Hills Brown Like Cow Caca

This is truly going to be a ranting- so if you are easily offended (more than likely if you read my blog you are not), or don’t like negativity (hey, sometimes it even happens to me)… then you probably should stop reading now. I will let you know when I am back to talking about bubblegum, rainbows and sprinkles on cupcakes!

So I don’t know what has been up with me lately- I have been in the foulest mood. So unlike me. I usually have a way of just letting things roll of my back like a nickel placed on a jheri curl… just SLIDE right off… not so much lately- the smallest things aggravate me.

I would like to be able to pinpoint what exactly it is… I just don’t seem to have time. My schedule seems to be school, work, cook, clean (sometimes),school, garden, cook, work, school, cook… Luckily work has cut back my hours pretty drastically, so that is giving me some more free time… but even that free time is taken up by something else.

School… well… I said I was still forming my opinion about this session- I officially have one. IT SUCKS!

I think I was terribly spoiled with both professors and classmates during my last session. I sadly admit that even though I was reluctant about Algebra- I finished up with a B. He was a very good professor, a little strange- but hey, who isn’t? The classmates all were… interesting. There was at least some kind of talking- about more than just finding X.

My English class (session 1) – well everyone knows how much I really loved that. The professor was as crazy as the rest of the class- which made it a fun learning environment. Plus, with the professor being a freelance translator- of course I naturally held her a lot higher than all the other professors considering I hope to one day do that as well.

Now this session….. :::deep breath:::

I try to approach everything with a clean slate. I really do.

Sociology- took it in high school- loved it.

Now in college… I still love the subject- I even really like the professor… but the class!! Where do I begin? Day 1- well… I walked in- no one was sitting next to each other. No one talking. Bad sign for Mr. Mouth of the South here… I like to talk- and hello dammit- this is SOCIOLOGY! The one girl that works my nerves the most is this really sloppy chunky…no FAT girl that sits right next to the door with her really short- half nappy, half dry, half greasy jheri curl. Of course I only knew this is how her hair was by about the 3^rd day because the first couple days she had a plastic bag on her head… yes… plastic bag- not a doo-rag, not a shower cap…a plastic bag. Like the kind from the grocery store. Then to top it off, this big blob of afro-sheen has the audacity to sit there and either text, or play games on her phone most of the class. On roughly the 3^rd day (I think) our professor – who usually jokes about drinking 40s and smoking crack on High Street (now y’all see why I like him) – was talking about some statistics sociologists did on abortion. Well apparently this stank skag whore didn’t like what he was saying and made a point to say how it was wrong. Um- excuse me ho- but this ain’t your class- so shut up! For one- he was not trying to say if it was right or wrong- he was just reading statistical analysis. (Probably a word too big for her jelly belly to understand) So she gets up and walks out of class. Just walks out. BYE!! Don’t let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya- ya fat ignorant COW!

I have no time for bullshit like that! I am sorry- this is an adult learning establishment…there are going to be some topics you do not agree with- that’s the point in learning!! If we spend our entire lives stuck in a tiny little narrow-minded tunnel- then yes… you might as well pack up your shit, and crawl underneath the stall at the local Wawa, and spend your life there among the bacteria growing on the tile.

On a side-note- I have still never been in a Wawa- so for all I know- they probably have clean bathrooms- I was just using them because I like to say Wawa… even though in certain Spanish dialects- that’s how it sounds in slang for “Bus”, and in Quechua it means “Children”- so now you can take your Wawa on the guagua to the wawa (however they are properly spelled)… back to my bitterness….

I guess if I had to pick a class I liked the best out of the 2 I have now… it would have to be Sociology- because at least I like the professor, and the subject matter… where my next class- I just like the subject matter.

