted. I'll be including the shift from college to working life. I haven't decided whether this will be it's own section/book/whatever just yet but it doesn't hurt to write and post as I go along. Just FYI.

Sorry for the hiatus/Damn You, Mister Draft

It's been a busy busy couple months. I apologize for the hiatus. I'm planning on kicking this back into gear pretty hardcore when this semester is over. So in light of the cold weather I've drafted this little guy up.

Damn You, Mister Draft

Damn you, mister draft,
Leaving the premonition under pillows
You wrote your warning,
disturbing the dust upon my sill
You’ve crept back into my bed
Sneaking up under covers
So many covers
To ice my feet,
chill my bones,
numb my soul
I quiver and tremble
But you’re too cruel to shake
For I’ve always sought the cool spot
Until now
When the only degrees I feel
rise from separation

Label

A label
The etching finite,
Safely constructed,
Shallow
Yet deep enough
to flaw,
to ruin
the image
projected for one,
yet not reflected
by another

To outsiders
this label
attractive,
almost seamless
even in magnification
hard-pressed
to find
the sting
They won’t bother,
there’s no question

Only because
it never matters
how deep
Only the surface
shows

Annie's 7 Rules

1. Don't touch my feet
2. Don't lick my face
3. Don't put things in my ear
4. Don't pick my nose
5. Don't fart on me
6. Don't call me a bitch
7. No butt sex

Ah, you gotta love high standards.

First show taped!

As promised, a new YouTube series will feature some of my humorous writings. The first show for the series features "Sidewalk Incidents and How to Respond." Very exciting. We'll try to have stuff up as soon as possible. The show is about on the same level as this blog: stories, antics, and irritations from the college student perspective. If you know of a few writings from here that you'd like to see make it to the show, the official email address for this new show is:
flimflamshowshow@hotmail.com

In other news, I am working on a few more writings for the etiquette series: bicycle etiquette and house guest etiquette. In addition, I'm writing on some events from the summer that just has to be in this blog. Keep an eye out. Good stuff is coming.

Even More Big News!

Still not getting published, but who says I need to be published now? I've still got a ton of stuff to experience, create, write, and post. Now for the big news: your wonderful author, moi, will be working in collaboration with Western's next big camera/director/producer to bring select posts from Flying a Kite to a currently unnamed YouTube show. While the show will not focus explicitly on the blog, there will be featured favorites including "I Love Ass" and the "Classroom Etiquette" series. If you enjoy this style be sure to be on the lookout for the show which will feature humor similar to those such posts. We're shooting a few shows this weekend so keep checking back for updates!

Full Speed Behind

This next writing is actually a little off the beaten path. It was inspired by something I had read that has nothing to do with college life, but the more I read it, the more I feel it can be generalized and apply to much more than where it sprang. I challenge anyone to come up with the inspiration for this one. Give it your best shot.

The reason based in memory
Racing full speed behind
Bobbing on the screaming train
Chasing the unbearable
Infinite steam presses on

Suffer insanity or
escape to madness?
To limit the self to a cage,
a container,
and two stings a day
A refusal.
To deal for hell
A contract binding
with no jacket
straight into the incomprehensible
Bleeding to torture innocence

A young girl fallen to his hand
paralyzed by his mind
He places a ticket atop her wound
The next station at her side
Soon she’ll be traveling full speed behind

Standing Too Fast

Forced myself to my feat
My sight goes blank,
my brain weighs heavy

Feel my shoulders sink
My chest constrict
My throat close

Stumble over the seamless
Fumble for the flaws
Mumble the insignificant

Crashing without burning
Lying without speaking
Failing without trying

Standing too fast
I rise only to fall

Big News for Flying a Kite

No, I'm not getting published (yet). However, I've been accepted to grad school and I'm scheduling classes today. What does this mean for the blog? Well, silly, it means that there's going to be even more to write about! Also, there's been so much going on this summer between graduation and starting back that it just has to be included. (Enter the most recent post, Little Girl.) So while I'll still write about the undergrad experience, I'll be peppering in some grad school happenings as well. Get ready...

Little Girl

She's a little girl
in a big girl condition

They say she's simply afraid
That to lose her heart
is to lose her mind
and that they know she cannot handle
They say she's got much to share
but the little girl keeps it to herself
It sounds selfish
and maybe it is
but she hasn't quite learned

She can't quite manage
that which is intangible

How do I give a heart, she wonders
when I can't even feel it?
Who would want it, she questions
when I'm not sure it's even there?

The little girl has questions
which she knows she doesn't understand
Maybe eventually she'll find tangibility
Maybe one day she'll find her beat
Until then she's left to doubt

Goddamn,
I'm a little girl

Fuck You: A Haiku

My back’s turned away
Every step creates distance
Now are your eyes wide?

The Fear of Ketchup

I can’t make this shit up. Next in the pile of strange relationships is a guy we’ll call PJ. He was afraid of ketchup. But before I get into that one, let’s do a lead-in. This one I met at a party that was lovingly dubbed the “Sex and Candy” party. Okay, I’m all decked out in my white trash costume--the hair is teased, I have fake hickeys everywhere, and the candy necklace waits on my neck ready to be chomped on. Fabulous night on the way, yes?

Well, I spotted this one as I chomped on the neck of some rocker guy. PJ had one eye on this liter of wine and the other on my own necklace. At least I think that’s how it went; he could have been a lazy eyed drunk. Anyway, we flirted and sampled each other’s necklaces but never exchanged numbers. It wasn’t until a month later that my roommate gave him my number when she saw him walking around campus.

Things started out pretty cool. We hung out a few times, and I started to tell my friends about him. I chatted with one friend over a ritual game of Mario Kart. She recognized his name, but not the way I knew him. This friend told me he’s the uber-religious type who heads the campus religious movement people. Oh, shit. Religion is not my thing, but I decide to continue hanging out.

A night of conversation at dinner confirms my friend’s information to be true. He also admits that he’s got a form of catatonic schizophrenia where all of a sudden he’ll freeze into a MJ crotch grab and freeze for hours. (Okay, that’s not entirely true, but I do have to protect his privacy a bit right? However, I think that would be the most bitchin’ catatonic state ever.) Anyway, as we chomp on our glorious campus meal, I pile on the ketchup and start to pass it to him. His eyes widen, and the chair tilts back as he bursts, “No thanks.” What is this guy’s deal?

