Lonely

I'm so glad we have Stella back--otherwise the quiet may have driven me insane. (Oh, by the way, we have Stella back.) Ben has orientation today and the girls are back in school, so I'm sitting here aimless and lonely, waiting for George from the insectary at OSU to e-mail me and tell me I have a job and to get myself down to campus. There are plenty of things I could be doing . . . cleaning, memorizing periodic tables and reviewing my Entomology notes so I don't look like an idiot to George. Buuuuut, instead I'll just whine about how quiet the house is.

Stella is settling in nicely. She sleeps in the exact same place and has a surprising amount of energy for an old dog. I expected her to behave a little more . . . elderly, but she seems perky and always up for a walk or two . . . or five. The only thing I've noticed is that she doesn't want to climb the stairs anymore. But it's okay if she just wants to hang out downstairs. Okay, the nostalgia is over as the air is filled with the smell of dog fart.

Since I'm so behind in my blogging, I'll give a quick recap of this past quarter at school.

Microbiology--FUN!!! I've already talked to the coordinator about a possible minor. I loves me my bacteria.
Favorite Microbiology lecturer quote (to be read with an Indian accent): "Science is not nonsense." Yeah, you put that student in his place. Runner up: "No questions? None at all? I call this as the Monday Syndrome." (I love this lady's Indian use of "as" and "which"--for some reason they get unnecessarily inserted into almost every sentence. She's super brilliant though so I'm sure no one will ever correct her, though I really wanted to raise my hand and tell her that reservoir is not pronounced "resa-voy-er")

Math--still fun, I must admit. I loves me my story problems.
Favorite lecturer quote (to be read with a Cuban accent): "For the love of all that is good and holy, don't combine these--they are NOT the same."
Runners up:
--"If these problems involve animals, don't give me a decimal. If you tell me you have .5 rabbits, that's just creepy."
--"Ship, sheep, cheap--I say them all the same. And I never know the difference between 'steak' and 'stake'. There is no difference? Oh . . . good."
--"Plug that in and you'll get a y value and a lot of other crap."
--Our lowest two quiz grades were dropped in this class and I liked his proposal for how I should drop my final quiz grade by leaving early. "You could just wait until the quiz was getting passed out and then stand up and say, 'I have had enough of this!' and walk out." He sounded a lot like Don Quixote saying that. In the end I just meekly took the quiz sheet with me and left. The people around me did look a little bewildered, but it lacked the flair he was imagining.

The bus--still interesting.
--There's the old guy who speaks really sloooooowly, evangelizes everyone and must, MUST, speak to every foreign student near him and use the one word of their language that he knows. This often leads to insulting situations because he can't tell the difference between any nationalities. So you often hear responses like, "I don't understand you. I'm Korean not Chinese." "No, I'm Portuguese, I don't speak Spanish . . . I speak Portuguese." My favorite cringe moment--telling the Chinese girl the Korean joke. "How do you know it was a Korean who broke into your house? Your dog is missing and your homework is done. . . . That's a joke . . . because Koreans eat dogs . . . " The explanation went on for much longer than that, but the klaxon on my inner insensitivity meter went off and I couldn't hear the rest.

Then there's The Pirate. I don't know his real name, just my own cruel label (because why should old evangelicals have all the fun?) He's a down and out older guy with either Tourettes or some basic mental health issues. None of that is funny . . . but bear with me. Our first encounter scared the crap out of me. I was at a bus stop on a side street with no one else around and this slightly creepy guy suddenly started growling and making these sounds that could only be described as classic pirate--ARRRR! ARRRR! I seriously expected him to follow it up with 'Me hearties!' I began to slowly inch away, oh so casually, so as not to alarm him, subtly drifting from my previous location . . . okay, to tell the truth, I pretty much hauled ass. But I still had to wait for the bus, so I remained nearby--but not too nearby--basically out of danger from cutlass attack, but still within flintlock pistol range. So if he had one of those babies concealed somewhere on his person, I was screwed. Since then I've decided he's harmless . . . probably. He's also expanded his repertoire (pronounced rep-a-toy-er) to include what sounds like Bobby McFerrin playing the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. Listening to that makes me genuinely happy . . . which it shouldn't . . . because it's sad . . . but it's not sad . . . because it's Bobby McFerrin as the Swedish Chef, which could never be sad. Anyway, I'm torn.

Sometimes the sadness of the bus gets a little overwhelming. There have been times when I've actually considered just getting off, bailing miles before my stop, because I think I can't handle it any more. I had that feeling as I sat and listened to a girl talk on her phone about getting a "good job" after graduation--like grooming dogs at PetSmart. Her family had told her that she'd never get a job, that working was just not what her family did, but she really wanted to go for that brass ring . . . of 8 dollars an hour. I was depressed for most of the evening after that. Then there was the other day when I had to share a seat with the Pirate and watch this other sad impoverished man try to sleep sitting up in one of the side seats. If only he'd picked a place where he could rest his head on the back of the seat in front of him. But no, there he was with nothing to brace himself, leaning over farther and farther until it looked like gravity would finally win out and send him crashing to the floor. But each time he was about to exceed the angle of repose, he would sit up and it would all begin again. I wanted to cry, but at the same time, I really wanted to see him fall. I believe this is what is referred to as the duality of human nature--or maybe it's just mean. Either way, I was a little disappointed when I got off the bus without seeing him sprawled out on the floor with a thud.

Time to go! I guess this wasn't such a brief update after all.