English… :::sigh:::… I have never wanted to take a bucket of hot bacon grease and dump it on someone as badly as I want to on my professor. Then top it off with a pot of hot cheese grits… extra cheese so that it sticks, and slooooooowly drips and burns. On the first day- I could tell there was something… not right. I tried… LAWD KNOWS I TRIED… to approach the situation with an open mind and a clean slate… why- because that’s what I do! Even after introductions (which we all did for each other- and he didn’t even volunteer any information about him- big surprise) – I knew there was something… I couldn’t put my finger on it… but as they say in Hindi- Dahl-me kuch kala hain (there’s something black in the dahl). His syllabus… vague… He might as well of just wrote “___” on a black paper- at least then it would be less confusing. And don’t ask for clarification… well you can, if you want to have someone make you feel like you are the stupidest person that walked the face of the earth! I STILL tried to have an open mind- even after a couple of other class-mates were saying how they had friends that had him before and how shitty of a professor he was – I still was like… “well, we should give him a chance.” Yeah… fuck that- he is a shitty professor. Now I love to write… obviously – otherwise I would not write this blog, or write music, or write poetry… however, I do not claim that I am the next Stephen King. I know I am no Hemmingway, or sadly I am no Khalil Gibran. But- I enjoy it. After my first essay in this class (which by the way he was so vague about his expectations, I would have had a better chance squeezing an apple and getting orange juice than getting a straight forward answer from him in class) I got the LOWEST grade I have EVER received on an essay. A C+. The plus was because it was not TOO painful to read. Really? Fuck you! You know what is painful? Well, even if you do not want to know I will tell you… your class! Sitting there dissecting literature to the point that it is no longer artistic. I said it before, and I apologize to those that also follow me on the book of facing (to quote my “adopted brother”) – Dissecting literature is like trying to appreciate the beauty of a rose by reading its molecular structure. Then you have the NERVE to say that you do not agree with my opinion… AND take points OFF… really? If we want to talk about disagreements… I disagree that you want a “professional” classroom, yet you feel that you can come to class in jeans and an un-tucked t-shirt. In addition to that- you enjoy telling people that you do not agree with their opinions so they are not correct. Well… I hate to break it to you… Opinions are like assholes my friend- everyone has one- and everyone’s stink! Get over yourself!

Now you may be like “oh my god Myke, you’ve gone too far… it’s just a grade, why not take it like a man.”

I have NO problem accepting a grade if I did a shitty job, OR , if the points being taken off are indeed fair points. Ding me for grammar, spelling, punctuation- SHIT THAT MATTERS! Don’t tell me you think I took a way to “abstract” view on the piece and feel that just because I won’t be able to get people to “argue” my “argument” that it is not good. AHHHHHHH- He is so lucky I am not a man of revenge, otherwise I would find his car, and shit in his windshield-wiper fluid… but I would wait until a nice HOT day to do it!

It’s no wonder people do not like Literature. Probably the same reason I hated math until I had the professor I did last session- the teachers!

I have always loved English. I love languages. I love words! How else can we express ourselves? But when you get a pompous jack-ass who feels that HIS standard is only inferior to that of… oh wait.. NO ONE… then how the hell is anyone ever going to become a great writer?

OH OH OH… and to top it off… the one person that DID get an A in the class- happens to be a Literature major (big surprise) and she told me that she “paraphrased” a story, and didn’t have the book- so she wasn’t able to cite it- AND she mentioned this to the teach (according to her)… AND STILL GOT AN A!! Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?? I get counted off because my opinion is abstract, yet you get praised for plagiarizing?

I talked to my best friend about this (who has really been the only one that has not been like- ok Myke- just shut up, I’m tired of hearing about this- but then again- she gets me better than anyone in the world sometimes I think) and she said that she had a professor like this once too. She said that all I need to do is follow is rubric and put nothing more into than that.

Then I talked to my mother… good ol’ mom. That crazy lady (bless her heart). She said, “just remember you look at YOU in the mirror, not him. Be true to yourself, and true to your writing. I know you are worried about your grade, but don’t sell yourself out.” I was like- wow- Gangstah Mammy is back!

Now I have to figure out how to put the advice of my best friend into place, and still doing what my mom suggested and not become a lil punk bitch and sell out my style and way of writing simply because the professor doesn’t like it.

I mean- I don’t like the stupid freaking religious poems we had to read, and how they are compared to Jesus and God and stuff… but I still have to read the pieces of shit… so he should be able to deal with mine…

OH – and another thing- he doesn’t even read them BEFORE you meet with him. You submit it online- and then go into his cubicle at your “set time” – even though he was 20 minutes late… but does he get points off… NO! Then after you go into his cubicle- you sit and wait for him to read it. “mmm… ugh… no…hmm- yea, this is wrong- you want to say this” … um No mother fucker, if I wanted to say this I would have- I wanted to say THAT for a reason!

Ok ok ok ok ok… I will shut up about this- otherwise I will go on too long!

On a side note… I went to the podiatrist today. Thank god nothing was broken. He said that it looks like I either tore or stretched the hell out of a tendon (or maybe it was a ligament, who knows)… all I heard was NOT BROKEN, so that’s all I cared about.