Of course I confess this to my friends. You see, ladies, this guy’s got a couple strikes on him even if the ketchup thing was a very odd joke. One – freaky religion. Two – strange disorder. Three – pending that something as lame as ketchup counts as a fear. My friends, the wonders that they are, decided to check things out for me. I was mysteriously unavailable for a trip to the store one day. In the pursuit of brownie points and milk, he decided to join my friends without my company. My friends recall that everything was going fine until one of the girls sneaked up behind him with a big-ass bottle of red death. They tell me that he was still white for a good twenty minutes after he blacked out. Later that evening I decided that we didn’t need to be exclusive in our relationship.

On a side note: I guess I can’t blame the guy too much. Some people (me) have irrational fears as well. Take clowns. I’m not a fan; I think they’re creepy. Besides, anyone who’s heard the midget clown killer urban legend probably understands my fear here. I do wonder if he had a bottle of Heinz 57 on him though…

Relief in the Refrain

Slowly erase a trace
Scribble over a date
a name
an idea
No more
A group of smiles replaces
the two frozen stiff
framed by rigid boundaries
A moment captured lies
Buried in the obscure chamber
It echoes
words still hollow
strike a nauseous chord
A chorus of fallacy
With a bridge of collapse
Falling for a date
a name
an idea
No more
Just a swelling sound resurfaces
It’s the sigh of relief
the relief in the refrain

The ABC’s of this Bitchin’ Author

I think to better understand my writings, my readers need to know what I’m all about. What better way to do that than to make my own style survey and answer it? Is it shallow and a bit on the lazy side? You bet. Until I feel the need to write a proper biography for myself, this is what I feel is necessary.

A stands for ASS. What do you have to say about that?
I love the word about as much as I love my own.

B stands for BABY. Thoughts?
I maintain that I was often mistaken for Buddha in my early years.

C stands for COCKTAIL. Favorite?
One which is not a virgin is fine with me.

D stands for DATE. Who makes the first move on a date?
It does not matter to me. Sometimes it’s a good idea for the girl to make the first move, especially if she is impatient or really has to pee.

E stands for ESSENTIAL item. What is yours?
Contacts/glasses. I’d fall off something really tall or get hit by a car if I made it out of bed first.

F stands for FAKE ORGASM. (No explanation needed)
Wait, that’s the best I can come up with for F? How do I even answer that? False?

G stands for GRAND GESTURE (I would get so many points in Scattergories right now). What would you say qualifies as the lamest grand gesture for your love and attention?
On a date, the guy took me to the top of a small parking structure to look over the nasty ass Ohio River before he decided to swallow my face.

H stands for HELL YEAH. Explain the biggest Hell Yeah! Moment in your life.
Graduating high school takes the top spot. This is not because high school was difficult because it was not by any stretch of the imagination. High school blew, and I felt underappreciated as a functioning member of the social/dating society. So it was nice to get out of that life and start a new one, which contained more than enough to keep me writing for awhile.

I stands for IGNORANCE. What’s something you are completely ignorant about?
I know absolutely nothing when it comes to high fashion.

J stands for JUST FRIENDS. What does that mean to you?
Let me put these two words into a simpler translation: Evidently, you don’t understand that we are not compatible as a couple because I have zero desire to touch you anywhere, let alone where you think I’d secretly like to touch you. It doesn’t matter how many beers you put on my tab, I’m not getting in bed with you. Since I am a compassionate human being, I will allow you to oogle me from a strict distance of no closer than 5 feet. I’ll pretend that our awkward conversation qualifies as a normal relationship I’d have with any other creep that I may call just a friend.

K stands for KILLING TIME. What’s the best way to kill time?
Laughing my ass off with friends so much that we forget what we started laughing at in the first place.

L stands for LIMELIGHT. Describe a moment in the limelight.
When I dress up as the rejected third Olsen twin (which basically consists of prostitute wear and a great story). She’s recognized regionally—okay only by a few people locally, but one spotted me at a concert in another city. That totally counts.

M stands for MAPLE SYRUP. Stories?
Do not ever buy the cheapest syrup if you really want waffles. It turns out it’s got the consistency of water. That shit needs to be thick and delightful if you’re going to do a waffle correctly.

N stands for NO. Best story including this fabulous word?
Although I have difficulty saying it now, it was, in fact, my second word ever.

O stands for OLFACTORY. What pleases this sense the most?
Ah, the smell of firewood.

P stands for PISS-ANT. Use it in a sentence.
You know when it sprinkles just enough to keep you damp, but you don’t quite want to reach in your bag for an umbrella—that is what I like to call piss-ant rain.

Q stands for QUOTE. Do you have any favorite quotes?
One of my own which is unbelievably true: “Boys, booze, and bitches are the root of all evil.”

R stands for RAMBLE. Do it often?
I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.

S stands for SSSSS.
That’s not funny. I used to have a lisp.

T stands for TRUTH. Good liar or stick to the truth?
I think I’m missing the gene which allows me to tell untruths. I’m a terrible liar, and that is okay with me.

U stands for UNDERWEAR. Fill in your own answer here.
So what if I prefer to call the clothing that covers my ass “underwear” and not “panties.” Maybe I can’t say that without laughing a little bit.

V stands for VICTORY. Greatest victory in your life?
Not getting the shit slapped out of me on a daily basis. It’s hard being a functional smart ass.

W stands for WRONG.
I love telling people that they’re wrong.

X marks the spot. Just where do you think that is?
I’m pretty sure that depends on who you’re asking.

Y stands for YELL. What’s something you yell constantly?
Son of a bitch!

Z stands for ZODIAC. Into that shit?
Yes, I’m the one that got a tattoo of my zodiac sign when I was 18. It’s below my ankle and it’s often mistaken for a palm tree or female reproductive parts.

The Danger Zone

I acknowledge that most of our human species evolved from slime—take note to the trigger word, most. For some reason, some individuals claiming identity with the Homo sapiens cannot be classified as such. Enter a particular ex of mine. This one was quite sneaky in masking his sub-humanness (that is totally a word by the way). Dimples and stubble were a nice touch, but the thing that tricked me was the powerful Polo cologne that clouded my senses with each encounter. I never believed in aphrodisiacs…until this one came along. If I could be blind enough to form a relationship with a slime-ball that mush have been some powerful shit.

