Dear History "Teacher"

Dear History "teacher",

     While I appreciate that our midterm consists of simply our first and second tests pasted together in one document, and that it is a take home exam, I'm adding both second test/midterm to my long list of grievances. We've only received our first test back with corrections; yes having the second test with corrections as well may seem like too much of a "gimme" but I assure you it's necessary. Why? Because if it's not in the book, not in the notes, and we didn't discuss it in class, it should not be in a test in the first place. The fact that you have chosen to include such questions regarding information we are supposed to magically pluck from the ether not once, but twice, is pretty damn frustrating. 

     I have a book on my lap. I have the class notes/my own reading notes open in front of me. I write down every single word you say, usually because I can not believe half the things that come out of your mouth. If I am going to these lengths to complete a test that you, on our urging, drafted "completely from the notes this time", and I STILL can not be confident in my answers, there is a problem. 

    Perhaps I will take the route you often suggest when students ask you a question about the subject you are teaching; I'll Google it. At this point, I have more confidence in attaining accurate information from the internet than from you.

Thanking you for allowing me to realize I want to become a teacher, if only to prevent a small fraction of future generations from having similar experiences to the ones we're having with you,

Panda

PS
You do realize that giving everyone a flat 90% on the last assignment, regardless of their individual effort, actually HURT my average don't you?

PPS
Despite your unprofessional and unprovoked in-class comment of "Don't think you're smarter than me now. . cause you're not", I am, and everyone else in the class thinks so too.

Soup (part 1) - Times I Could Have Died (or felt like it)

     Continuing on the subject of things that could have killed me, I give you soup. Yes, soup. I never said I was smart.




     At some point in my childhood in Indonesia, I was read the story "Stone Soup".

     You may have read it too. For those of you that aren't familiar:
    

In "Stone Soup", a stranger comes upon a poor village. The people there are destitute and regard the stranger with a suspicious eye. The stranger walks into an inn and inquires about a meal. The innkeeper tells the stranger that they have no real food to offer. The stranger responds that all he needs is a large pot, water to fill it, and a fire. After getting the water boiling, the stranger pulls out a magical stone from his pocket and announces that he will be making his favorite meal, stone soup. After dropping the stone in the water, he declares that there will be enough food for everyone. Called by the promise of food, the rest of the villagers come out of their homes and gather around.

     The stranger tells the villagers that stone soup is delicious, but even better with some cabbage. A villager offers up a cabbage, the only piece of food he had, and the stranger adds it to the pot. The stranger continues to request more ingredients, one at a time. Each time he says that the soup is already delicious, but will be even better for it. Each villager contributes something; in the end all manner of vegetables, meats, and herbs have been added to the pot. The entire village enjoys a delicious hearty meal and thanks the stranger for the use of his magical stone. The stranger then reveals that it was an ordinary stone all along.

     You may have also been read a similar book entitled "Yuck Soup" (I was).

      In "Yuck Soup", the author takes the story of "Stone Soup" and tweaks a bit to make it more appealing to first graders. There are no poor villagers, just a bunch of silly hungry monsters having some fun in a distant land. There is no noble stranger, just a bunch of silly hungry monsters having some fun in a distant land. Instead of vegetables, meat, and herbs, the monsters use ingredients that ramp up that "yuck" factor, like car tires. The story is basically that of monsters saying,

     "Hey! I'm hungry!"

     "Me too!"

     "Let's make some soup!"
     "Yeah! Let's put some soap in it!" 

                   *pause for all the little kids to say "eeeeeeeewwww!"*

     "Mmmm! And tires!"

                    *pause for all the little kids to break into giggles and say "eeeeewww!"*

     Of course, the message intended by both of these books is one of cooperation. If you all work together, you can achieve a common goal. You might even have fun doing it.

     That is not the message I got. The teacher had not exactly bothered to explain to 5 year olds why the stone not being magical in "Stone Soup" was a big deal. I personally left story time feeling like I'd been gypped by the author.

     "There was absolutely no need for that last twist," I thought to myself,

     "That doesn't even make sense. I don't get why the stupid villagers didn't just make soup to begin with! There must have been a reason, so the stone must have been magical."

