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?