This just shows the power of writing- after firing off at the mouth for these some 2,000 words… I actually feel a lot better. Therapy. Free therapy.

Now I have to go into class- and present my Annotated Bibliography about “Hills White Like Elephants” … because THAT was not an abstract piece of writing. Of course I couldn’t write anything on my OWN opinion, I just had to go and read what other critics said- and summarize their opinions… because after all, why would I have an opinion- I am just a student – (but at least I have a male’s name).

Hopefully next blog will be filled back again with roses and candy and a side of fried chicken (which by the way I still haven’t had since I moved to Pennsylvania)….

“The truest characters of ignorance are vanity, and pride and arrogance” ~Samuel Butler (1835-1902)

An Ankle in Hand is Worth a Puke in the Bush

It's 4am - what the hell am I doing awake?

There has been a lot going on lately; time neither stands still, nor passes quickly. It just seems to be a never ending day that lasts for weeks.

I finished out my summer 1 session of school. I am so happy to rid myself of math homework. Now granted if you know you, this will come of no surprise to you. I do not like math. Never have- probably never will. I do not understand it. There is nothing within math that can "move" a person... I mean unless you can refer to "moving" as "annoying the SHIT out of someone"... I guess a bowel movement can be considered a movement... but in my case- not movement enough. I am mathematically constipated I guess. I don't mind solving for "x"- actually I sometimes like that... but don't ask me to find the damn equation... ummm, hello- this is math not Jeopardy, you're supposed to teach me how to find the answer... if you already know the answer, than we don't need to work out the problem... YOU HAVE THE ANSWER- why the hell do you need to know the question? None-the-less, I am so extremely happy that is over with!

Now my first English class on the other hand. I am very sad to leave. Not just because I had an awesome professor who really made me challenge myself in my essays, but because the class itself was really fun. We had a very interesting mix of students- as you probably previously read about Ronald McDonald and Strung Out Little Orphan Annie's love child- Ronald McDonald for short.

Side Note: Before I forget- I saw her today while waiting on my second English class to start. I was sitting in the hallway, and another girl from my previous class (who is taking the same English II as me) was standing in front of me chatting. Ronald McDonald walked by and looked at me- said nothing, and then said "Hi" to the other girl. I mean granted I didn't expect her to go out of her way to be nice to me... I mean I did pseudo-accuse her of being a prostitute after she said that she expected if she was giving a man her time at dinner that he would pay for it. Sorry! Isn't that what a prostitute expects... She gives you her time, you give her the dollars!! - General rules of "Pimpin and Ho-in." Anyways- back to my regular blabbing....

The point is I really enjoyed that English class.

After I finished out the summer 1 session- I had about a week of before I started session 2. What to do? Why not have an adventure? Why not immerse myself in something cultural? Why not do something I have never done before? Why not go to the Daytona Races..... Adventure- yes, cultural... well... that depends if you consider the race culture, which I would like to talk about for a minute.

When I think of culture... I think of... well... something more in depth than camouflage; more than an overweight, toothless, stringy-haired women in a tube top with a cigarette hanging out her mouth and a "youngen" on her side. When I think of culture, I don't think about a guy in cowboy boots, frayed cut-off jean shorts, a mullet with a permed top, and a shirt from the local flea market that was air-brushed "Dale Earnhardt Fan Forever" - as culture. However- it is amusing to say the least!

I am leaving out a minor event that happened before I embarked on this journey. Two days before I left for Florida- I twisted my ankle. True Myke style. Clumsy as all get out! I was going out to check on my garden- missed the bottom step of my deck- came down on the ground (which was soft) and rolled my ankle. I couldn't have hit it any harder. I hit the ground- and after I heard the POP, all I could do was cuss. I am surprised that the neighbors didn't have a prayer circle that night for me- simply because of the words that were coming out of my mouth. I never knew that I knew so many cuss words in so many languages... hell I think I even invented some. So- during this adventure- please keep my ankle in mind.

Back to Florida. We depart Philly. Flying on my least favourite airline in the world. Air-Trash as I like to refer to it. The airline with no seats, no room. And even though the planes have 2 classes - business, and economy- the truth is the airline itself has NO class. We have a stop in Atlanta... of course because these days you can't go to hell first without stopping off in Atlanta. I have learned that between my aviation 'career' and just my experience in traveling- that Atlanta is aviation's purgatory. No problems on that leg. The flight attendants were friendly. Ghetto, but friendly. "Um exshooze me ma'am... yea, um-arr-aa, I know'd that you jus' got on the plane all late and stuff.. but Ima ax do NOT turn on yo phone... thank you!" Yes, that is what one said. I loved it!

