In which I am forgetful

No wait -- I'm not forgetful in this one (at least I hope I'm not) -- I was forgetful in the last entry. Hence, this post.

We had an ice storm. It was a very interesting storm. We had no classes after 12:30 on Friday. I was fearful toward evening that we were going to lose our electricity because my lights kept flickering. I was going to take Nikki and Jaclyn out to do stuff after my 1:30, but then classes were canceled and someone told me that the cars were covered in ice. I didn't want to go anywhere because it was trecherous out there. I didn't go anywhere on Saturday either, but I knew that there was ice on my car, so on Saturday night I decided that I should go out and scrape the ice off so that I would be able to make it to church on Sunday. This notion occurred to me at 10:30 p.m. so I ran out there, thinking I'd probably take 10-15 minutes to get that done. No such luck. The ice was a half inch thick, and even though I had my defroster on the entire time, it still took me 15 minutes before any of it came off and a total of 45 minutes to get the windows done. We were only 10 minutes late for church yesterday. (That was on account of the lousy groundskeeper people who didn't bother to clear the sidewalk or put deicer stuff on the sidewalk from the dorms to Rape Lot. We had to be very careful so we didn't kill ourselves.) And shucks -- I noticed on Sunday morning that the metal blade on my ice scraper got bent, too.

Dr. Wilson is learning me how to write. She told me today that she was going to convince me to add a Creative Writing major to my Psychology major. I told her that I would enjoy being convinced. I didn't mention that if anyone wants to convince me of something, they have to be very pursuasive, very challenge-oriented, and very creative. She has it in her to succeed in that endeavor.

One last interesting anecdote: The most interesting thing at the game last night was when the guys kept touching each others' derrieres. (Is that how you pluralize derriere?) It was very interesting. I don't think I could handle being a basketball person because every time someone tried to touch that delicate part of my anatomy, I'd stop and say "I know my derriere is tantalizing, but you don't have to touch it!" Meanwhile, the other team would get the ball and we'd lose. It would be sad. And that is why I could never be a basketball player. I think, too, that the reason my parents never let my brothers and myself attend sporting events was because they didn't want us exposed to that kind of behavior. It's quite interesting -- when I attend games, first I laugh and then I think to myself, "why?" What purpose does it serve to touch someone else's posterior?

And then there's the ones who stand there during the Time Out and rub another teammate's lumbar region like he's in pain. That was disturbing . . .

~MK