Sunday, January 2, 2011

Happy New Year/2011! (Snowballs)

Hi again,

So I lied.  I thought I'd only be back a few days after my post, but I was partially extremely busy with holiday and family stuff, traveling, etc and partially obsessed with a site I just discovered called fanfiction.net.  It is simply awesome!  Half the time I'm reading stories and the rest of the time I'm writing and posting them!  Quizilla does this stuff too but I find that the grammar is not very good and it's more of a quiz site anyway.  I've already written three stories and a person even reviewed one of my stories!  If you want to see what I've written you can look at my profile at....  http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2669529/Psychicbyinternet

I'm getting kind of frustrated with this website.  I keep trying to change my background and template but the template wizard won't load and I keep trying to get AdSense to work but apparently "awaiting approval."  It's been like that for at least a month no matter what I do.  Maybe I should ask about this on Yahoo Answers.  I wish they would make this site easier to use, for those who are technologically illiterate... :(

So without further ado, I present you with some of my lovely snowballs, as a sequel to my reindeer droppings, although there is very little snow in my area of Canada right now...  How un-festive!

These are two unusual professor encounters, or should I say confrontations?


Tweed Coat:

The teacher laughed.  A fish-faced grin on his face.  He giggled.  He cackled.  Nothing was funny.
We were alone in a room, learning.  No punch line had been spoken.  He began a snarky, maniacal laugh and returned to his deep, throaty chuckle.  If anything had ever been funny it would have been how utterly terrified I looked.  That - or my pathetic attempts at laughter.  It seemed as if we were in a movie where the evil boss laughs at a baby crying or a man being kicked in the face and his employees must awkwardly conform to keep their jobs.  He got serious.

"Why aren't you laughing?"

More laughing.  "It's lonely laughing alone.  It makes me feel like crying."

A contorted face, imitating my inner emotions.

"It's even lonelier to frown alone," I responded, not even attempting a laugh, "I don't suppose you would ever understand."

His giggling died down.  "No - I suppose not."

"Why does this all have to be so awkward? Why did your laughter seem so horrible?"

The student seemed troubled.

"I just wanted to learn from you," she continued.

"I understand - it's hard to laugh when nothing is funny."

The teacher bowed his head, putting one hand in his left pocket.

"Exactly!  It's so nice for you to understand.  I was worried that you might not," the girl turned to the enormous window covering the wall.  Crows were scattered among the top floors of academic buildings, shrieking for attention.

"I'd still be worrying if I were you," the teacher said.

"Why's that?  Is there a test?" the girl turned white.

The man shook his head. "I lied," he smiled, "I'll never understand."

And with that he shot her.

And then himself.  He stained his tweed coat.


Tweed Coat (Immature Brother Remix):

**My brother took my notebook and revised this story.  No matter how many times I read it it still makes me laugh.


The teacher laughed.  A fish-faced grin on his face.  He giggled.  He cackled.  Nothing was funny.
We were alone in a room, learning.  No punch line had been spoken.  He began a snarky, maniacal laugh and returned to his deep, throaty chuckle.  If anything had ever been funny it would have been how utterly terrified I looked.  That - or my pathetic attempts at laughter.  It seemed as if we were in a movie where the evil boss laughs at a baby crying or a man being kicked in the face and his employees must awkwardly conform to keep their jobs.  He got serious.


"Why aren't you laughing?"

"Evil Boss man, Go Fuck Yourself."


More laughing.  "It's lonely laughing alone.  It makes me feel like crying."


A contorted face, imitating my inner emotions.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" he cried.


"It's even lonelier to frown alone," I responded, not even attempting a laugh, "I don't suppose you would ever understand."


His giggling died down.  "No - I suppose not."


"Why does this all have to be so awkward? Why did your laughter seem so horrible?"

The student seemed troubled.


"I just wanted to learn from you," she continued.


"I understand - it's hard to laugh when nothing is funny."


The teacher bowed his head, putting one hand in his left crotch.


"Exactly!  It's so nice for you to understand.  I was worried that you might not," the girl turned to the enormous window covering the wall.  Rows were scattered among the top floors of academic buildings, shrieking for attention.


"I'd still be worrying if I were you," the teacher said.


"Why's that?  Is there a test?" the girl turned white.


The man shook his head. "I lied," he smiled, "I'll never understand."


And with that he shot her.


And then himself.  He stained his tweed coat.


Whiteboard Chat:

The professor scrubbed the whiteboard with a black eraser and the students crowded out the door.
She stood behind him, facing his back, waiting patiently.

He whirled around with a concerned look, "Yes?"

"Why?"

"The last mark you got?"

"No. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you care?" my eyes swelled up.

He frowned.

"Don't insult me.  I've worked here nearly six years and I have helped every student who asked for it.  Were you here for my first class?  I told everyone that I care."

"You're a good politician."

"You're good at stagnating.  Too bad it isn't a life skill."

He turned around and continued erasing.

She stood her ground, "You still didn't answer me."

"I did.  I care - about every student.  I'd invite you to office hours, but you're being a smart ass."

"You just did it!"

"What?"

"That not caring thing that you do.  Why do you do that?  And how?  I couldn't do it.  Is it in the cereal you eat every morning?"

"No!  I don't even know what you're talking about anymore," the prof scrubbed the last few symbols off the board.

"Does your wife beat you?  Do you eat unhealthily?  Are you lacking friends?  Have you been missing out on showers?  Do you have... insomnia?"

