"Once they begin to move, no more news comes out of that area." - War of the Worlds

....which pretty much covers my status until after October 4th...when I will be moved into my new house and will have time to converse again with the Internet....

"OOPS? No, Ed. Oops is falling down an elevator shaft. Oops is skinny dipping in a school of pirrahna. This was no OOPS. This was AAGGHH!"

First let me explain my morning....wait...let's start last night...hell...let's get a good look at this week....

Monday was a holiday....I worked....then stayed up LATE working on my physics homework.

Tuesday was spent sitting crouched over that same physics HW...then class...then work...then at work till 12:30pm finishing that HW with one of my bosses (I LOVE YOU SCOTT :)).

Wednesday was class/HW from 8 am until 8 pm....then home to read up on lab work for today.

This morning (Thursday) I woke up @ 6 (yes dang it, that is early) because I have Geology lab @ 8 am...which really is a crime in itself...but I woke up, let Chloe outside, and went into the bathroom to shower, make-up, hair....etc. Let me just say...at this point I knew I was tired and this week was taking its toll, but I was wholly unaware that I was in a bad mood.

Sometime in the middle of this ritual, I hear my roommate come out of his room and walk to the bathroom. He stops when he sees me in there, and I just turned and said, "Sucks to be you huh?"

WHAT?! He hadn't done ANYTHING wrong except walk in on me and my bad mood! I mumbled my apologies to his dropped jaw and shut the door for his protection.

When I was ready to head out, I went downstairs and saw that my other roommate had cleaned the living room and dining room while I slept (THANKS B)...normally a real mood lifter...but evidently not.

I got to school, got my soy Chai latte and went to lab...at which point I walked in right as he was beginning lecture and spilled my latte all over the table.

(aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhh......normally that would be in caps, but I lack the energy...)

So I ran to the bathroom to get towels, cleaned it up and proceeded to test a bunch of rocks...

When it was over, I thought "Finally, a BREAK!" I had every intention of curling up in chair for half an hour (before starting my microbiology lab report) and reading something educationally worthless! Like a smut novel, or Harry Potter....

So on my way to my favorite cushy chair on campus, I stopped for another latte since I got 2 sips from the first one....and I saw this girl....

Let me first say that this girl was LARGE...I know large....she was MUCH larger than that... and she had one of those walking cast/boot things and one crutch (both of which I am also intimately acquainted)....all of these factors meant she was going SLOW....but come on, poor thing was probably in a worse mood than me!

So as I waited for her to pass so I could get to my cushy chair, these two guys in the frat boy uniform (polo shirt in some neon color, khaki shorts, and deck shoes) come up behind her and start loudly going "Damn! That girl is BIG."

And that's when it happened...I accidentally (on purpose) lost my second (HOT) latte of the day all down the front of their uniforms....

I really am not fit to be around people today....

"I didn't say he was handsome, I said he was handy." - Driving Miss Daisy

I am going to just ignore the MASS amount of time that I have gone without writing...because then I can deny it later!

So the Fall school semester started last week. I am taking 15 hours of -ology's and -isics's, and all tab time that entails. The first couple of days are always annoying. Why? Because the campus is overrun with Freshmen. If you completely ignore the fact that I hate them for their youth, they are still ripe with annoying behavior that cannot go ignored. For that purpose I have devised a list of three Do's and Don'ts for these barely-post pubescent vexations.

1) I understand that campus is big, sprawling, and rather confusing until you start to get to know your way around. You will never hear me tease the lot of you for carrying around your maps. HOWEVER, when you decide to stop and look at that map, DO NOT do it in the middle of the flipping sidewalk with no warning what-so-ever to those of us walking behind you! You will get run over!

2) Your mothers do not live here. They do not come behind you and clean up your messes, nor do they come before you and do the little things that keep your life running smoothly. Also, I am not your mother. I will NOT clean your plates up off the table at the Deli. I don't care what your dorm/apartment/off-campus house looks like, but on campus, we share space, so clean it up.No, I will not hold your place in line WHILE you shop for text books. You are going to have to wait in line holding all those big books just like the rest of us.

and finally....