Now, I was fooled for quite awhile. We split ways after I found out that the slime had found another lesser species while we were together. The more I reflect on it, I find that the two are actually a good match; after all, by laws of attraction, this one would naturally seek out another imposter—another shithead if you will. Before we split, I should have recognized the signs of the slime. A huge warning alert should have sounded after one particular incident.

One evening I was drunk on his crazy powerful cologne. With my inhibitions dangerously low, we began to…relate with each other. Know that I think that it is truly an amazing occurrence when just one thing can cause someone to instantly sober up to her senses. In this case, only a simple phrase evoked that sickening sensation to soberness. There was a drawn pause before this exact phrase: “Can I touch the danger zone?” No, Maverick, you may not. It should have been over right there. I mean, who does that?

Five Stages of Graduation: Final Stage: Acceptance

That day is here. The cap and gown are form fitting today, much less like a shroud than before. I still feel ridiculous, but more like a child. Playful shoves and impatient dancing fill the time before the march. Striding with the herd into a packed house is uplifting. Although it’s not the kind of thing one gets used to, it’s something that feels natural today. I know that my comfortable routine will be shaken, but there’s still room to work every day, play every day, and laugh every day. Those that I know and love will be the ones to remember. Those are the ones that will still be there. Today is that day—I can handle that.

Dedication to Friends

Hey, all. Although I'll be wrapping school up this Saturday, it does not mean that I'll stop writing for this blog. There's a hell of a lot of stuff that I just haven't had a chance to write for it. However, I would like everyone who's a friend to take a listen to the latest podcast. Click below, you ass.

Note to all myspace and facebook readers: You might need to go directly to the blog site to access the message. Do it.
Hear my pretty voice

More Podcasts

Hear I Confess: I Am a People Pleaser and Actual Blog (October 10, 2005) by going to the page and clicking "Hear my pretty voice!"

I Confess: I Am a People Pleaser

Actual Blog (October 10, 2005)

2 New Podcasts Up

Just finished the podcast for The Phantom of 916 and I Love Ass. Check them out by clicking the "Hear my pretty voice!" link above the post:

The Phantom of 916

Note: I Love Ass has some exclusive content at the end of the reading of the actual blog. I didn't write this material into the blog, but upon recording it seemed necessary to add this little bit onto the end. Give it a listen:

I Love Ass

Now Podcasting! (Sort of)

I thought it would be a good idea to record some (if not all) of the posts I produce so you have the opportunity to get a feel of whats been written. They're really really basic...okay it's just me talking into a cheap microphone with no audio bed or fun sound effects. I know--it's ghetto. However, give it a listen if there's something you would like to get a more personal take on the writing. So far I've only gotten 2 recorded. Find them here:

Class Room Etiquette Teaser: The Bitch Behind

and the most recent post:

Prescription: Appear Comfortable

Take a listen and offer some advice. I'll work on recording the previous posts and let you know as they become available!

Prescription: Appear Comfortable

Hear it here!

Warning: Never ever show you’re vulnerable
Simplicity’s prescription: appear comfortable

Greet the day
Stable the shake
Seek solace in the distraction
Paint the face of satisfaction

It’s the ease of the routine
Expressions like a machine
Jumbled flaws rattle the core
Those faults you’ve come to abhor
Are locked away in the iron cage
Thus silencing fits of rage

Silence flexes as strength
Casting truth a great length
From the prescription never stray
It’s a price you’ve come to pay

Under this cloak it’s nothing but vulnerable
There’s no way in hell this is comfortable

Final 15 Stream of Consciousness

Welcome to PR class! No notes necessary. Today we’re talking about government relations. Let’s see how well I stay on track this day:

God, I’m hungry

What’s the deal with all the frat shirts? They don’t make sense—I’m not jealous.

Why don’t I remember anything the professor is talking about? I actually read enough to take an online quiz yesterday.

Pres. Bush looks like a weasel in that picture.

I miss Lil’ Chaney. “*mumble mumble* fuck you *mumble mumble*”

Oh shit, don’t start laughing in class

Where is that guy that was sitting behind me? He’s been out of class for like 15 minutes. I think he was on the phone. He’s not really missing anything

I have a ruffler/sniffler sitting next to me. She’s also shaking her leg so violently that she’s shaking the floor a bit. Oh—write another blog about this phenomenon. I think this girl inspired the entire classroom etiquette series.

“Such as, and…” OMG I need to watch that Miss Universe video on YouTube again. Stupid contestant.

I think the lady in the press conference in the video might have an Irish coffee. She’s speaking rather slowly. If I worked for Bush I would be a functioning alcoholic, too.

Wow, I really can’t read my writing. That will be a bitch when I’m trying to type this out later.

I think maybe 3 people are paying attention to lecture.

Why is it raining? I wanted to have an actual softball practice today, not just a team gathering to drink.

I’m still hungry.

Now, I have to pee.

Wow, this lady on the video has an attitude—she’s an angry drunk.

Oh shit, my foot is stuck in the desk. Wait. Got it.

She just said “surge.” Whatever happened to that drink?

I wonder if the professor knows that I’m not actually taking notes.

Wow, there are a lot of people waiting for the shuttle. I understand. My rain boots suck to walk in.

I need a new umbrella. My other one exploded.

My boyfriend is still asleep. That lucky ass.

Will anyone actually read this?

OMG it’s time to go. Haul ass!

I love ASS

Hear my pretty voice!

I love the word “ass.” Ass. Ass. ASS. Contrary to those who believe that “fuck” is the most versatile word in the English language, I believe “ass” is even better. Dictionaries give a few meanings of the word: another word for donkey, a foolish person, the buttocks, etc.