"No, no, no, no, no!  Leave me alone!  I don't care about you!" the man covered his mouth instantly.

"Now that you've admitted your problem, which is half the battle, we can start solving it."

She put her wire-rimmed glasses on and grabbed his briefcase.

"Hey!  That's mine!"

"Is it that you care only about yourself and your belonging or are you otherwise inclined?"

She searched his briefcase.  Lecture notes.  Pens.  Highlighters.  Rubber bands.

"A condom?"

"That's preposterous.  I'd never bring something that inappropriate to school!"

"And cocaine, heroin - crystalmeth?!"

"You put those in yourself!"

She shook her head, "this whole time I thought there was method to your madness."


Viva Las Vegas: a Music Faculty Formal (January 15, 2010):

As seventh chords and lustful dance tunes loiter in my head I remember a night that should have been longer, but yet was exhausting.  I feel like an intense cocktail of hyper and coma.  Meanwhile my cramps are still going strong, picking the perfect night to be at their worst.  Dancing is a magical, fantastic thing.  Total strangers, snobs, "celebrity" classmates mingle with the losers.  Everyone accepts the man wearing the dress or the girl who looks androgenous.  Inches away from legends.

My fear melts away more and more as the songs continue to play.  Accepting, yet so self-absorbed.  Unless the dance needs a partner, they look away, no matter how insanely you dance.  Sometimes people looked at me strangely when I made up movements and I felt so embarrassed.  Copying people, recycling, bringing some back from the past.  I wanted to use disco moves for every song, but I guess that would have been "uncool."

Dance circles forming.  I'd love to get in the middle of the circle with a guy and just do something scandalous... even something like grinding...

I wanted attention so badly.

He came.  With a girlfriend.  But he came.  That was amazing enough.  She seemed quite out of place, being from a different school.  Beautiful in her turquoise dress, but out of place all the same.  He barely knew anyone there as friends.  She knew no one.  He liked dancing.  She seemed to not like large doses of it.  Two lovely misfits.

He danced with me.  It happened so suddenly, and half the time I was certain that I was either dreaming or drunk.  Amidst the crowd I spun away from him, pretending not to notice him coming toward me.  I was so sure that he was trying to find someone behind me but he said "hi" and started dancing with me.  Off to the side.  "Billie Jean" was the song, and I later realized how appropriate it was.  I couldn't help grinning.  It was a dream.  He was a charming dancer.

"Do you know the moonwalk?!" I yelled in his ear.

He smiled. "No, well, sort of..."

We tried doing it at the same time, unsucessfully.  Fast spins, corny hand gestures, the can-can, I tried different things hoping he wouldn't lose interest.  I loved it when he pulled his hat over his eyes like Michael Jackson.  Yet it was scary.  He has a girlfriend.  What if she looks and gets mad?  Then again - we weren't slow dancing.  But we danced for almost an entire song.

But why would he leave her?  Should I really associate with someone that cruel?  Why did he?  I'd hardly talked to him recently.  Why was I suddenly appealing to him?  Or maybe I was just a friend?

When the song ended, it mixed into a slow dance.  He left, knowing to report back to the girlfriend.  I slowly left the dance floor in disbelief.  It doesn't seem like much, I guess, but these are the sorts of things that really brighten my life and keep me alive.  I've never danced with a guy that I had a serious crush on before.  And I'd been infatuated with him since at least the first week of university.  I felt so brave.

He didn't dance with me again after that, but that little taste kept me hoping.  I looked around so often, I think people were catching onto my crush.  But it was so much just to dance with him once.

I kept coming up with theories as to why.  Maybe he just wanted some variety and danced with me as a friend.  Maybe he was role-playing with his girlfriend and I was the bitchy part of the love triangle.  Maybe, being a music nerd, he wanted to play out the situation of the song ("Billie Jean").  Most exciting theory: maybe he hates his girlfriend and he loves me.  Maybe we'll start going out tomorrow.  Extremely wishful thinking.  I wonder what our classes together will be like now.  No, I don't think anything exciting will happen in all honesty.  Writing out all this just makes me even less attractive than my previous low.  And yet...

I could have danced all night! (If it were with him)

---------------------------------

P.S. Turns out after that weekend, when I saw him in class Monday morning, he acted as if nothing happened.  He said "hi," but he didn't even talk about the Music Formal at all.  Oh well.  It was nice while it lasted.


Man Is:

By nature a snarling violent beast
How did I come to know you?
They focus on violence and sex
One at a time
They think in straight lines
Tunnel vision
Did you know that men think about sex ninety percent of the time?
How did I come to love you?
Do they think about weapons the other ten percent?

Man is means woman and man is
Because woman cancels out
It's simple math
Don't worry your pretty little head about it
Men know women are objects
Women are objects
Irrelevant in the grand equation

Makes me so mad
To see the smirk on your face
As you get ahead
Ninety nine percent of men are pigs
At least forty nine percent of the world are pigs
And that percentage rules the world

Those dogs
Fixated on their pistols and guns
Are any of them my friend?
Can I be safe with someone that different?
Are they really all the same?
But they've been leaving us with them for years


He is coming:

A hat from the 'twenties
a slender form
a dark blur approaches
mumbled instructions
to himself

A pale face
and round glasses
a smooth, lazy voice
declarations of the mundane
walking down the hall...

A strong dose of TMI
with a hint of philosophy,
genius?

A cordial nod
My heart attempts to
strangle me
I want to leave...

That is how I know he is coming.

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