Going to an Environmental Geology class as an English Literature and Language major is preposterous. I don’t care about the movement of the earth’s continental and ocean plates. I just don’t. Someone write some fiction involving ocean: continental convergence and then maybe we’ll talk. While I was stewing in my lonesome aura of hatred, I started looking around the lecture hall to see who I could direct some of that hatred to. What I realized in that process are the following things:
I don’t get why some girls make the conscious decision to wear a baseball cap and dangly, ornate earrings simultaneously. If you are in so much of a hurry that you can’t be bothered to comb your hair, then at least commit to the look. Go with “I’m not a girly girl, I can hang with the dudes” instead of “I haven’t washed my hair in 4 days, but I can’t bear to tell my ears”. Annoying.
I don’t understand short-sleeved sweaters. Not a sweater in the sense that it’s an amazing ivory cashmere number, but more like a bulky “my great-aunt crocheted this for me over Christmas break” , don’t have to suck in your stomach when you sit down type of sweater. Clearly the point is not aesthetic. So it must be warmth, right? Then WHY WOULD YOU CHOOSE ONE WITHOUT SLEEVES? To layer up and get that sleek color block look starting at the most unflattering part of the arm? Of course. How could I have even wondered?
Standing in line for anything is completely degrading. I mean, just think about it. Little kids line up at recess because they can’t be trusted to proceed in an orderly fashion. The poor and downtrodden lined up in the streets to wait for their meager handout of bread during the Great Depression. I am obviously putting too much negative thought into this whole queue business but to this day I feel slight resentment toward whoever forces me to wait in a line. (Here’s where you go “ah…the superiority complex she mentioned…”)
Let me go ahead and take myself down a few notches:
Here’s something I love. Guys with arms that are hairier than mine. Thank you. Without you I would never date. At all. You make me feel like a natural woman. I’m a hairy beast, if you haven’t figured that out yet. Waxing or wiping off the hair with a depilatory cream resulted in what I’ll call “The great mole scare of 2009”. Without the hair, my arms are frighteningly pale and a veritable minefield of moles/freckles. It’s freaky! So…there you are. I’m a gross, weird, hairy freak.