Avast! The end of this semester is in sight! I am simultaneously thrilled and ready to chunk all over myself. This has, without a doubt, been the longest semester that has ever, in the course of humanity, existed. Like a convict in his airless cell, I have been carving the days of this semester into the baseboard of my desk. Too many. Too damn many. What's worse is that all of the things I should have been preparing for long ago (and by "things" I mean, oh, huge exams and papers that, once written, will have their own moons and gravitational pulls) I have been neglecting, if not downright ignoring. I'm not a bad student; it's just been a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kindof semester. What makes it all the better is that I will be enrolling in all four of the classes I am in again next semester, as these are all first parts of two-part classes.
Keep them sharp objects away from me.
Oh, I can hear you now: Quit yer bellyachin'! You did this to yerseff! No'bdy made y'all go back to school! There are kids in Ee-thee-ohpya and that there Africa place who eat flies and tears for supper!
That's true. I took a special picture of myself giving those of you who say this my response; a quick email will have it sent expediently to your inbox.
Today, I read that some woman out here in the corn (Hobart, Indiana... no, I have no effing idea where that is, either) has decided to put her father's ghost up for sale on eBay. Her. Father's. Ghost. This is because, apparently, the old man kicked it in the house she now shares with her son, who is afraid of the spirit. I have three comments about this.
1) Oh. My. God.
2) OK, so as a kid, I would have sold my pinkie finger to have a ghost in my house. How cool would that have been? The restless dead, playing He-Man with me? Telling me gruesome stories at night with a flashlight? Rattling chains up in the attic to make my sister urinate on herself? That kid is dumber than a sack full of hammers. He's going to grow up to be... well, uh, grow up is too strong. He's going to age in his mother's basement, playing video games and watching the Sci-Fi channel and drinking Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. His mother will have to pay someone to "get with" him. Scared of his own grandfather's ghost? What a dumbass.
3) MY parents would have had this reaction if I'd said I wanted them to sell my grandfather's ghost:
Mom: You're dumb.
Dad: You're dumb; also, a girl.
Then I would have gone to play with the used syringes, razorwire and the cardboard box I got for Christmas, waiting for one of them to get drunk enough to want to beat me with the horse-urine-soaked hook. (Hahaha! Just kidding, Mom and Dad! At least that's what I told the Human Services people!)
Today at work, a Kuwaiti student (this can all be verified! not lying! ask Jenny!) came up to the Front Desk to ask me questions. She's delightful and I always enjoy talking to her. Today, she began her conversation with, and I quote:
"I don't know why I have never told you before, but you look JUST LIKE MY UNCLE! Especially when you smile; yeah, do that again! My sister, when she comes, will say the same thing! Just like my uncle!"
So, apparently somewhere in the wastes of desert Kuwait is a man (obviously in his 40s or 50s, judging by how old the student is) who looks just like me. Score. Oh, and somewhere in Turkey, I look like another man, married to Surye, whose brother-in-law felt need to harass me in Ephesus.
HER UNCLE! That's a new one.
So, I lit some incense (patchouli, I think: either that or "baboon's rectum while in heat", as they both smell the same) and found the Ouija board, which I had slid under my refrigerator as "punishment." Hope it liked all of that slut's wool (New Englandism: look it up).
After clearing my aura (ahahahahahahaha! clearing my aura! my aura is raw-sewage brown all day, every day!), I summoned "Mitch", who was gored by one of the running bulls at Pamplona.
"Mitch": I...t...p...i...e...r...c...e...d..m...y...s...p...l...e...e...n.
Me: Mmm-hmm. That was a really really ascenine thing to do, "Mitch." Playing "chicken" on the railroad tracks would have been a cheaper way to toy with death, I am sure.
"Mitch": G...e...t...o...n...w...i...t...h...i...t.
Me: So, "Mitch", why do I remind so many people of their fathers/uncles/brothers-in-law?
Do I have a certain, as the French say, a kind of... I-don't-know-what?
"Mitch": Y...o...u...j...u...s...t...l...o...o...k...g...e...n...e...r...i...c...a...n...d...o...l...d.
"Mitch" and I had a lengthy discussion, wherein I told him how, in excruciating detail, he could eff himself.
But maybe he's right. I dunno.
Well, all the best to everyone. It's finals time! Seventh Circle of Hell! Cehennem!
Have a great one, Bloomington.
Dom
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