3) Most of you (especially those of you living over in West Campus who drive brand new foreign cars) have never before used public transportation and are therefore confused about the bus system around campus. Again, I am fine with the necessary learning curve here. HOWEVER, should you ever be sitting on the bus in those seats up front that face each other (and this goes doubley...no, trippley for you "men") and an elderly person, or disabled person get on the bus, DO immediately get up off your selfish asses and give them a seat. (EX: Sitting on the bus Monday I saw a blind woman tap-tap-tap her way onto the bus. The bus driver had to get up and walk back to the group of map-toting young people occupying those seats and ask them if they minded giving the woman a seat. SERIOUSLY? I have never been more ashamed of anyone in my life!)

So okay, I know a lot of the freshmen on campus aren't all this obnoxious....but for those of you who are, while the official UT policy is NO HAZING, keep pissing off the upper-classmen and see where that gets you....I mean most of the people in the annual Undie Run do it voluntarily....but not all of them.....

"a) You're blocking my view. b) Which view is that? a) The one you're blocking!" -- Charade

I spent today on campus studying. Not an abnormal Sunday for me....

However, when I got the my favorite little cubby in the Union....someone was already there....so, I went to my second favorie....taken.....and so on....

So I wondered around a while and found the Meditation Room. The instructions on the door only said that the room was designated to be used for quiet reflection. Inside the room was only a rug and a small wooden rack. I had no idea what the rack was for, but I thought "Eh....I'm gonna go reflect on my Genetics Exam" and made myself comfortable on the rug.

I had been there for a few hours, amazed by how quiet and perfect this little room was! No one had come in, no one was loudly talking on a cell phone, no one was foolish enough to believe that ear buds make a difference when you have the volume turned all the way up on your iPod. I had gotten so much done, I decided to take a break and looked around. For me, the dominating feature of the room was the very large window, which from my view, perfectly framed tower. I sat there ruminating on the view and all that the tower represents when I noticed that my perfect view was marred. Right in the middle of the window was a very large glob of bird poop.

As I am trying to ignore the poop, the door to the Meditation Room opens, and in streams a group of Muslims that are looking at me with utter confusion....and I know.....

The pretty rug I am sprawled across....the rack in the corner, a perfect size for holding shoes, but that is now being used to prop up my genetics notes.....the very large window with a clear view of the Eastern sky....I am in their prayer room! I am actually disrespecting their prayer room.

I quickly gathered up my things and practically ran from the room, but as I looked back over my shoulder to make sure I hadn't left my coffee up on a picture of Muhammad or anything, I again saw the bird doo.

Let that be a lesson....things may seem absolutely perfect, but that just means you haven't noticed the shit yet!

Accentuate the Positive

So I know I have been absent lately, but I am taking an expository writing class this semester that is taking all of my creative juices. This is something I wrote for that class....what do you think?



I grew up in Southeast Texas, close enough to the Louisiana border to smell the gumbo and to spend my formative years speaking a smattering of broken English, Spanish, and a few choice French phrases. In my hometown of Woodville, TX, we celebrated Cinco de Mayo every May, yelled “Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez” (Let the good times roll!) before all hell broke loose on Saturday nights, and sat—without a touch of irony—in a Baptist pew on Sunday mornings with cowboy boots on our feet. My upbringing was a blend of very distinct cultures. Because of these cultures, you can only imagine the mix of accents and idioms that came out of my mouth every time I opened it.