     It wasn't until after hearing the story of "Yuck Soup" that it all made sense to me. Suddenly I formulated the purpose of the previous story. The stone hadn't been magical at all! It wasn't the stone!

*wide eyed*    .....You can make a fucking soup out of ANYTHING.

     My 6 year old mind had decided that, clearly, there was some kind of special science that applied to only soup. I wasn't sure how this science worked, but apparently absolutely ANYTHING could go into a container of boiling water and make something both edible and delicious. My friend Heather and I became obsessed with making Yuck Soup.


     Heather would come over and we would immediately change into our swimsuits and go out to the backyard. We'd play around in the pool for a while until we were sure my parents were some place out of the way. Then, we'd run inside to the kitchen and get some sort of container. Not being very tall, sometimes we would have to use a Styrofoam cup. If we were out of cups, we used my plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack.

     In Indonesia our tap water was fine for showering or brushing teeth, but questionable for ingesting unless it was boiled. The drinking water was delivered in jugs then put into a dispenser, similar to an office water cooler except it also had a hot water tap. Since I wasn't allowed to use the stove yet,  I would take the container to the water dispenser. The water from the dispenser was hot, but by no means hot enough to actually cook something.

     We'd race back outside with the water, put it on the brick next to the pool, and search for more ingredients to put in our Yuck Soup.

     "A Stone? Yeah! Of course! I'll just pull this one out of the yard. . hmm. . it's a little muddy. No problem! I'll just rinse it off in the pool we just peed in! Yeah!" 

     "How about some grass! Sure! And a leaf or two from that plant-that I haven't tasted yet-yeah!"

     Anything we added from the kitchen was procured one at a time. We snuck through my house like bad ninjas, dripping wet in brightly colored swimsuits. We grabbed watermelon, ramen noodles, chocolate sprinkles, the juice flavors I hated, frosting, and eggs. Raw. runny. EGGS... and their shells.


     Once we were satisfied with our concoction, we'd leave our open conainter out to stew in the hot tropical sun while we played in the pool a little while longer. It was always important to squeeze in this last bit of pool time; for some reason we never felt like swimming after eating Yuck Soup. 

Heather and I would come back to our container, styrofoam deformed with heat, backpack steamed up, and with more ingredients in the soup than we had actually added. The sweet ingredients lured fire ants to explore our concoction; lucky for them, the container was sitting on the ground. To the ants that made it to the edge of the container, it must have looked like heaven. The sugary smells! The green leafy debris perched upon pillowy clouds of egg foam! Surely the ant gods themselves sculpted this place for us! Aaah such a succelent brew to drown in!. . Ants are bitter, did you know that? I'm just glad it was mostly ants, and only the stray mosquito here and there. 

     I have no idea how my parents didn't discover and end this horrible playtime game. Yuck Soup died when Heather said she didn't want to put eggs in it anymore (this may have had to do with the time she went home early and threw up). From that point on, we just made watermelon juice, ate frosting out of the tube, and remained blissfully ignorant of exactly how many salmonella/food poisoning/constipation/diarrhea/malaria/dengue fever/tapeworm/whipworm/pinworm/hookworm/flukeworm/HIV/cholera/polyurethane bullets we'd dodged.

    

Plants - Times I Should Have Died (or felt like it)

     I'm not entirely sure exactly what it is that changes as we grow older, but at some point we all look back on the things we have done and wonder, "How the fuck have I survived this long?" This will be my new topic of exploration until something more interesting pops into my head. (As I'm obviously struggling already, just be grateful that I'm writing at all. I am.)

     From the ages of two to nine, I lived in Jakarta, Indonesia. If you have any notions of me living in a hut without running water, you are silly. Jakarta is one of the biggest cities in the world. Though it is a large city, it's still in a country that is entirely tropical. The plant and animal life there is beautiful, and, like any tropical area, full of shit that will poison you.