Atlanta to Orlando... now that is another story. We circle Orlando, and can't land because of weather- then we get low on fuel... redirected to Tampa. MOTHA FUCKA!!

Then once we get to Tampa- the weather there gets bad...so we can't leave there.

We finally arrive in Orlando after they release and blah blah all that garbage- about 3 hours late.

I will skip the "welcome back/ birthday party" at Red Coconut... only because I really don't remember too much of it. I learned quickly that pain medication and Jack Daniels do help you forget that you may have a fractured, or sprain ankle and allow you to dance; however, they do NOT mix well.

I do want to apologize publicly however, to Perkins, for passing out in my breakfast, telling the waitress "it is ok you fucked up my order, I feel sorry for you because you are white", and puking in their bushes. Apparently this is what happens when I hang out with my West Indian crew. God I miss them!!

The following day- I was hurting. I looked ROUGH. I mean bad. I am talking like I rolled down a mountain of shit and landed in a sea of stank! My eyes were red, my head hurt, my stomach... lets not even go there... and did I mention my ankle? I looked so rough, that the devil himself would have taken pity on me. If I were a dog, you would have put me to sleep- kinda rough!

Our group drove to Daytona from Orlando.

On the way- we had to stop to get pickles for the tailgate party. When we pulled into the Publix (God how I miss Publix) parking lot- I had to abandon ship. I jumped out and ran- rather walked extremely fast- into the store. Every step I took my mouth filled more and more with saliva. That feeling that tells you- WARNING WARNING- YOU ARE ABOUT TO PUKE! Of course this is the ONE damn Publix where the restrooms are NOT in the front of the store. Oh no... "lets put them in the back of the store. Let's put them there so that the people who think they are still 21 and go out partying the night before will have to come in, and panic with they see they are not in the usual spot. Let's make it so that they have to pass all the vendors that are trying to give you a free sample of their greasy food that smells up the entire aisle. Let's put it in the back so that when said person finally makes it to the back of the store, where the restrooms are hidden in a far corner, they can puke in a bathroom that is so private, no one will notice that there is already a couple in the stall next to them having sex." ...... yes..... I said it, and I meant it.

I get into the bathroom, bust into the only open stall. Bend over the toilet (there is no way I am going to kneel down and put my knees on that nasty floor), and I hear moans in the stall to my right. Now either the person next to me had the same kind of night I did, and miraculously grew an extra set of feet (I eventually noticed 4 feet), or they were fucking! So while I was saying "oh god" begging for mercy... the other stall was saying "oh god" bawling out in ecstasy. I was bending over puking.. and the other was.... well, you get the picture. Why does this shit only happen to me?

The races were better than I thought- a little long- but I won't bore you with details- other than there were a lot of mullets, a lot of camo, and not that many teeth. The excitement of the race was when they started the engines, when they crashed, and the last 3 laps. I can sum it up : vroom, boom, yay!

The flight back- SUCKED. I was delayed 2 hours; they made me check my carry-on because there was no room because the bastards coming out of Orlando had all their Disney shit crammed into the overheads like sardines. ONE CARRY ON AND ONE PERSONAL ITEM you selfish fucks!! 4 Disney bags is not ONE personal item. THEN- I got to sit next to a heavy-set lady with constant flatulence. I mean CONSTANT. I think the only way that ho could have passed more gas is if a Chevron tanker sailed out her ass. NASTY. And to top it off... she would occasionally reach down and fan her skirt... NO HEFFA, NO!!! No one wants to smell your stank-ness... Don't be fanning it out so everyone else can bask in its glory- that's YOUR funk- keep it to yourself.

I get back to Philly- there is a delay getting my checked bag. I finally get it. The shuttle to go pick up the car.... late. I get to the parking lot. I forgot where the car was parked (big surprise). Finally find it. Get to the exits to pay. The gate won't go up. So I have to wait for them to raise the gate. It was HELL. I just wanted to be home!

I finally get home.

Finally.

Praise Geebus....

I get to sleep. Wake up early- and go to my first day of class for Summer Session II.... that adventure, will be another blog!

"Etiquette tip: More people will get out of your way if you say "I'm gonna puke!" than if you say "Excuse me." ~Unknown