Orch(id)asm

Today, I am finally coming home from college. Having had a very rough week of finals and not a lot of sleep last night, I'm groggy around this time. I honestly believe that naptime should be resurrected from its pre-school sepulchre. Anyway, as the passenger on a not-so-long carride, I begin to get sleepy. My head droops forward as the warm air from the vents caresses me like gentle tendrils. The orchid that is snug and secure, nestled in my crotch, points its flowerless stalks at my face. As my head slowly descends, something magical happens: one aye-aye finger-like orchid stalk runs its bony self through my hair. I am in ecstasy. It's better than a wiry head massager, because it's organic.. But seriously. I continue this delicate dance between man and plant, caressing my face with its waxy stalks. The chills I get are unreal. I have the look of someone who was just given a healthy dose of morphine.

When I finally do open my eyes, I'm brought to the reality that there are cars next to ours and I have been rubbing my face against an orchid for the past 5 minutes. Keeping my pride, I put the orchid back between my legs and act as if nothing has happened.. but I'm longing for its sweet touch once more. It is nice to get closer to nature.

Finals Week

Hello all! If you're a college student, then I'll pose this question to you: How did your finals week start?
Really? Cool. Mine started with a car accident. I don't even know if more needs to be said on that but as you can imagine it sucked. I was the driver. Of someone else's car. I didn't have my license with me. A recipe for disaster one might muse. Nah, not too much disaster just a lot of guilt for crashing the bf's car.

Moving on. A hypothetical situation, of course: You know when you're assigned a paper probably over a week from when it is due? You've been doing the assigned readings for class of the hearty novel Atonement (excellent novel, that Briony is a real cunnilingus though), so, naturally, you expect the essay to be on said novel. You've even been putting tiny yellow post-its in the parts that count because, from past experience, you know it is a real bitch to go back in a book to find the necessary quotes to make a strong paper. All is well in the land.

You finish the novel, feeling a bit depressed, confused and victorious - for you've just killed Briony Tallis by flipping the last page (reaaaally did not like her). Ah, time to get this essay done early, you say, giving yourself a solid two days. You whip out the essay topics, an action that you perform with the utmost distaste. You slowly and superciliously cast your eyes down to the paper once you deem it worthy of your glance. What topic can throw me? you wonder, since, you are a master of Atonement at this point. Hell, you feel like you're the one who got between Cecilia's legs. And then it happens.

What. The. Fack.

Your eyes instantly widen, your mouth slightly agape and nostrils at full flare. You even feel a subtle sheen of sweat begin to condense on your unwavering forehead like water drops on a glass of iced tea that has been left on some old woman's porch for far too long. Unsweetened. You cringe at the thought and slap yourself back into reality. Defining the identity of woman and what it means to be woman during the Great War (WWI - obviously it was not called WWI before WWII). Not the plan... You purse your lips in confused disappointment, set the paper down (still looking at it), walk into the kitchen.. and warm up a s'mores Pop-Tart. It's the only thing that seemed to salvage the situation aside from telling the professor you had somehow lost both of your hands and would not be able to write the essay. The Pop-Tart seemed less dramatic. Of course, this is all hypothetical... -_-

Luxuriously Linguistic: Don't Fuck With My Brita

Okay. So, this was written last semester around finals week.. I realize now how violent it sounds.. that's my disclaimer. So, don't think I'm a crazy person, please. This is one more post written in the same style as the first Luxuriously Linguistic post. Enjoy.

I violently jostle my key into the ill-fitting lock and twist the door handle with rage. Only the sound of the door slamming open carries through the air as I stare at the back of my roommates’s abhorred, kinky Jew-fro.

My Brita, drier than the savannah, the garbage, more overflowed than weeping eyes.

In one quick second, I snap. Chin in full bottom jut, eyes full of fire and blinded by rage, I “EEEHH” like one who has just had a stiletto driven through his foot, and my roommate jumps in terrified response. He squints and covers his face as I scream my most uncensored insults and simultaneously screech like an eagle, and make the face of the fat girl on Glee when she pretends to be a vampire.

Like lightning, my arms are shot at his head and my clawed and bloody hands dig into his scalp, ripping out sand-dry, frizzy curls as they clench. He screams like that of a girl without a parpouse (Irish accent) and stands up to make an attempted escape.

My hands still in his hair as he tries to run, he immediately falls down and his head is jerked back violently. Instantly, I am upon him. His face is simply disgusting. With one last EEHH I slam his head into the wall. He let’s out a freakish grunt like a wild boar and his head recoils from the wall, bouncing off it in a nasty whiplash.

His unconscious body is limp as a whet noodle. Frothing from my mouth I throw his stale cheerios and almonds on his face and jump out of my first floor window, glass shattering in an icy tail of escape.