     When I was about four or five, my Aunt got married. My parents and I flew to Ohio to partake in the ceremony. As an adorable child, I was automatically chosen to be the flower girl. As an already self proclaimed tomboy, I was extremely unhappy about it. My Mom and family members seemed to relish the sight of me in awkwardly foofy dresses, the kind that make you look as though you've been plucked right out of a Disney movie, poofy sleeves and all. Every time they put me in one of those tulle torture devices, I exacted immediate revenge by acting like a cave child. This time, I decided I would eat the flowers.

     Just before I was to make my way down the aisle, I stuck a petal in my mouth. They were real flowers, but for some reason (maybe it was the bow around my waist constricting my breathing) they tasted exactly like sugar. Oooh! Sugar! The crack of the young! I walked down the aisle alternating between tossing a petal to the floor and shoving a fistful in my mouth. I can honestly say this is the ONLY thing I can remember about my Aunt's wedding.

    After that day, I spent the next 9+ years of my life trying to figure out what those flowers were. . .so I could eat more of them. This is where the "I'm surprised I didn't die" part comes in to play. I'm not sure whether my family just couldn't tell me what they were, or if I didn't think to ask, but I determined I would have to search for the magical sugar flowers of my aunt's wedding by another means...I would eat at least a leaf from every new plant I came accross.

     Remember now that I was living in Indonesia, home to many plants that are poisonous. Here I am sneaking bites of any plant I can find in a land where plants can kill you. After having exhausted all the plants in our tropical garden (which was huge), and any I found around school, I moved on to the plants I encountered on our trips to visit family in the Philippines. The Philippines, by the way, are also tropical; therefore they are also home to plants that can kill you.

     Neglecting the fact that I ate 100+ varieties of potentially poisonous flora, Indonesia and the Philippines are also home to many animals that like to live in/around plants. Animals which can also kill you. I ran into a few of these critters in my quest for the sugar flowers. After an extremely traumatic run in with a huge spider (non plant related), I always checked for spiderwebs, so that wasn't an issue. I have however been stung by the hairs of a neon green caterpillar, almost put my hand on a bright red frog, scared myself to tears when something I'd thought was a leaf jumped, and discovered that cobras did in fact live in my yard.

     If you've done the math, you've noticed that 9+ years plus 4 years = 13+ years. Yes, I did continue my tasting after I'd already moved to the States. Though I've been nibble free for quite a few years now, I do get an occasional craving for a young pine needle shoot. I never did find out what that flower was, and am considering it evidence that I was born bat shit crazy.

   

Cold for the sake of those around me.

(~ 4:00pm) 

If it's chilly enough outside that I have to put on: 

1. legwarmers. 

2. fuzzy slippers. 

3. mittens that turn into gloves (so I can still type). 

4. my warmest hoodie

and if I'm on my laptop. . why the hell did I just put all that on instead of taking my completely portable computer inside? 

 

 

(~6:00pm)

     You'd thinking instead of putting on ANOTHER pair of socks and a long sleeve shirt, I'd go inside. What did I do? Turned on the porch light. Yep, still outside.

 

 

(~8:00pm)  

     It's probably a good thing I wasn't inside all this time. Had I been able to smell the AMAZING scents of what BF was cooking for too long before I'd been able to eat it, I probably would have chased Lord Crumb around the house... and tried to chew on BF...and then about the time he's pulling my keys out of my mouth, he's also breaking up with me. . so yeah, good call me. I froze for the safety of my bf, my bunny, and myself.

Awkward Conversations 2: We have Ridges?

     Why do I keep hearing things that really feel I should not? It is my fault that I enjoy sitting on the porch with my laptop?

     A car pulls into the parking lot (which our porch faces). Two guys get out, obviously continuing a conversation that had started in the car. They look up, see me, and apparently decide it's not worth my comfort (or their dignity) to stop talking.

"Maybe she'd had her shit ...CHANGED.." 
"I mean, there were no ridges!" 
"Yeah dude, any girl I've ever been with.."
 "..It's like ridges on the inside, right?"
"Yeah, totally like ridges on the inside of that shit!"
"Dude...there were NO ridges."

- WTF?!

     Shocked and alarmed by what I'd just heard (and a little curious), I posted the above on my Facebook.  Below is the meat of the comment stream that followed:

Danielle: " ‎....."

