If you’re going to stand in a public bathroom stall next to that toilet and use a pen tip that will touch the bacteria-ridden wall and will then be used to write on something else that will be passed on and could very well end up in MY hands, then please for the love of God, LEARN HOW TO SPELL.
Seen written on a public bathroom wall near campus:
“All eyes on me and I can’t breath.”
I have TRIED to forget about this because even I know that a misspelled word is not going to end the world, but, you see, to some of us who have inherited spelling nervosa, completely forgetting about it is like trying to forget about a big, itchy baseball-sized mosquito bite on your face. The truth is that I’m just one frightening step away from being a certified spelling vigilante, avenging spelling crimes with my quick drying, fade and water-resistant Sharpie. And it gets worse when I’m stressed out. And I was so stressed out on the day that I witnessed this particular misdemeanor, that I almost reached for the Sharpie.
Thank God that my germaphobia trumps my spelling neuroticism.
2/08/2008
Must be at least 6-8 characters in length
I wish I could say that I started the first semester of this, the best year ever, with my usual brand of perky, annoying optimism. Because I had every intention to do so. But the very second I set Steve Madden-clad foot on campus and got that first familiar whiff of Academia, something happened. I'd barely blinked an eye when that Big Bad Campus proceeded to suck the perky, annoying optimism right out of me and I immediately began to wilt. Which is why I spent my first two weeks of class, dull-eyed and droopy-tailed, sitting through lectures while visions of Dallas fun
danced (to old school Whitney Houston and surrounded by adoring gay men) in my head. Because I wanted to be ANYWHERE but sitting in a perfectly rigid, straight-back chair and staring up at a projection screen with pencil in hand, poised and ready to doodle.
And just like that, my wish was granted. You see, I was damn lucky enough to spend last week lying in my perfectly nonrigid bed, staring at a digital thermometer with Extra Strength Tylenol in hand, poised and ready to drug.
But was I grateful for this little break from PowerPoint and laser pointers? Why, of course not. Because the other symptoms of the flu that they don’t tell you about go something like this:
•Panicking about missing whatever it is that you are missing. Miss CLASS? What if they give out the SECRET PASSWORD? I can't graduate without the SECRET PASSWORD!
•Compulsive urge to call your mom (God bless her) at least once a day just to say, “I think I have Toxic Shock syndrome!" or "I'm TOTALLY going to have to drop out of school." or "Do I need to write up my will right now or can I take a nap first?”
So now that I have put the Extra Strength Tylenol away - right there on the shelf next to the cans of vegetable soup that for some reason, only taste good when the thermometer registers at least 101, I am relieved to go back and sit in those bloody straight-back chairs. Not because I’ve once again been reminded to appreciate routine WITHOUT a fever, chills and delirious phone calls. Not because I’m tired of sleeping for 18 hours a day. But, because damnit y’all - at least I’ll be there when they give out the SECRET PASSWORD.
danced (to old school Whitney Houston and surrounded by adoring gay men) in my head. Because I wanted to be ANYWHERE but sitting in a perfectly rigid, straight-back chair and staring up at a projection screen with pencil in hand, poised and ready to doodle.
And just like that, my wish was granted. You see, I was damn lucky enough to spend last week lying in my perfectly nonrigid bed, staring at a digital thermometer with Extra Strength Tylenol in hand, poised and ready to drug.
But was I grateful for this little break from PowerPoint and laser pointers? Why, of course not. Because the other symptoms of the flu that they don’t tell you about go something like this:
•Panicking about missing whatever it is that you are missing. Miss CLASS? What if they give out the SECRET PASSWORD? I can't graduate without the SECRET PASSWORD!
•Compulsive urge to call your mom (God bless her) at least once a day just to say, “I think I have Toxic Shock syndrome!" or "I'm TOTALLY going to have to drop out of school." or "Do I need to write up my will right now or can I take a nap first?”
So now that I have put the Extra Strength Tylenol away - right there on the shelf next to the cans of vegetable soup that for some reason, only taste good when the thermometer registers at least 101, I am relieved to go back and sit in those bloody straight-back chairs. Not because I’ve once again been reminded to appreciate routine WITHOUT a fever, chills and delirious phone calls. Not because I’m tired of sleeping for 18 hours a day. But, because damnit y’all - at least I’ll be there when they give out the SECRET PASSWORD.
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