See, the strength in “ass” is that not only does it kick ass as a stand alone word, it can also be combined with quite a variety of words. Enter some of my favorites:

As a prefix:

Ass-munch, ass-hat, asshole

As a suffix:

Dumbass, smartass, jackass

Ways to lose the ass:

Laugh the ass off, work the ass off, sweat the ass off, run the ass off

Sexualized:

Tap that ass, ass-man, piece of ass

Violent:

Kick some ass, beat his/her ass, whip the ass

Adjective:

Big-ass, cheap ass, ass backward, bad ass

Words that were brainstormed that should be in the mainstream:

Asshead, ass-nugget, asstastic

Now, see, wasn’t that fun? Very mature, too. This is definitely what I do instead of writing research papers. I love senior-itis. Have an asstastic day!

Do feel free to leave me with other words or phrases that make use of the best word ever.

Missing Amendment

The First Amendment guarantees my speech,
but where’s the promise of attention?
They’ll allow me to speak
right after they cut the microphone chord
There’s a press hungry for a story
but it’s not mine.
Even when I bleed I don’t lead
It’s an obsession with the by-line
Always miss the who, what, when, where,
Why?

Movie Theater Etiquette

Nights at the movies are a basic staple of college life. Some Fridays I can’t wait to go out and blow some money from my minimum wage job. But like with many other activities that I’ve described, there are certain expectations I have for this occasion. Let’s discuss this in the most awkward way possible. Here’s theater etiquette—Ten Commandments style:

1. I am a paying customer of the theater, who expects to have a great movie experience because it was $8. You shall not piss me off.

2. You shall not bring hordes of droning friends whose purpose is none other than to aggravate me by using a cell phone, or by giggling, or by whispering, or by kicking my seat. For I, the ruler of the theater, can be a real ass-hat, calling out everyone who spites me, and show no mercy to anyone who is a jerk.

3. You shall not make fun of my laugh, or the timing of my laughter, for I will turn and shoot you a dirty look through the gap in the seats.

4. Remember the silence, keep it holy

5. Honor the space between the seats and the capacity of the theater.

6. You shall not kick the hell out of my seat.

7. You shall not play tonsil hockey in a loud fashion.

8. You shall not steal my concessions.

9. You shall not ruin the end of the movie.

10. You shall not envy my seat; you shall not envy my popcorn, nor my Raisinets, nor my soda, nor my leg room, nor my armrest, nor anything in my intimate, holy space.

Five Stages of Graduation Teaser: Fourth Stage: Depression

Now, five weeks out and what I thought would be my ticket to life turns out to look more like a speeding ticket. See Exhibit A of living for tomorrow, racing through the last of my care-free years. So now there’s these five weeks. It’s time to meet the finals: the final procrastination session, the final final, that final minute of care-free life. An inevitable end draws near. Where am I going? Who will remember? Who will still be there? There’s only time.

5 Stages of Graduation Teaser: Third Stage: Bargaining

How about I receive my diploma, but everything remains the same. So let’s say I continue to party with friends, nap for pleasure, and read the occasional book. See, I have this comfortable routine: blueberry muffin Monday, cuddle time Thursday, sleep in Sunday. Work every day, play every day, laugh every day. I swear I’ll keep my mind sharp. I’ll always have my crosswords and Brain Age puzzles. See, I’ll do my part. So how about we delay the whole turning of the tassel thing just a bit longer.

Conversation with My Stalker

So I have a stalker. I am quite aware of her as we have regular conversations. Maybe the correct term would be stalker/super-fan. Since I see this person every business day, it only feels necessary to acknowledge her presence and the strange impact she has on my everyday life. One of the strangest conversations went a bit like this:
Stalker (yelling across the campus): I'm type O+!
Me: Eh? (And I wonder why people as me if I'm from Canada)
S: I'm a freakin' superhero!
M: Again, what?
S: Everyone wants my blood. I could be the best donor ever!
M: I'll start working on your cape.
S: But I'm a pansy.
M: So you'll be hoarding all your blood then?
S: Do you give blood?
M: No, I don't weigh enough.
S: Ugh.
M: Maybe you could say you have a little bit of AIDs.
S: Just a little bit of AIDs?
M: Yeah, like a hint in your pinky toe or something.
S: Wow. I need to cut off my pinky toe. Can you still walk without that?
M: Well, Chandler does it, but he only lost the tip...
S: What?
M: Nevermind. Daily Friends reference. Oh, I'm a nerd.
And that is the actual conversation. So now if you choose to stalk you know what to expect from your competition. That one really sets the bar.

Sidewalk Incidents and How to Respond

Sidewalks intend to provide a path of travel to a destination: class, food, home, work, orgy, whatever. Sometimes, however, little things get in our way. Most of us don’t fret over these little incidents until they come up—unless you have some sort of an uncontrollable anxiety disorder. Sorry, this must be hell for you. Well, maybe I can make life easier, or maybe now you’ll just notice these incidents even more. Sucks to be you in that case. Here we go:

1. The dance: This happens when you and another person are walking directly toward each other. Usually I continue to walk on my intended path waiting for someone else to move. (What? I’m little and don’t take up much room. Move your ass.) However, some movement is generally needed. Logically, I think to shift to my right because that is how traffic on the street flows. Often, the other person will move in the same direction and you will initiate a dance.
Solution: You can respond by moving farther to the other direction or make awkward eye contact to indicate which direction you intend on going. If neither works, start break dancing. Your challenger will move immediately in some other direction.

2. The herd: This occurs when you have 3 or more people who insist on chatting while they move to their destinations. These are friends and tours.
Solution: Personally, I prefer to walk straight through the crowd to let this irritating pack know where it stands. Although, usually you can quicken your speed or step off the sidewalk into the grass (gasp!) to bypass these jerks. Just beware of the dancing herds…

3. The quick chat: These assholes stop abruptly right in front of you when you’re walking. Solution: They suck. Plow into them.

4. The random cycler/the John Deere contraption: These will stalk you until you move out of their way so that they can pass on the sidewalk. Okay, I maybe understand the bicycle, but why is there a gator honking for me to move? Ever heard of the street, buddy?!
Solution: Move, then shoot the bird.

5. The wave of embarrassment: I’m not so sure which situation is worse with this case. Case 1: You see someone and start to wave. He/she looks at you funny, and then you realize that it’s not who you thought, just a very similar looking imposter. Dammit. Case 2: You think someone is waving at you so you wave back. This person is not waving at you, and now you feel stupid.
Solution: Stop waving at people. This is the opportunity to bring back the lame head nod.