Me: "‎...yeah. I'm also kind of alarmed because I was not AWARE that we had ridges. ."

Marilyn: "hahaha..my thoughts exactly, I just didn’t want to be the one to ask what that meant...in case I'm supposed to know..."

Bethie Sue: "lol-glad I wasn't the only one who didn't know. See? It’s really a good thing you overheard this conversation, because you have educated us!"

Marilyn: "hahaha!!

Me: "But. . RIDGES?! I don't think so. BF looked at me all skeptical. Then again he also said 'I wouldn't call it. . ridges.' So there's something."

Danielle:" yea... ridges wouldn't really be like... uh... nvm just wtf and leave it at that lmao"
 

Bethie Sue: "MYSTERY!!!!!! .....Texing Mr. Bethie Sue now. We will get to the bottom of this."

Marilyn: "Joe says yes to ridges..hmmm"

Me: "Yesssss. . Girls, confront your partners! WHY DIDN'T ANY OF THEM TELL US!? Did they just assume we KNOW? Yes, cause I would have reason to jam my. . nevermind. I 'm leaving that alone. No matter what I say, it's going to turn into a masturbation joke. -_-"

Marilyn: "I NEED A MIRROR!!!!!! HAHAHA!"

ME: "WTF JOE!? Why wouldn't you tell us this? I feel like I just discovered I'm part fish, and not in a ‘we share .00001% of our DNA’" kind of way! Or like there's some kind of alien lurking in my cooter. ."

Marilyn: "yeah, he's grinning and shrugging...so the conversation's over..."

Me: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! http://www.goaskalice.columbia.edu/1910.html  I Googled ‘Vaginal Ridges’ and that's the first link that came up!"

Danielle: "My bf also says yes to ridges and is now giving me detailed instructions on where they are located specifically. Stand by for updates."

Me: "I DON'T WANNA KNOW ABOUT THE RIDGES IN YOUR HOO HOO DANIELLE!! I'M STILL FREAKED OUT THAT WE EVEN HAVE THEM! AND YES! THIS *IS* A PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE USE OF CAPS LOCK!"

Marilyn: Panda!!! so helpful! THANKS ALICE!!!"

Me: "I don't wanna be right now. *stares sadly at the ground* I wanna be wrong!"

Marilyn: "HAHAHA!!!! Now I'M grinning a shrugging...."

Danielle: "lmfao I didn't mean he was drawing a map to my specific ridges Panda XD and yes, I feel awkward even saying the phrase 'my ridges'. I smell a new sassy hit single, kinda like lovely lady lumps"

Me: "On an additionally creepy note: thanks to that article, I've now determined the ridge-less chick that dude 1 (who looks early to mid 20s) apparently put his peter in was either:
          1) Formerly a man
          2) Prepubescent
or
          3) Past menopause. . .
There is no 'best case scenario' here."

Marilyn: "HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! ...and Danielle, yeah..this IS a black eyed peas song for sure!"

Danielle: "oh god."

Me: Danielle, re-read your comment and tell me this;  If you were me, how could that NOT sound like Dexter was going to give you a schematic of the inside of your tweeter?

( We went off topic with some inter-friend introductions for a minute here)

Me: “ANYWAYS! RIDGES!”

Marilyn: “Hahaha...dude, I need to meet my RIDGES now...MIRROR??? ANYONE???”

Me: “I'm suppressing the urge to text every guy friend in my phone and inquire about this 'ridges' thing. . just to make them as uncomfortable as I am right now.”

Danielle: “My bf is calling me a noob for not knowing about them -__-“

Me: I don't know that you could meet them like that Marilyn. And in either case. . *stifle laughter* . . it would be awkward trying to peek into your own box.”

Marilyn: “BAHAHAHAHA!!! Not even with a flashlight?”

Marilyn: “Taking that as a ‘no’...cool. well at least I won’t have nightmares or anything tonight....”

