MANBOOBIES!, pro-wrestling babies, and a red hippie skirt
I finally went to Foothill to sort out this whole Foothill's Chem 1C mess, because I was very deeperate. I waited in the most technologically deficient counseling office ever, where you sign in via....pencil and paper. God, De Anza spoils us much. So the whole situation baffled the British ambassador counselor and so she called the math dept's dean to sort it out. And yay, I can take it, and I'll be OVERCREDITED for it. Meaning, I can like, store my extra credit points for a "get out of college sooner" pass.
The downfall is that Foothill is like, a barren campus, whose inhabitants, if any, are physically fit (because their cafeteria is about the size of a storage shed and everything on that campus is uphill) or are frightening freaks of nature. Take, for instance, my new Che Guevera-art selling, gardening friend I encountered on the lawn today, whom I have dubbed "Manboobies." I swear to god, from afar, I thought it was a half naked playboy bunny doing a free exhibit on campus...and she just happened to have chest hair and a goattee. He had virtually no fat on his abs yet all of his fat was stored in his chest, giving him a B-C cup at the very least. The guy insisted on not wearing a shirt today, which was understandable, because it was so f-ing hot. So Manboobies drops a Bob Marley poster and I pick it up.
Manboobies: Thanks.
Nuria: No problem. Say, do you know where the computer lab is?
Manboobies: Do I ever! (okay, who says "Do I ever! enthusiastically when I mention computer lab) It's the leaking portable in the parking lot. Are you a new student?
Nuria (who should have kept her mouth shut): Yes, I start attending next quarter.
Manboobies: That's great! I hope to see you around when I mow the lawn.
I was baffled. He was packing up art, but he mentioned mowing the lawn. I decided not to think too much on it. Besides, I was too busy ogling at his bosom. I felt empathetic of, for once, a teenage guy staring at a girls breasts. At least I met somebody who wasn't a earl-grey chugging counselor.
Speaking of manboobies, today at work we had to watch this little girl who looked like a miniature Hulk Hogan. She was like, 105% muscle and could go from lying on her back to sitting without rolling over or using her arms and legs. And I had no idea how strong this child was (who, btw, is 9 months old) until she grabbed ahold of my work binder (which is a typical plastic material) and ripped one of the covers off. My coworker and I stood there with our mouths agape for a few minutes. She just giggled and rolled over so she could bitch smack the hell out of the office supplies in the room.
I bought a red indian hippie skirt from downtown san jose, just because I was talking to the girl who was working there, and I always feel guilty when I have a really good conversation with the store owner and/or worker yet leave empty handed. That, and also, when I picked it off from the rack and asked how much it was, she price scanned it, put it in a bag, and asked for 15 bucks. By then, I didn't want to ruin our conversation on British towne faires by saying, "Oh, I'm not buying THAT." That was one genius sales idea. Imagine if a car salesman could pull off doing that. But I'm glad she was forceful, because the skirt is beautiful. It's something I wouldn't buy otherwise, but it'd be something I'd be so tempted to buy.
It was ironic because Swati came on today RIGHT when I called her. So we hung out and went counselor hopping, because she wanted to get her Stanford forms signed. Ever since Swati moved to Foothill, I realized how much I missed her and how dynamic our friendship is (even though, YES, she can be a pain about grades and gets overly paranoid, and can be super indian at times.) I think because she's changed so much, it has made her more tolerable. So we hung out, I abused her in my loving way, and we laughed. It was fun.
Last night, when I was writing my essay, I was looking for all means to distract myself, which included having a 10 minute chat with Art for 25 minutes, and at 1 am, watching movies regarding the new Harry Potter cover...which I like much better than the blue 5th book cover. Green and purple..I mean, that's a beautiful combination. And is it kind of strange that I find the cartoonish Harry very, very attractive? But I digress...
Yet when I did peer review today, I warned Courtney (my 35 year old Vietnamese friend) that it was pure, utter crap, and told her I started it roughly around 8 pm last night. She absolutely loved it. Maybe she was being nice, but I don't undertsand why, because I totally ripped her paper. (Even though it was good, I just thought I'd give her a good amount of input. Plus, I like the look on red ink on somebody else's -- not my -- paper.) Courtney has been super nice to me lately. She brought me a muffin today, and 2 weeks ago, she bought me a box of mexican wedding cookies that cost $6.95. (She left the price tag on.) And when we hang out after class, she tells me how I remind her of herself at my age: innocent, trusting, and mature and untrusting. Er. I guess...you could...um, say that. That, and she urged me to try pot (in a very subversive way.) I wonder if that's the reason why she brings me so much food.....(cure for the ailing munchies.)
The muscle baby today ate roughly around 14 cookies (and I'm talking about grownup-sized cookies), and spit up one right in my eye. And then she took her cookie-soggy hands and ran them all over my face. So now my lips taste like animal crackers and ritz. I am going to make a move to wash it all off.