6. The Worst: While walking to class, you spot an acquaintance heading in your direction. To smile, to wave, to pretend not to notice, to change paths completely? And so little time to decide.
Solution: Stop hooking up with people on a drunken Wednesday night—or at least make an effort to remember the name.

Classroom Etiquette Series: Shut Up Already

A class is never completely quiet, even during exams--actually, these may be the worst days for noise. First of all, we can break the noisemakers down to categories: the jackhammers, the munchers, the rufflers, the snifflers, the drummers, and the buzzers. Let's break it down.

The Jackhammers
I'm convinced that everyone with a clickable pen competes for a spot in the book of world records. Whether it be for fastest clicks or most irritating pattern. They are the jackhammers constantly punching at my brain through my ears.

The Munchers
Most classrooms at my school have suggestions posted outside the doors which state, "NO food or drink in classroom." This sheet of paper does not prove intimidating, at least not when a bag of chips and soda from the nearest campus eatery puts a student out 6 bucks. Thus begins the crunching, crinkling, fizzing, and gulping.

The Rufflers
These are the ones who peruse pages on the test or in a notebook (or a light porn magazine disguised as a notebook). At the rate the rufflers flip through their materials, I'm torn as to whether these people have amazing speed reading ability or just ADD.

The Snifflers
I understand that most people think that blowing snot out of their faces seems disgusting and quite unattractive. Well, these people are right. However, what's more irritating is the constant sniffles that attempt to keep mucus in the head. Please just excuse yourself to the restroom to release it or something. Stop waking me from my precious day dreams.

The Drummers
A desk is not combination writing surface/drum pad. Don't practice beats in class. While I do appreciate the attempt to jazz up the professor's lecture, but it doesn't work. Get all that energy out in a Rock Band session or on a roommate's head.

The Buzzers
OMFG, Ms. Popularity must keep up on the 411 at all times. Granted, these buzzers are mildly respectful--they'll usually put their phones on vibrate. However, the buzzers don't just text once. No, a cycle of buzzing, typing, and repeating ensues.

So while the occasional text message or bag of chips isn't so bad, the chorus of the above groups gets really irritating. So shut up already!

To Do List: Sober Monday

Like many of my peers I have a dry erase board in my room. I usually keep to do lists or grocery lists on this board. Well, today this list I had up was not satisfactory to one one my friends. Only on a completely sober Monday night after playing a couple hours of Wii did this pop up:

1. Buy Beth a new Mercedes Benz SLK 350
2. order male stripper
3. Lear[n] to write correctly [this was supposed to make fun of my terrible handwriting; she forgot the "n" in learn]
4. Make internet work
5. Make Beth gourmet meal
6. Buy beth new wardrobe
7. And one more male stripper - firefighter.

I love college.

Restroom Etiquette/Actual Blog 2

I have a whole idea of how things should work--at least in general. Enter classroom etiquette. I almost forgot about restroom etiquette. Here's a little piece I pulled from my myspace blog that fits here.

"Situation: Walk in to a public restroom with more than 4 stalls. Take your position at the first stall in line. Hear the door to the restroom open and listen as a new person takes position at the stall directly adjacent to yours. WTF. Why is it necessary for this person to go there? Is it me, or does it seem normal to skip a stall or two? The only reason I bring this up is because it happened approximately 3 times within 4 days. Come on now!"
January 28, 2008

Wanna Spoon...Huh Huh

I'm breaking from the 5 Steps of Graduation for a bit. Until then, here's something I've had hidden away for awhile.

Freshman year was the year of the dating pool. Since high school produced little--okay NO results in successful dating, my freshman year proved quite interesting. For some reason, this little Indiana girl started getting attention. The first week on campus, my college had a nice orientation week which allowed freshmen to commence their own exclusive orgies before the upperclassmen arrived. Welcome to your new home: here’s your class schedule and box of Lifestyles condoms.

So my first encounter with the college dating scene occurred the second day of orientation week. (What can I say, I was a late bloomer in high school. Let’s get things started right away here.) A few girls I was hanging out with that night ran into this group of guys. After about 20 minutes of poking fun of each other and discussing hometowns and other bullshit, the ladies and I retracted to stake claim on each of the guys. As we huddle together to discuss game plans, we were all in consensus that one of the guys, whom we’ll call Schwacky, was into me. Alright, cool. He’s sorta cute in that way when your brain screams, “Hey! We’ve had no lip action here for a few months. Could we work on that, please?”

We return to mindlessly gab with the guys for a while until Schwacky learns that I play guitar. Apparently girls with guitar skills are hard to resist…even if they suck, which I do. (Whatever. I still maintain that trumpet for electric guitar starter pack at a local music shop = best trade EVER.) Completely ignoring everything we had learned in the date rape session earlier that day during orientation, I decide to take a walk with Schwacky so I can school him on guitar. Again, my rape whistle was screaming for me not to go up to his room, but once again I ignored the shrill warning-- my ears were filled with power chords. This is also the same day I vowed to not live with a guy until he could meet my cleanliness standards or could give me multiple orgasms in one fantastic worshiping session. Wow. I learned that a male dormitory is a special place. I loved on his cheap Fender Squier for about 20 minutes before we decided to meet for lunch at another time.

Lunch rolls around a few days later, and we have some awkward casual conversation. I’m not entirely sure if I’m into this guy at the point. I snap a picture of him with my camera phone so I can gauge my hometown friends’ approvals since I was to return for the first time in a couple weeks. He walks me back to my dorm *which is up the hill far away from his which is down the hill*. We chat and flirt outside the door for about a half an hour. I just had a lot of juice at lunch and really had to pee. Now I know it’s not entirely attractive to just say “Okay, gotta pee. Later!” to end this date. So as he plays with my hand and stalls, I just say, “Yeah, I know you want to kiss me so come over here.” I make the move, he promises to call, and he leaves. Good, now I can pee. Sweet relief.