Me: “ WELL DEXTER!? HOW THE FUCK WOULD WE KNOW!? Obviously we all had to ask our BOYFRIENDS. BOY-FRIENDS. As in regardless of whether or not some of us may or may not have come vagueness as to gender attraction patterns, we have BOY friends. As in ...'I know I haven't put MY dick in some girl's snatch!'
      Yes, yes, there are hands, pervy Dexter. But you know what, I'm gonna guess my fingers aren't as sensitive as a penis. Just a guess, but last time I checked, I didn't get off from putting my rings on. So the question of having opportunity to explore either my, or another girl's ham wallet is moot. My Fingers. Don't. Cum. Dexter. . . . n00b.”

Randy: “ I, too, have ridges on the inside.”

Me: “Marilyn, now that you've mentioned a flashlight, there is officially NO WAY IN HELL that what I'm picturing in my head could EVER be thought of as ‘sexy’. ‘Awkward’, ‘painful’, or ‘hilarious’ , sure.”

Marilyn: “Hahahaha!!! yeah...no..”

Danielle: “LMFAO he is now speechless. Brilliantly said Panda! XD”

Me: “I'm on a fucking roll here. .”

Me: “Randy, I respect the strength it must have taken for you to admit that you have a vagina. I would like to take this time to clarify that you do not, in fact, have a vagina. However, you are, in fact, a pussy. *schwing!*”

Danielle: “If he has a vagina now, wouldn't it not have any ridges? Since it's been CHANGED?”

Me: “No no, HIS ridges are not due to the fact that he has a vagina now. They are because, by being a pussy, his entire body IS a vagina. You see what I did there? Yeah, slick. And I assure you, Randy being a pussy is completely natural.”

Me: “ ‎. . Love you Randy.”

Me: “ ‎. . Please don't kill me with a sword. Over.”



Note: As traumatizing as this whole experience was, I feel it was worth it for the comments it spawned.

Note: Randy is BF’s brother. It is likely that he’s not going to go halfsies on super sweet long range walkie talkies with me for Xmas anymore, and that instead my Xmas present is going to be a sword to the gut. . or eyeball. . or vagina.

Note: For poops and giggles, count how many different words for female genetalia were used in that snippet. Now, take that number and add 2. Yeah, we're that awesome.

Awkward Conversations 1: Nose Rape

     I'm all for people watching. Making up background stories for the people that pass is one of life's guilty little pleasures. Honestly, I don't mind overhearing other people's conversations either. Sometimes you can't hear all of the conversation, and then it becomes interactive. I pretend I'm a detective, listening in, trying to figure out what the conversation is about. It's a fun little game, and a totally harmless way of sticking your nose into someone else's business...until your nose gets raped. This conversation was forced upon me, and my nose was violated. I want you to understand this . . raped.

 

I was sitting outside on the porch, just minding my own business. My ears pricked up to the sound of loud conversation. I was balls deep in some Facebook, so I hadn't really registered it as "words" yet, just some loud background noise. When I finally tuned in, I realized I was overhearing a neighbor's conversation that, in retrospect, I shouldn't have.

 

Dude-With-Problem: "muffled mumble sorry mumble mean to ya know man?"

Dude-With-Advice:     "Fuck that, why would you exploit that? People ...People make mistakes man, but why would you exploit something that you know would hurt your wife?" 

 

     Neighbor was talking to his friend that had obviously either really fucked up his situation, or was just having relationship issues in general. I couldn't be completely sure because Dude-With-Problem was actually aware that they're outside and was trying to be a little quiet. Dude-With-Advice was completely oblivious to his inappropriate loudness, and was practically screaming. 

     Thinking I have a grasp on what this conversation is about, I returned to my sneaky listening with a small grin on my face. (My nose is in the door... )

Dude-With-Advice: "Hell man! My cousin used to rape me..."

 

     ABORT!!! ABORT!!! RETRACT NOSE!! RETRACT NOSE!! FIE! It's too late! I can't leave! Leaving would call attention to myself! Sure, they can't see me, but they'll hear me! (Nose has been grabbed by Dude-With-Advice. He is sans pants, and he will not let go...)

 

 Dude-With-Advice continues: "... beat the shit out of me, and *muffled muffled muffled* my Mom, AND my sister man! But you know what, that's who I am man! Take me or leave me! Love me or don't!" 

