When I finished reading “News Flash” to the class the other day, L’Owen said, “I love that line—‘special breed of stupid’—I’m going to steal that. Not for anything I’ll write, but just to say it to people in everyday conversation.”
Nicole thinks I should sell it to Happy Bunny.
Well, you heard it here first. You hear that line anywhere else, you’ll know it was stolen from me.
When I stood up to read “News Flash”, and L’Owen said, “This is Ginny’s love poem,” Corey said, “Love? Who does Ginny love, Harry Potter?” Bwahahaha.
Then later, L’Owen commented that there are all these serious emotions about past high school relationships in our love poems, and that when he was in high school, he wasn’t serious about his relationships at all. And this one girl told him, “That’s because you’re a special breed of stupid, Professor.” Then she immediately hid her face and said, “Oh, I’m going to fail now.”
But he was laughing. “No!” he said. “No, on the contrary, I’m pleased that you felt comfortable enough to say that. This is the kind of rapport I like to have with my students.”
So yeah, class was fun—sad, though. It was the last time I will ever be in L’Owen’s class. He got us pizza, and the pizza guy walked in with these big gold hoop pirate earrings, and L’Owen was like, “Hold on a second there—show the class your earrings. Class, look at his earrings!”
I’m going to miss random stuff like that. He told us he wanted to give a speech that he usually saves for the last day of class, but he left it at home. Some speech Bill Murray gives in Rushmore, which I haven’t seen, but I found it online. Goes like this:
“You guys have it real easy. I never had it like this where I grew up. But I send my kids here because the fact is you go to one of the best schools in the country: Rushmore. Now, for some of you it doesn’t matter. You were born rich and you’re going to stay rich. But here’s my advice to the rest of you: Take dead aim on the rich boys. Get them in the crosshairs and take them down. Just remember, they can buy anything but they can’t buy backbone. Don’t let them forget it. Thank you.”
I’ve got to see this movie.
There’s this really obnoxious guy at work who seemingly tries to piss us off just by staring stupidly when we tell him he can’t do something or we can’t do something for him. He annoys the hell out of me. I don’t like dealing with him.
Last week, he tried to give Michelle two plates, and she’d just been yelled at for that, so she told him no, and he stood there and stared at her for about ten more people before she finally told him, “I’m sorry, I can’t do that, just go and eat that one and then come back.” And he walked off huffily.
I was complaining to my mom about this guy, and she said, “Maybe he’s mentally challenged.”
Perhaps it is politically incorrect of us, but we decided to treat him like he is whether he actually is or not. We decided to start calling him The Waterboy.
Thursday night we had make-your-own-pizza night, and during a slow moment, Michelle came up to me and said, “I’ve been wondering what would happen if we cooked one of these pizzas with an ice cube on it.”
I said, “DOOO IIIIT!”
She said, “I’ve got to wait for just the right person, though,” and I was opening my mouth to tell her to wait for The Waterboy, when he walked in.
Well, it came out looking normal, but we’re hoping it tasted soggy and watery. Jerk.
When I told Sandra, she said, “Oh, you should have done it to Rain Man, too! You should have put about five ice cubes on his pizza. That boy annoys me so much…!”
Sandra has been well-trained. Unfortunately, Rain Man never came through the pizza line that night.
Thursday I took my first and last final for the semester. It was in history, so when I gave the prof my test, she whispered, “Ginny, do you have any more classes to take with me?”
I whispered back that I’ll be at UNF next semester, and she said good luck and keep in touch. I am going to miss her classes; she’s the greatest history teacher I ever had, and she’s so sweet. Haha.
I arrived in English class half an hour late today, as everybody else was leaving, and the prof gave me my A and then he and a couple other girls sat around talking for the majority of the class period, mostly about holidays and such. He was telling us how when he was a kid in like third grade, it was mandatory that the class get up and sing “Jesus Loves Me” every morning, and his father told him he couldn’t (because he’s Jewish).
It’s a weird feeling—these are some of my favorite teachers from college, I’m taking them all for the second or third time, and now I know I’ll never take any of them again because I’m switching schools. Strange.
L’Owen offered us all letters of recommendation, so I think I’ll remember that for the future….
I was about to write about the dream I had this morning, when I realized I’ve already forgotten it. I haven’t had time to refresh my memory this morning, so it just…didn’t stick.
But yesterday morning I had a dream about this huge plant that ate people. What’s funny is, I think in my dream I actually said, “This is just like Little Shop of Horrors!”
Actually, it was worse, though, because this giant plant (way bigger than the one from the play) had X-ray vision and super-hearing and would slam its way through walls and such to get at people. No warning at all, it would just suddenly burst through the ceiling and scoop you up in its mouth. And it grabbed onto things with its vine and pulled itself along. You couldn’t run or hide from the thing—it was very much like a horror movie.
I have very little else to talk about right now, so I’ll just post this, I guess.