A few days later, I decide to bring my trusty [future] roommate along for the next lunch date we had. He had a friend, my roommate was single for the day—why not make things interesting. Besides, her opinion was important to me. I highly valued the opinion of a girl I’d known for approximately two weeks. So I’m still on the fence about Schwacky. No joke, we’re eating and continuing with strange conversation when I hear the lame attempt at humor: “Huh huh, wanna spoon?” as he holds up the spoon in his hand. Let me tell you this: It’s amazing how only a single phrase can evoke a very exaggerated scoff and make me want to permanently laminate my V card for storage in a well hidden safety deposit box. Oh no, this just isn’t going to work out for me…

5 Stages of Graduation Teaser: Second Stage: Anger

My gown swallows me and the cap messes with the tresses. I am but a child playing dress up—and I feel ridiculous. My feet won’t quite fit the shoes placed before me. I’m pissed. This isn’t right. Why doesn’t everything fit the way it’s supposed to?

Preview: 5 Stages of Graduation

Hey, all. This is a major work in progress for me. I actually think it will be my baby for the next few weeks. What I'm posting is only a starting point.
On another note, I know you readers are out there! Let me know by leaving some comments or criticisms. Feedback keeps me going!
So without further ado...

The five stages of approaching graduation are strikingly similar to the five stages of approaching death. Okay—they are exactly the same. Thanks to social scientist, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, I can identify these steps and prepare accordingly. (Or not.)

First Stage: Denial
When approaching my last spring break it hits. Oh, shit, I’m almost done with college. What the hell have I been doing for the past 3 ½ years? (Hmm, don’t open that box.) There’s no way it’s over in 8 weeks. I still have projects to complete, friends to meet, drinks to shoot, mistakes to make. The world as I know it is real, why do they say I have to leave it for a different reality? I like where I’m at. I’m staying right here.

Seat Establishment Revisited: Circular Seating

Sometimes professors believe that the rigid arrangement of straight rows does not properly facilitate class discussion. To be as irritating as humanly possible, said professor demands a circular seating arrangement. This completely eliminates any anonymity one might enjoy from the traditional class setup. It also makes napping quite difficult (but not impossible). Same seat establishment rules apply when forming this circle. Find a place you like and stay there. The problem with the circle is that it is never formed exactly the same way. If I feel that the person next to me invaded my personal (and sometimes intimate) space, I'll make up for it the next class meeting by leaving a considerable gap between us. All seems well until the laggards shuffle into class. There is a distinction to be made between these laggards. The first couple that come in late to assume their seats are usually okay. Everyone can shift a little bit so that these violators can squeeze a chair in. Generally, I can still retain an 8 inch personal space bubble. When the kid that distinctly smells of rye and sweat attempts to force his chair in his usual spot, it does not sit well with me. Can't you see it's already overcrowded here? Why must you perch on my lap? I'm pretty sure that you did not establish my thighs as your permanent seat for the semester. So get off--you smell.

More Fan Art

This art really has absolutely nothing to do with my writings--it is just awesome. Thanks, Chelsea!

Classroom Etiquette Series: The Bitch Behind Revisited

The seat behind mine is a very critical position. You must follow your guidelines very well so that you do not obstruct my classroom experience. Tell me, where does it say that you should repeatedly spear me in the back with the attendance sheet? I would take a simple, yet annoying, “PSST” so long as you keep your spit to yourself.

Fan Art: In Reference to The Pain In Everyone's Ass

Some days it really is necessary to keep thyself sane by doing something than giving in to the pain in everyone's ass. This doodle is a perfect mockumentation. Thanks again, Amber!

In Another World Wherever You Go

In another world is where you want to be.
In another world find the comfort that you seek.

Is this world without reality?
Is this world without irrationality?

In that world where your demons can’t reach
In that world where principles don’t preach

It’s the world in which you confide
It’s the world in which others are denied
It’s the world suffering from pride
It’s the world begging to hide
It’s the world where you reside
It’s the world where you are tied

Wherever you go I hope that is where you want to be.
Wherever you go I hope you find the comfort that you seek.

Classroom Etiquette Series: The Pain in Everyone’s Ass

When this person’s hand shoots up everyone groans. Some days the class will start groaning when said person walks in because it’s the only way to drown out her opinions for the duration of the class. Oh, I should mention that about 99% of the time this person is a non-traditional student. You know who I mean—the lady that struts in with her backpack rolling along behind her. She’s fabulously decorated in popular mall wear while she tries to blend in with the class. However, as much as she tries to appear like one of the traditionals, she always has a story rooted in how she attended this university in ’91. Good cover, lady. You’re blending right in with the strung out sophomore next to you.

Anyway, this pain in the ass is the reason why you never get out of class early. Might I add that I feel quite terrible for you if you have this person in a night class. Further, not only will she answer questions and lead class discussions, she will argue any and everything—especially facts. What’s worse is that when this person speaks, only about 1 of every 25 things said is absolutely correct. This bitch pulls out unworldly figures to support her opinion. When she figures out that she’s way off from the actual point, she pulls in one of those life stories for flare.

So what’s my advice to this pain in the ass? Easy: shut up already!

Old Lady

She calls me old lady
Hey, old lady
Who are you, old lady?
Sure there’s a gap
but we built a bridge
with a frail foundation
An unstable creation
Hey, old lady
Where you been, old lady?
She seeks to cross
my mind in heavy shoes
that dig with the heels
Laying waste to ideals
Hey, old lady
Did you falter, old lady?
Just barely standing
the cracks swell and explode
A violent sensation
Fallen from frustration
Hey, old lady
What the hell, old lady?
To force the fragments
to fit in original places
seems like a lost cause
Impossible to build what was
Hey, old lady
We are broken, old lady.

Classroom Etiquette Series: Eye Roller on the Left

Again, let’s assume that the entire class is sitting at right handed desks. Situation: the person to the left of my seat drops her pen. I’m frolicking in dreamland so I hardly noticed this little incident. Well, this lady throws a big eye roll in my direction. While I’m quite disgusted by just how much of the whites of her eyes she can show, she scoffs and leans for the pen. Now she’s at that point where either the chair tips over a bit or her ribs crack slightly. I decide it’s time for my good deed of the day and pick up the pen. She thanks my by ripping it from my hand. Granted, I did not expect an oatmeal raisin cookie for my civility, but a “thanks” would do.

Fan Art

So now I have fans! Hell yes. I'll now gladly accept fan art submissions. Note: these pictures don't have much to do with my book other than the fact that most of the art was submitted to me while I've been working on campus.
Here's the first one. Thanks Amber!