Dude-With-Problem: "I mumble man, mumble mumble know." 

 

Dude-With-Advice: "But why would you let that fucker have the satisfaction? Drive you away from God that you love so fucking much? I LIKE this Church!"

 

   At this point, some I was finally able to stop tuning in. I think my nose was so traumatized from having Dude-With-Advice's member repeatedly crammed into it that I went into some state of shock. 

     Thankfully, Dude-With-Problem apparently got it through Dude-With-Advice's head that this was probably a conversation best suited to the indoors. The awkwardness ended and I was finally able to tip-toe back inside. 

 

(I'm not even sure what that conversation was about. I thought I had it figured out, but with each new twist, I became increasingly lost/scared/raped. Honestly, I'm not sure I really want to know.)

A new level of laziness.

     Have you ever been so lazy that even playing video games sounds like it would be require too much effort on your part? Of course not, that's not a level most normal people should reach. Well, that's where I've been the last few weeks. Sad, I know, that the thought of wiggling a couple sticks and clicking a few buttons seems like too much.

As additional examples of my superhuman laziness, I offer a multi-part text message I sent out to a few friends last night:

*I'm thinking some commentary or explanation might be nice. I'll use this for any notes I might make. Also, grammar does not exist in my text messages, therefore it will likely not exist here*

"I just came in from the porch, plopped down on BF (and called him a hot dog, since logically I was being the bun) and demanded that he physically remove my jacket for me and physically arrange me on the couch. . . also bring me water. . . and my phone charger. . and a snack. He balked at the snack :( "

I'm not really sure that I have anything to say to defend myself at this point. I will however say that BF is a mean mean hot dog. He yelled "LIMP HOT DOG!" and flopped on me, despite the fact that he is CLEARLY much larger than the bun(me). This was before I started demanding things. When I started that, he stopped being a mean mean hot dog and started being "are you serious?" BF again.

 

"I told him all these things were 'training' in case we have a special needs child some day. He called me  'fucking palsy bear' lol."

I still feel I was making a valid point. I've probably just offended my first person...
 

"and then told me he was not getting me a snack and if I would 'stop pooping out what I feed you' I wouldn't be hungry again already."

One of BF's friends responded "he's got a point." Really? I argue that if BF stopped feeding me, I would also stop pooping out what he feeds me. However, I would likely be hungry a lot more often. Along with other things, my pouting is directly proportional to my hunger. Considering how much I was crabbing at him already, I'd say it's in his best interest to feed me regardless.

 

"I've reached a level of laziness no one over the level of 2 should be able to get away with..."

I'm a little embarassed with how long I thought about this before arriving at the age of 2.  

"I just asked BF when we were going to eat again. He mumbled something about 'petulant pouty palsy bear' and is now making me ramen :)"

I win!

(Kind of a disclaimer) So, here I am...

..sitting at my laptop...about to start writing a blog. I'm not sure exactly what turned over in my head that led me to think, "Hey! Blog! That's something that I want to do!" Here's what I DO know:

     I do know that it's been a good 7 years since I've taken a formal English class. I do know that because of that, my postings are likely to be rife with misspellings, inappropriate punctuations, and awkward sentence/paragraph structures. I know that I tend to assume that anyone reading the things I write is likely on the same wavelength as I am. I also know that this leaves me in a position to offend practically everyone, as it is silly to assume such a thing. Basically, this paragraph is about me realizing that I'm about to be descended upon by a pack of wild dogs: the hordes of internet-land.

    I know that I've been looking for another hobby lately. I know that I used to like to write things. I know that sometimes I'm awesome and write something that makes me go "Wow", or makes me giggle at myself. I also know that most times, my friends are awesome and make me think or giggle even harder. Practically every time we start ranting at each other, the product is something so amazing, or so unbelievably silly that I feel the WORLD must know of it. I'm probably wrong, but that's how I feel.

   So this is it.

    I've rolled around in bacon grease, and my pockets are full of ham. I have no idea what I'm doing, and the dogs will find me sooner or later. It's time to walk into the woods and yell.

Be gentle?