The funny thing about all of this is that I had no idea that I sounded different than anyone else. I was in the middle of a community where everyone sounded just like me. My best friend growing up had a father much like my own, who spoke in a constant string of Texan idioms. My favorite has always been the one we heard most often. Anytime we asked to do something to which he had already repeatedly told us “no”, he would turn to us and say, “Girls, we done stomped them taters.” My own father hated nothing more than my brother and I trying to pull the wool over his eyes. He would frustratingly remind us that he “didn’t fall off the turnip truck last night.” So, as dad would say, I “came by it honest.”

Of course, the way I spoke was only the frame around the picture of my cultural identity. I was the Fair Queen in my junior year of high school. My duties included helping the following year’s auction of the animals at the fair, getting my pictures taken with all the stars of the show-chickens, cows, and pigs-and announcing all the winners of the various competitions. My rival at the time, knowing I would have to announce her pig if she won, named it Amy Sue just so I would have to say, “And this year’s Grand Champion hog...Amy Sue!” Who says Southerners are slow?

Basically, I lived the life that is so commonly associated with the accent-the good parts anyway. However, during my first semester at UT, only three classes into a linguistics course, my professor asked me to stay after class and speak into a recorder. She told me that I had the “worst Texas accent” she had ever heard, and so she set out to determine its origin. That's right; I had my very own Pygmalion moment. I couldn’t understand why, at a university in the heart of Texas, attention was being focused on me for having a Texas accent. And it wasn’t just that professor. Most of my new friends in Austin from all over the country, loved to tease Amy Sue, the girl with two names and the accent to match.

“Professor Higgins” was the beginning of the end for me. I knew that I wanted to be a doctor some day, and I set out to lose the accent so that as an MD, I would never walk into a room and say, "Aight what we gonna do today is, take this here needle and poke ya in da behind. So drop yer draws now." Because honestly, there were doctors in my home town that had done just that, many times. In Woodville, this works, but not if I want to practice medicine anywhere else.

Over the next few years, I practiced distinguishing between words that had never sounded different coming from my mouth. “Ten” was no longer a metal, “pens” were never used for sewing, and I stripped the word “y’all” from my vocabulary. Diction became my new religion. Crooked things were no longer referred to as wompajawed, and I ceased getting “drunk as Cooter Brown”—well I ceased calling it that anyway. I almost completely turned away from the cultures that had defined my identity for eighteen years. What can I say? At eighteen, and in a university with a freshman class three times the size of my hometown, I was easily swayed from my true identity.

I now know what my true identity is, because whenever my guard is down—either from being back home, really tired, or drunk as…well, you get it—my accent and all that it entails, comes streaming out of my mouth and gives me away. I discovered during my hiatus from myself, a few life-changing truths. First, denying yourself is very exhausting, so one way or another, our true colors tend to show. And second, that the stereotypes I was so desperately trying to avoid in myself still drew me to others who filled those stereotypes in my eyes (or more accurately, ears).

I have given up trying to deny my heritage, and therefore, no longer feel the need to hide the accent. The more I meet people with different stories to tell about how they grew up, the prouder I am of my own story. To the rest of the world, people who speak like I spoke, are slow-witted rednecks. But, the veterinarian who shows up at his daughter’s basketball games smelling of…well…shit, and tells his daughter, “Don’t be shy darlin’, daddy just smells like money,” probably attended more of her games that year than the investment banker in some big city who’s perfectly-pressed suit only ever smells of designer cologne.

My own father kicks off his shoes wherever we are because he hates the feel of them on his feet, after a childhood of only having uncomfortable hand-me-downs. I was in high school when he and my mother bought their first home. He hadn’t bought himself a new car until after they bought the house. Yet, when I graduated high school, I drove off to college in a sporty little car right off the lot, because my dad worked to provide things for his family that he himself had never known.

Sure, they are simple people, with simple pleasures. My dad’s most prized possession is his boat he named Knot @ Work, and he and my mom spend as many sunny days possible out on the lake by their house. Summer nights are spent with friends grilling or having a crawfish boil and fish fry. I guess that makes them come across as slow, or lazy, but these same people rally when something goes wrong. When I was in junior high, my dad was in a hunting accident, and the whole town raised money to help us out. I still remember how one of my brother’s friends, who was still in elementary school, sold eight hundred dollars worth of tickets to a Spaghetti Dinner that the local Lion’s Club hosted to raise funds for our family.

