Posts Tagged ‘it’s possible that i’m a bad person’

Sometimes I wish I could bring you all to class with me. Because I’m afraid that words won’t do it justice.

I’ve told you about history class with Professor Jason Statham and SmugJGU. And I was fairly confident that SmugJGU would be the entertainment for the semester. But, not only does my class have that guy, we also have that girl.

I noticed it on the first day of class when, in the course of introductions she told us that a) she was an Army brat, and therefore incapable of having a hometown (and was incredulous that PJS should even ask), b) she speaks several languages and, because of that, when it took her some time to answer a question she apologized, “I’m sorry, I don’t think in English,” and c) she’s an overachiever, a statement that was somehow meant to differentiate her from the rest of the class.

And I really, really wish you could hear her tone.

Maybe smarter isn't the right word. Maybe it should be nicer, or less pretentious, or less wrong.

In any case, the second week of class she was gone, and I thought that I’d gotten lucky, but it only was a tease. She’s been back in action the past few weeks and “better” than ever.

Very often, when she contributes to discussion, it’s so harsh a comment that no one knows how to follow it up, and the conversation just dies. Other times, she’s blatantly wrong, and I get an inordinate amount of pleasure listening to PJS correct her.

And yesterday, as we were talking in breakout groups about the Enola Gay, and everything that it represented – even more than being the plane that essentially ended World War II – she argued that she didn’t see what the big deal was. It was just a plane. And so PJS turned to our group and told her, “That’s kind of the whole point. We’re talking about things in history that have become symbols, and have taken on a greater meaning.

Apparently she embraced that, because later in the big group discussion on whether or not symbols can be taken away from you, she declared, “They can take my symbology from me when I’m dead!

I did a double take. All I could think of was Boondock Saints: “Symbology? I’m sure the word you were looking for was *symbolism.* What is the symbolism?

Unfortunately, no one else seemed to notice. Or they were just trying to avoid engaging her (no one responded), as it rarely ends well. But I giggled to myself, and vowed to keep better track of her comments for pure entertainment purposes.

I don’t know what we’re going to do when it’s her turn to actually lead discussion.

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This past weekend was amazing, but exhausting. And I want to do it justice, so the race recap will just have to wait. (I know, I know – you’re so disappointed.) But we did have a somewhat interesting encounter at the race expo, the day before.

At the expos, if you’ve never been, there are booths set up selling all sorts of running gear, offering promo deals on upcoming races, showcasing new products, etc.

Not ours, but you get the idea

Not ours, but you get the gist

And there are also clinics and presentations put on by some of the VIPs of the running world. The one we got to see was John “The Penguin” Bingham.

From his website, just to give you and idea:

Once an overweight couch potato with a glut of bad habits, including smoking and drinking, at the age of 43 Bingham looked mid-life in the face—and started running. Since then, he has completed 40 marathons and hundreds of 5K and 10K races—and developed a whole new outlook.

If you’d asked me a year ago who he was, I’d have had no idea. Not even an educated guess. But he has a lot of good advice for both new and experienced runners, and he gave a great talk on Saturday. And he dealt supremely well with that guy.

You know that guy. The one who always has something to say on any subject. The one who fancies himself more knowledgeable than the experts. And the one who can’t seem to help but interrupt anyone and everyone – even himself at times. Because he really just wants to share his experience and advice – even when it’s not asked for.

Yeah, that guy was at the clinic.


And during the question and answer portion, he asked John (the one who has written books on the subject), if he could give a little advice as well. John humored him, but that apparently just opened the floodgates. Every question that followed, That Guy had something to add. At one point, he proceeded to debate an issue that could have been opened and closed within a minute (maybe two).

You would think he’d get the hint if he had observed the crowd reaction at all. I know that MJ and I weren’t the only ones rolling our eyes and making the “really? you’re still talking?” faces. But if that didn’t do it, you’d think that this quote from John would have (after That Guy started to give more unsolicited advice): “Usually, I work alone.

Now sure, it was said in fun. But come on, buddy. Take a hint!

We walked away from the clinic, laughing about it, thinking how funny it would be if we actually did run into him the following day, in a race of about 16,000 people.

And as we left the race that next afternoon, who did we see, leaning against the fence, and probably passing on more of his so-called wisdom?

That Guy.

What are the odds?

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This is another one of those stories that isn’t really mine – and I thank God for that. It belongs to another sorority sister, except, well, she doesn’t think it’s true. But we’ll get to that. All in due time.

We were in our sophomore year of college at yet another sorority formal, and there was (of course) a commotion in the bathroom. Cla had gone to check on Clueless at the request of her date, as she’d been gone for quite some time. The scene she happened upon was confusing and chaotic, to say the least. Clueless was in the stall, on the floor, and one of her roommates, Hoolia, was crouched next to her. Hoolia saw Cla come in, and turned back to Clueless: “Honey, look. Cla’s here now. Just let us help you.

And just as Cla was about to ask what was going on and what they needed help with, Calk came running in: “I’ve got the scissors!

Scissors? In the bathroom? What the…

Yeah. Clueless had shat herself. Her thong had to be cut off of her before she was taken to the hospital. So, obviously, when she woke up, she was sans underwear.

Forgotten by the next day? Not exactly...

Forgotten by the next day? Not exactly...

The next day, while talking to another of her roommates, Faux Southern Belle, Clueless expressed curiosity about where her thong had gotten to.

FSB [after only slight hemming and hawing]: “Honey, you pooped your pants.”

With anyone else, it could have ended there, albeit with a certain amount of embarrassment, and the acknowledgment that perhaps Clueless should be a Sober Sister at the next function. But, no.

Clueless: “No, I don’t think that’s what happened. I think they just had to take them off at the hospital. I mean, I really only got sick because I just drank the champagne really fast at the pre-game.”

Oh really? Is that how you remember it? Because there are at least 15 people who know differently, and another 50 (or more), who’ve heard from them.

So how, exactly, do you convince someone that she shat herself?

Apparently, you don’t. To this day, she still doesn’t accept that it happened.

On the one hand, I feel a little bit bad. Everyone at the formal knew nearly as soon as it happened. Even her date.

On the other hand, she was a 20-year-old girl who pooped her pants and tried to deny it, even WITH witnesses!

Good luck, sweetie. *You* may not remember it, but we all sure as hell do.

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