Classroom Etiquette Series: The Hair Model in Front

I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that shampoo companies do not hide cameras in classrooms in hopes to catch the ultimate hair flip for the next commercial. Why is it that every single female who sits in front of me tosses her mane around like she’s getting paid per flip? There is no wonder no one can read my notes—I have to dodge the avalanche of falling strays. Recently, I began wearing a motorcycle helmet to class. Not to show that I’m badass (although if behind the laughter that is what people actually think, then hell yes), but I can’t quite fathom the Rapunzel hair that whips all over my face. Don’t even get me started if the hair model is auditioning for a Head and Shoulders commercial…

Classroom Etiquette Series: THE Essential

Bathe.

Classroom etiquette series: Right hand not-so-gentle-man

Let’s assume everyone is right handed for the moment. (No, I don’t knock left-handers, it’s just easier to explain if we assume we are all the same—but only for this particular situation because otherwise that would be scary.) Also, let me add that everyone is sitting in one of those chair/desk arrangements in which there is an inadequate amount of table space hovering above your lap by way of chilly metal bars. So here you are sitting in the desk nodding along/off to lecture and you get so in to your activities that the pen you’re drooling on slips and falls to your right. Now, most people I know do not carry around the trash picking claw contraption for these instances. Most people will groan a little bit before painfully arching over the desk. No matter where the writing utensil lands, it is always a centimeter out of reach. So here you are struggling while the person to your right sits watching and choking back chuckles. Your chair starts to tip a little and you let out a tiny warrior cry on a second attempt to reach the pen. This is when the right hand man decides it might be the appropriate time to reach for the item. Great timing as you have already caught a couple digits around the cap and you’re inching the pen under your feet. The pen has entered the realm of privacy and your helper retracts. Finally, you pick up the pen. But now you don’t use it take notes or prop your head up for sleep, you’re marking up your ribs where you think the desk has undoubtedly punctured a lung. Thanks, man.

Classroom Etiquette Series: Seat Establishment

One beautiful freedom I gladly accepted upon entering my first few classes at the university was the liberty of chair selection. Hooray, I can sit in the back to doze off during one class, or I can choose to sit near the front and get involved in another class. Awesome, right?

So generally after the first week, possibly two weeks of classes, seating is pretty much established. There generally aren’t too many people who will change seats each class for a change of pace (however, I have heard of these weirdos). Let’s break it down:

The Monday of the third week of class I walked into my humongous Sociology 100 class and approached my seat. In a sea of empty chairs, some devil decided to place his butt in my chair. I growled under my breath and took the seat in front of him—in turn taking someone else’s seat. Now I suck, too. This happened again in my next class of the day. WTF, lady?

I would like to propose a set of general guidelines regarding seat establishment. They are as follows:

• 1^st day of class: discover your friends and enemies in the class. Make a note to latch on or run from respectively.
• 2^nd day of class: Now it’s time to decide if you can read the notes/stay awake for lecture. Hopefully, you thought of this on the first day, but if you are slow then make note to adjust again. Notify all your friends so that they follow you to this new location. You are the queen bee.
• 3^rd day of class: If you made the mistake of moving up front and you still fall asleep but became more noticeable to the professor, make a very large note to return to the back of the class. Chances are that you do not have friends to keep you awake so there will be no need to notify friends of this move.
• 4^th day of class: Remain in chosen seat
• 5^th day of class: Remain in chosen seat
• 6^th day of class: Remain in chosen seat!
• From here on out until finals or a huge test requires a staggering seating arrangement: REMAIN IN CHOSEN SEAT!

The Gatekeeper

I think this is for the best

Forced to feed
on an opinion
from a gatekeeper
blocking the apparent path
Choking for a retort,
my eyes close
and I nod instead
Tangled in the silence
I writhe to break free
yet remain motionless
The gatekeeper seizes my pride
Pockets it,
Steals it

I think this is for the best

Classroom etiquette teaser

Hear the podcast!

The inspiration for the entire classroom etiquette piece comes from the occurrences in a 55 minute span of a PR class. I have so much material for classroom etiquette that I can’t even present it on one long chunk—also, I don’t have it all completed yet. So here’s a teaser.

…There are certain unwritten rules, or norms, we should follow when attending class. When I started thinking of all these norms, I originally planned to write a 10 Commandments sort of deal. Well, as the particular class which inspired this writing went on, I realized that the 10 wouldn’t quite cut it—okay, I needed upwards of 47. So as I started noticing these little norm violations in my class, I began to write them down all over my notes in class. Incidentally, my professor noticed my vehement scribbling and complemented me with several looks that can only be classified as the stink-eye. However, this did not stop me. Actually, it gave me a little more fuel and fervor.

In my madness I broke down rules for each person sitting in my general area of annoyance. Let’s begin with the most relevant to my (in)sanity: The Bitch Behind.

First of all, let me just tell you that this girl was already sitting in my seat. Strike 1. As I’m approaching my seat, I decide to violently flop in the seat in front of this girl. Surely, from my performance she caught my drift, right? I get out my notebook and tune in relative to the frequency that my professor speaks on. I can follow along mostly with lecture until the girl behind me provides static. All of a sudden, my chair jerks wildly, although I’m the only one that seems to notice the shake. Apparently, I was the only one sitting on this fault line, as evident by all the stern glances I received upon my little yelp at this incident. Then it happened again. Okay, am I the only one on the Earthquake ride right now? What the hell? Hmm, it turns out it’s the bitch behind. She can’t seem to place her feet in the basket beneath my desk to suit her optimum comfort level; she let’s me know this for the remaining 51 minutes of class. Strike 2.

I don’t even try to steady myself on my launch pad to take notes. Instead, I try to not to vomit on the floor and tune back in to the lecture. The sound waves my professor’s jaw emits almost reaches my ears until the interference scrambles the signal again. Now, either I’ve discovered the only living Neanderthal and I’m rich, or the bitch behind me is unable to breathe through her nose. I know that it’s cold and flu season, so I guess I can excuse this. I almost feel sorry for her until the smacking ensues. Oh yeah, it’s her gum. Come on, lady. Gum or breathing. Not both. Strike 3. I’m out.

