When I left the “safety” of my apartment this afternoon after boldly choosing to skip class for the first time this semester, the weather mimmicked that of a steaming tropical forest; sticky, humid, and heavy. Approximately an hour later, rain is pouring down in sheets and the temperature has dropped a good twenty degrees. I’m so cold. I am seriously regretting my decision to not bring my umbrella and to wear only shorts and a t-shirt.
If I was a magician, I would magically produce a parka, long-johns, a steaming chai tea latte, and rubber boots at my disposal, and I would wear the shit out of that parka, let me tell you. Walking to and from buildings is hell, except that hell is warm and toasty and the Iowa City version of hell is dismal, freezing, and wet. I’m surprised my body hasn’t tried rapidly adapting to the climate change by sprouting hair from my arms, legs, back and neck to cope with the polar chill I’m exposing it to. CRIPES.
Anyway, the point is, Jumanji was a kickass movie, and I plan on going to great lengths to get my hands on it.
I’m in the IMU ITC. It is cozy, to my delight. I am eating ketchup packets in front of people again. I think I have just about completed my Survey of Film paper, which is a load off of my plate; a plate consisting of two more 3-4 page essays for Sex & Pop Culture, and another 4-6 page essay for Creative Non-Fiction. Fack. These assignments are really getting in the way of my weekend agenda. Saturday is going to be a solid block of inebriation seeing as it’s game day, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting something as trivial as a good GPA get in the way of that. Ha. No sir.
I am munching on green grapes, and am enjoying them whole-heartedly. I wonder what one would classify grapes as in the fruit family. They aren’t a berry or a citrus. Kehly proposes they are a “seeded fruit.” I accused her of making that category up. She admitted to it. I still don’t know what a grape is. They’re good though. I’ll put them in the “good” category. Berry, citrus, melon, good. That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.
I again nearly got run down by a madman on a bike today. I really don’t ever want to actually get hit by a bike. Or a vehicle. There are a lot of things I never want to do; get AIDS, get hit by a car, get an M.I.P., meet Tyra Banks—but the one thing I really never want to experience is being sprayed by a skunk. That would suck ass. I’malready testing the waters with my personal lack of hygiene. I don’t need the rancid stench of skunk juice to help me out. I would be plagued for weeks, and would probably carry a hint of that “something’s just not right” pungency for the remainder of the year, no matter how much perfume I used or how many acid baths I took. This can probably all be easily avoided if I steer clear of forests, road shoulders, and dumpsters, but a girl’s gotta eat, ya know?
“There’s an old saying in Tennessee–I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee–fool me once, shame on—shame on you. Fool me can’t get fooled again.”