Are these the people I am so scared to be mistaken for? Sure, my mom has actually asked me to “run out and shoot another squirrel for the pot” (and I have done it), but she and my dad have also taught me how to sew, knit, cook award-winning meals (without a single squirrel), and change the oil in my car.

Knowing my love and respect for these people, it is truly no wonder that even in this tiny blue dot in my red state, I found and moved in with a friend who at least once a week comes into my room to ask me, “Jeet yet?” To which I reply, “Naw, ju?”

“Naw. Yawnto?” he asks.

“Aight,” I mumble, “whatcha want?”

He’ll stare at the ceiling for a minute as though he is thinking, but the answer is always the same. “How bout sumya fried chicken with a nice scald on it.”

I strived to separate myself from the negative side of the stereotype commonly associated with my accent. The only way I knew how to do that, was to kick off the accent like a pair of well-worn boots. Those boots aren’t a part of my everyday attire anymore because they don’t fit like they used to. However, from time to time, they find their way out of the back of the closet and onto my feet. So, whether I still sound like someone from Woodville or not, I whole-heartedly claim them as my people, and I pray that I never again forget why. I mean, y’all couldn’t beat this life with a stick!

In Vino Veritas

Every time my mom and I get on the phone, the conversation starts like this....

Me: Hola Madracita! Como estas? (Hi Little Mama! How are you?)

Mom: Estoy bien! Y tu? (I'm good! You?)

Me:Bien, Bien.... (Good, good....)

And then we switch to English, because that is all the Spanish Mom knows....

However today's conversation went more like this.....

Me: Hola Madracita! Como estas? (Hi Little Mama! How are you?)

Mom: Oh, bien, bien, bien MUY bien.... (Oh, good, good, good, VERY good.....)

Me: Wow, what makes you MUY bien?

Mom: Vino! (Wine!)

-----

Ok.....guess mom learned a new Spanish word!

"I've heard a rant like this before!" -- Dogma

Rant Day....(in no particular order)

10) Organic Chemistry is the HARDEST CLASS EVER....if you are an engineering major and you think that ALL of your classes are harder than this one...then you should have picked a different major....cuz it's just you!

9) Yes....I have read the Twilight Series and actually enjoyed it! BACK OFF!

8) No, I have not seen the Bond movies and have no immediate plans to correct this....

7) Truth is about perception....If I say you have an accent, it is because I perceive it to be true....If you say that I am the one with the accent, it is because you perceive that to be true....we are both right....can we please move on now?

6) High heels hurt. Yeah they look good, but I don't always feel like re-attaching my toes when I get home, so I don't usually wear them. If I do feel an occasion is special enough to wear heels, please do not make a big issue out of it, because odds are I will have kicked them off in about an hour anyway.

5) Yes, I am often considered "One of the Guys" in our little group, and I will shotgun a beer and belch right along with you, pound your fist when something funny is said, and laugh at fart jokes....but please remember that I am a girl....so if we are running late because I can't decide if these shoes match that purse....adjust! (And maybe this would go faster, if you would be "One of the Girls" from time to time and tell me which ones match!)

4) Chipping a nail IS a big deal...

3) I have a black thumb...plants left in my care WILL die...I have accepted this....so should you...

2) I will leave the clock on my nightstand there...yes, it has been blinking for over six months now, but I am sure I will set it eventually....leave it alone!

And the most important....

1) Irish car bombs do NOT taste like chocolate milk....what the hell kind of milk was your momma feeding you? Men the world wide try to pass this lie off on unsuspecting women...this lie is second only to "Just the tip...."!

"Bears derive their name from a football team in Chicago," -- Strange Wilderness

It made me smile....