Actual Blog (October 10, 2005)

Hear my pretty voice!

I think that it is necessary to give a bit of background for this post. This is not a filler post because I'm getting lazy...at least not just yet. When I had the whole idea to write about the past few years, I figured I would need to delve into some older posts on other blogs I used to keep up with. I found one from the beginning of my sophomore year where I birthed the idea of "the pathetic pool." I still refer back to this post as one of my favorite casual writings. So as I continue to work on my fairly lengthy piece about classroom etiquette, I present the pathetic pool:

“Anyway, I've been noticing reoccurring themes in many conversations I have with my roommate. This isn't necessarily a bad thing... until you consider the content. I tell her to go to hell, she says I'm already there. We usually have this same banter back and forth or just one of us continues this conversation every day. Of course we bitch about not wanting to go to class; this is highly acceptable because going to class just gets in the way of college. But the conversation we seem to have at least once every day is our complete lack boyfriends or dates for that matter. And it's not for lack of trying either. We don't just sit around and bitch and not try to do anything about it. At the same time, we're not just looking for a bit of ass either. It seems that we've realized that we're just poking around looking for a really good guy. I'm not saying that there's not one out there, but you guys seem to have really good hiding spots. So for now we figured we're just wading in the pathetic pool. I'm not looking for sympathy or a hardcore relationship, I'm just asking that someone give me a hand out of the pool... or at least toss me some of those little floaties. Later...”

I Confess: I Am a People Pleaser

Hear my pretty voice!

While yes, I confess
I cannot be selfless
It’s my claim to fame
I’m the red carpet,
rely on me
strut on me
roll me up when the show is over
Infamous for my fault
I’m notorious for leading nowhere
And if I aim to please
you’d say it’s my disease
My road leads to disappointment
you’re just the warning sign
Turn back
Abandon this path
I used to heed your advice
I used to need your advice
Like it or not,
you’ll love me in time.

The Phantom of 916

Hear my pretty voice!

Finally, my senior year arrives. It should be freaking awesome, right? After splitting with my former roommates, I thought that I could stomach living with a random person in a 2 bedroom apartment for less than a year. I hear you. It takes a brave person. I expect a medal or at least a cookie for my bravery. I like oatmeal raisin best. Anyway, I sign a 10 month lease at the complex since my triumphant graduation approaches in May. (Of course later you’ll understand that I signed this binding contract in the blood that leaked from my ears each morning at approximately 6:45 a.m. But this is another story. You should read everything in this entire book before you skip there—and I mean every freakin’ word.)

Around the beginning of August I begin to psych myself up for the move. Now, I’d like to think that I’m pretty flexible. Social slut, ghetto-curious/delusional—I can handle that. Religious is the only thing that worried me a bit. I’m a little on the ignorant side when it comes to the baby Jesus. Actually that is an understatement; I was the awkward child that sat in the corner with the mitre-shaped dunce cap on the one summer I attended bible school. Still, as long as I’m not stuck with verse-a-day wall paper and all my furniture pointed toward a 6-foot crucifix, I’ll deal. As I entered my brand new apartment, arms full of posters and underwear, I was struck by lightning. I stood in the shadow of a golden plaque adorned with the Ten Commandments. Goddammit.

There’s no sign of my new roommate, and I continue to move my stuff in to my pre-furnished abode. I grab the stud finder so I can position my flaming Guitar Hero guitars around the commanding “Say Your Prayers” decorative wall piece. I bring in the comfy papasan chair in which I like to contemplate the presence of the Lord—oh, who I am I kidding—sit and play Lego Star Wars with spirit in hand. Figuring my roommate and I could collaborate on the living room set-up, I start working on my room. Time ticks to 2 a.m. and still no sign of my roomie, I fall exhaustedly on my floor for slumber. The next day I wake up in a pool of drool on my carpet and still no sign of this new person. The week following was a blur of moving in, working, and sleeping; a haze of exhaustion settled and clouded rational thinking. Finally, I saw movement outside the curtains of clothes I was throwing in my closet. This figure floated rapidly to the door opposite mine and silently entered this room. From that day on, the only action from that room came in the form of an incandescent light that appeared only occasionally between the hours of 8 a.m. and 10 p.m. Monday through Thursday. However, further haunting ensued outside of this room.

Some days a glow from the kitchen lights would find its way under my door. This light was rare, however, as the number of Sonic cups and White Castle wrappers outnumbered the occurrences of this kitchen light. Sometimes the glow would be accompanied by voices, which now that I reflect, sounded strikingly similar to Oprah and Dr. Phil. (Might I add that if Oprah was ever in my apartment that lady did not leave any of her favorite things.) Other than these sounds and the occasional door slam, this phantom remained quiet.

It seems that she is not all mind games though. (I deduced that the phantom is female due to the inordinate amount of purple and faux flower arrangements.) Sometimes this ghoul kept me in check. I have this memory problem in which I fail to remember to take my laundry out of the dryer for days. Now, either this phantom takes them out, or I have one hell of a gift. Even my dirty dishes magically fly out of the dishwasher and onto the counter. Oh, even better, when it is dark a little night light shines to guide my path through a drunken stupor to my bed. What a magnificent occurrence, right? With the spiritual wall decorations and strange hauntings in my apartment I begin to consider a connection. I didn’t come up with anything, sorry. I think it was just a sick joke from the apartment complex Nazis because I’m pretty sure that if I were living with some sort of angel she could at least throw a miracle my way. Just a little one—maybe grant me a singing voice like KT Tunstall or the ability to fly.

Then one night I had a few of my girls over for a night of softball practice—okay, drinking. It was just before 10 p.m. and that faint glow shone under the door. Naturally, curiosity killed my friends, and they all wanted to know what was on the other side of the door. “I don’t know. Some ghoul,” is my response. Apparently that did not suffice so I go on to explain the supernatural events of days past, including the appearance of the figure I saw in my haze of exhaustion. “Can we knock on the door so we can talk to her?” Got a Ouiji board and some candles on hand? I feel a séance coming on…

Grand Opening

Welcome to Flying a Kite Out the Window. There will be no updates from my personal life on this site, just selections of writings that I'm working on. I'll update as much as humanly possible so keep reading and commenting. I'll keep you amused if you keep me amused. Hokay?