dangers of off-road vehicles

a day never goes by, without my life almost escaping my grasp. the reason for this? bicyclists and skateboarders. they are a dangerous nuisance.

i would be minding my own business, walking down a skinny side walk, when a cyclist speeds toward me, fully expecting me to move to the side. i do, to the minimal extent. i intend on not giving an inch to these irresponsible idiots. they ride by, so close, my hair whips up in irritated response.

take for instance, today. after lab at four, i began making my way back to the dorms, focused on the walk, when i heard a faceless someone struggling to pedal behind me. i huffed and moved to the side. only to be nearly impaled by a guy and his beach cruiser. apparently when i sided right, he sided right. right into me. well almost. i gave him a look, and he said sorry, but sorry doesn't make my heart go back to normal. i resumed my fast walking, and he trailed slowly along behind me, like a stalker, until we reached the pavement where he sped and passed me. grrrr....

the skateboarders are ten times as dangerous. they roll off at alarming speeds, down populated walkways, without any thought to all the lives they could crash into. i haven't had an instance yet, but i am just waiting. just waiting for the day.

the interrupted shower

i was sitting here blogging, when an memory suddenly assailed my senses.

it was awhile ago when i was taking a shower, perhaps at about ten o clock at night, and i was concentrating fully on getting my body and hair cleaned in a timely manner (thirty minutes is the quickest i get), when someone else came in to take a shower too. not surprising in the least.

both of us were absorbed within each of our cubicles, when i hear the door open and a masculine voice shout out.

i jumped and automatically covered my womanly parts, my heart racing. wtf?

i stood stock still and listened to what the voice had to say.

hey (girl's name) do you want me to keep you company?

my eyes bulged at this offer. i was silently going a little crazy at this unexpected turn of events.

then my heart quieted down, as my neighbor replied with a giggling, no.

perhaps then, the boy had noticed me, a stranger naked behind the rubber ducky shower curtain.

the horrors of garage sale-ing

you know when at first you are really excited and upbeat about something, and then when you come upon it face to face, you back away and shrivel up? yeah. this is how garage sale-ing affects me.

so friday night, when the paper was brought up, courtesy of scary gary, i pounced on it at the first chance i got. i had the crazy whim to go garage sale-ing the next day. reminiscing back, i realized that i hadn't gone to a garage sale in nigh eight years. my nostalgia, unfortunately did not arrive with the requisite and remembered feelings that were coupled with the memory.

so armed with a battered newspaper listing all of the local garage sales, six highlighted with a big yellow box, i persuaded mother k to chauffeur me to all of my desired locations. she grudgingly agreed.

we headed down one street, then another, and then arrived at betty lane. the site of the first promising sale. as the car drove closer to the place, my temple began to ache, hands became clammy, and pulse reacted radically to a sudden "flight or fight" response. i crouched down in my seat and managed to painfully whisper out a "backup backup backup leave leave leave" to mother k, who promptly ignored my unexpected histrionics.

she ignored, parked, braked, and turned off the car. expecting me to unglue myself from the seat and leave my safe place. i finally made myself, and together we made our way to the scantily populated garage sale. and by scantily populated i mean scantily populated in people and items. i had nabbed a dud.

we forced ourselves to smile at the owners and provide the expected hello, and then we made ourselves take a quick and fleeting tour of the sale (remarking upon the slightly exorbitant prices of antique trunks and an old door) and then we made our escape.

afterwards, we laughed at the outrageousness that one garage sale can incur upon ones emotions, and then mother k rebuked me for unknowingly choosing a garage sale that had opened the previous day.

obviously, she said, there won't be anything good left. she was right.

cornfl*ke

recently scary gary had a fit of impetigo. and when he has impetigo he HAS impetigo. not little mouth sore. but BIG mouth sore. poor man. poor wife who has to kiss it.

so last week i ventured home to hang, and when i walked through the door i was greeted with scary gary, his impetigo, the scab over his impetigo and his lips rushing forward to kiss me "welcome home."

i was horrified. i stepped back and in my startled shock yelled out

get that cornflake away from me!

thus his new nickname: affectionately, cornflake.

a brief personality summary of scary gary: he is tremendously vain about his appearance. quite succinct but it does the job. he must have been born with more than a regular amount of feminine genes evidenced by the amount of time he spends inspecting himself in the mirror. i'm surprised he doesn't use hair gel.

so after using his new name quite frequently (ex. dip that cornflake in some milk man!, mommy wants some cereal!, well you've got breakfast to-go today!)frustration began to mount in his attitude. and one night it erupted.

hey cornflake! i shouted. as we were gathered around the television. he turned to me and shouted back
hey buttflake!
and when scary gary resorts to such crude terms, its business time.

mother k interjected with a

don't say that scary gary, that is rude and uncalled for.

i smirked. scary gary blew up in an explosion that rivaled mt vesuvius.

tell her to stop calling me cornflake! i'd rather be called buttflake or even scab face!

he pouted.

me and mother k giggled at his obvious and unwarranted offense to my creative and grainy term of endearment.

so now, i try to alleviate his offense with saying hey cornfl*ke instead. censoring out the important a. yet still getting my meaning across.

point one june jaynes. point oh scary gary.

oh. go talk to a tree. and pretend its me.

ever since sister c has acquired a boy toy, i never hear enough of her voice.

he looked into my eyes. he held my hand. he whispered i love you. he kissed my neck. he said i was his beautiful girl. he said i was sexy. ooooh! he kissed my...

let me tell you my opinion on this romantic diarrhea of the mouth that this girl insists on spilling to me.

all i want to hear about her date night, is the bare minimum. not the oohey gooey names he called her or the sugary looks he gave her, just if they kissed (tongue, lips ect...)and if she had a good time. not the frou frou or sprinkles on the cupcake. just the cupcake. no. just the crumb of the cupcake.

so now i don't ask how the date went. i pretend it didn't happen. and when we are both sitting in a library study room (she supposedly studying and me reading) my ignorance gets her goat. and all is spilled. and all is revealed. every minute of her mouth makes me cringe inside and outside, makes my hands fly up to cover my eyes, and makes my mouth open in a desperate and hysterical laugh.

my present tactic to stem her never ending flow, is this:

sister c. go talk to a tree. and pretend its me.

all she does is her outraged laugh. and continues to force her monologue upon me.

the guy i see everywhere

so there's this guy. he's tall, wears vagrant reminiscent clothing, has brown midlength dredlocks, smokes, and wanders. and i see him everywhere.

and not just while walking to class, where i may see the same people every other day, but also when i happen to be going somewhere at an odd hour of the day to an odd location.

perhaps to the library at six thirty, or to the science building early, or maybe just on my way back from being late at the photo lab. i always happen to run into him. and this has happened such an inordinate amount that i have been unable to write it off as being coincidental. now, i write it off as being preordained.

sometimes, when i come upon him, i want to walk up to his face and say: gosh! i see you everywhere! but since he smokes, i have no desire to be surrounded by the toxic haze, even if its coming from his lips (or through his nostrils).

instead, i neglect making straight eye contact and go on my way, pretending i did not just see
the guy i see
everywhere.