Fake Smile.

There is nothing more obnoxious than faking a smile. I just hate the facial frustration that occurs at those moments. Like your brain is saying act humane, but midway between that synapse and the following through of a smile, (somewhere, perhaps, around the eyebrows) your human soul, (depending on its coloring; black, in this case) adds in its two cents about the whole interaction. This is where the major portion of frustration exudes from the face, causing a hallowing of that smile; a colossal shrink in genuine feeling. And you wind up with a half-developed grimace of awkward "I don't know how to interact normally with you, you are too annoying, but too nice and it is causing a half a$$ grimace display on my head" sort of expression. 

"Why are you being a lunatic about facial expressions Kathleen? That is so trivial."

Yes, human reader, I know. But at this point, you should just already know the flow of my twisted brain matter. 

One such frenzier of my face is this crazy woman in my English class. One of those semi-crazy 40 year old ladies coming back to school. I'm hating English class more and more everyday because of her eye-twitching presence. The first day of class I was riding the social anxiety train as usual, so I sat in this lowly crevice against the wall on the 4th row back. She was in the very back row, behind me. 

So there we are, talking about good ol' Harrison Bergeron and how being the "same" isn't necessarily "equal" and all that dystopian truth hullabaloo. And my professor is making this analogy with glasses, and how if we all wore glasses, we'd be the "same" but our eyesight isn't "equal" cuz them bless-ed peeps with 20/20 would have whacked up vision and all. 

And crazy lady is all, "Well ACTUALLY, it's really more about distance, because if I sit closer to the board, like, *MOVES UP TO THE EFFING 4TH ROW WHERE MY SOCIAL ANXIETY TRAIN IS STATIONED* if I sit here it's better than back there. So it's probably more to do with that than glasses." 

Oooohhhkay Miss Crazy...#1 None of that made any sense, nor was it relevant #2 We're not discussing optic science. #3 WHY MUST YOU SIT NEXT TO ME. Not even a chair in between. 

Row #4:

aisle ||   X   ||   X   ||   CRAZY WOMAN  ||   ME  ||  wall.

why. 


And OF COURSE the seating chart thing is being passed around so now this is the permanent situation. My luck is ridiculous, I tell you.

So now she's always leaning over, asking me super dumb, super random questions. And the evil black sludge of my soul is constantly itching to burst through that fake smile of mine.

One day, perhaps, I'll master it, for the benefit of society. For now I must simply exercise it in order to survive English 2020. Lord help me. 

MY STREET.

My street is full of lunatics. Frankly, Cedar city is chuck-full of lunatics, but the looniest of them all seem to locate themselves to good ol' Cedar Blvd. It's also the Mecca of drug deals and intemperate dogs.

Since I've been biking everywhere all year, I always notice these strange humans lurking out and around their porches, driveways and garages. I started making a game out of it, by using my super nerd brain to memorize where each lunatic lives. I guess that makes me a lunatic worthy of the street I live... 

Anyways. First on the introductions, is  Mr. Vietnam.

Mr. Vietnam is a war veteran, and judging by his ability to walk, I'd say the war with Vietnam. Mr. V. has a jeep and is always wearing his dog tags round his neck. One day he had a garage sale and I went to go check it out before going to work. He had a bunch of crappy toys from his grown children, a rack of scrubs, lots of boxes of books, some pillows, lamps, other odds and ends, etc.

Mr. V. was super friendly when I approached and asked me if I was looking for anything specific, like I was at a regular boutique of some kind. I told him I was just browsing and began with the books. He was just chillin in a camping chair with his cane across him, white hair poking out of an old army cap. Then he went on and on about some dorky series his daughter used to love and directed me to it. I was looking at them, and they did indeed, look extremely dorky. But then I came across an old copy of the Diary of Anne Frank and picked it up.

This then instigated a long, yet brilliant conversation about WWII, Hitler, and Jewish misfortune throughout history. He is one cool old dude. It was a good thing I left for work an hour early, cuz our convo was not brief. Eventually I had to go, but I bought the book before I left.

Mr. V. is my favorite lunatic on my street. He never fails to wave, though I doubt he remembers me. He's just one of those people who doesn't care who you are, where you've been, or where you're going, he just wants to have a good conversation.

THE LIVING ROOM SERIES: #1

Once upon a time, some goddamn genius was designing the SUU student center. And he thought, "Well now, the majority of these freaks probably can't even afford a couch, some may even be homeless. So I'll just make a clown room full of a hodge-podge-hobo-bought-and-eclectic combination of couches." He was an inspired man.

To fully introduce you to this magically fabulous room, I'll go further. There are the popsicle blue couches, mustard yellow couches, and musky scarlet couches, with mustard yellow polka-dots. Some are love seats, some 3 seat-ers, and others cozy armchairs.

Considering the hobo lifestyle I maintained all year, it isn't surprising that this place was my second home. In this home away from home, I encountered many strange, interesting, and sometimes frightening human beings.

In this first account of The Living Room Series, I bring you AWKWARD FLIRTATION FAILS.

Unfortunately my place of study and chill is frequently interrupted by random humans coming in and out, often doing the odd things generally expected of the young twenty-somethings trying to survive college. Things like yelling friends' names in greeting, (equivalent of the level at a junior high pep assembly where the one kid gets up and people want other people to know they know him..), talking in weird hushed voices, consoling some sobbing post-break up friend, or y'know the kids watching anime and eating sour punch straws.

But my personal favorite are the awkward flirting fails.

Today was another case of the weird "hey lets move from group project acquaintances to *eyebrows* something more..."

This poor fellow was floundering for an opening of any kind in their strained conversation of biology project logistics, (which believe it or not he made last longer than 5 whole minutes) in an effort to win this semi-super model looking girl's heart.

Sadly the poor wretch got handed the look most often given to floundering men in such cases-- the look of "oh honey, love; you is kind, you is smart, you is important, but you is not for me." and she unpeeled herself both from the yellow sofa and his unyielding, hopeful stare saying "well, see you at the blah blah time for the blah blah project." with the body language of the  *and exlusively only under those circumstances*

Ah well old chap, better luck next time. As for a positive thought, you at least gave me a chuckle amidst my readings of the spanish inquisition.

Hey.

Yeah. This is my first post and so deal with that fresh, neeeewb blog feeling. 

One thing that I love more than anything is telling a story. Nothing beats a live story telling, but this will suffice. 

A few things you should know before I unleash my memories:

1.) I make up words all the time, and I don't care if my grammar is correct so don't be a prat about it.

2.) I think lots of people are morons.
3.) I am extremely wordy and long winded. Not in an "I use smart, overly intellgent words" kind of wordy, just in an "I use more words than necessary to explain myself" kind of wordy. 

4.) There will be overuse of the word "moron" but that's simply because it's my favorite.
5.) I will mention names. But not in a slanderous way. 
6.) I will slanderously mention weirdos I have encountered but I have fake names for them.
7.) I have an out of control imagination so minor exaggerations are frequent.

I think that's all.

HEREWEGO.