Posts Tagged ‘wtf


Did you know it takes 24 hours to get from Santa Cruz to Los Angeles?

Maybe that’s only if you’re me. Here’s what happened to me between noon on Sunday and noon on Monday.

After spending a crazy weekend in Santa Cruz for our friend Bridgette’s wedding, five friends and I piled back into the van we drove up in on Friday and headed back home. Everything was going awesome and party van round two seemed to be underway until we got a few miles outside of Watsonville.

That’s when the transmission went out.

Suddenly, the van wouldn’t shift into third. We were quickly  approaching (well, coasting at 35mph or so) the absolute middle of nowhere until Kahlie, the driver of her mom’s van we had borrowed, made an executive decision and turned us back towards town. We ended up stopping at a gas station/market in Aromas where Kahlie, Robert and I checked the transmission fluid and other obvious quick fixes but to no avail. We briefly toyed with the notion of just coasting down the 101, but anyone who’s made that drive before knows it’s all smooth sailing until you hit the big hill in Camarillo. There’s no way we’d make it even halfway up; and it’d probably be best not to drive an obviously busted van 400 miles. We also thought about towing the van to Paso Robles where Kahlie and I both have family and where someone might be inclined to drive from LA and pick us all up. Upon review, that seemed completely impractical and very expensive.

So, phase one: get the van and everyone in it back to Bridgette’s house in Santa Cruz.

We obviously had to tow the van, but it’s illegal for us to be in the van while it’s being towed and tow trucks don’t tend to seat seven. We lucked out that Ashley had AAA+ which offers 100 free tow miles, so getting it all the way back to Santa Cruz wasn’t such a huge deal, financially. Taylor got on the phone with her friend Dave and was able to convince him to come pick up a couple people and drive them back to Santa Cruz and then Ashley told AAA we needed someone with a big enough cab to seat the rest of us. After about an hour and a half or so killing time in Aromas we were on our way back to the party.

Since we first broke down I had been on my iPhone trying to figure out the best way to get everyone back to LA; Amtrak, Greyhound, flying, etc. Taylor had gotten ahold of her friend Phil who was in Oakland and also heading back to LA that day and was able to secure rides for herself and Bianka and the four of us remaining (Ashley, Kahlie, Robert and myself) vowed to stick together. We resolved to catch the Greyhound leaving at 10:30 that night that would get us into Downtown LA around 7am. Not ideal, but it was really our only option.

So, phase two: get everyone tickets for the bus in hand and then get on the bus and on our way.

I’m familiar with Greyhound travel and know it can be pretty shady sometimes so I wanted to get everything as secure as possible as soon as possible. The second we got back to Bridgette’s I asked to borrow a computer and double checked the prices and schedules. We could purchase tickets online, but we’d have to print them out at home; or we could walk down to the bus station that was closing in 45 minutes and buy tickets there. When Bridgette told me she didn’t have a printer, I convinced Ashley and Kahlie to hustle down to the station with me so we could just get everything out of the way. The bus wasn’t leaving for another six hours, but I was taking no chances.

However, when we reached the station at 4:30pm, we found a sign that looked like this:

on a door that looked like this.

None of this boded well at all. Not only was the bus station (looking abandoned, as bus stations often do) closed when the sign on the door said it should be open, but as far as we could tell there was no such bus to LA leaving at 10:30 that night. [It was later discovered that the route to LA goes through San Jose, north of Santa Cruz, so that part of the sign did make sense.] Well, crap.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering and restrained panic we resolved to head back to the house and regroup. By now it was 5pm, so if we were getting tickets for that bus it would be online anyways.

We passed a FedEx Kinkos on the way and decided to just duck in and handle it there; that way we could get the tickets printed and could “relax” at the house with everyone watching the Superbowl.

The three of us sat down at a terminal and I put my card in the thing. I got all the way to the ticket purchasing screen before I realized, duh, my card was in the thing. Ashley bought her ticket, then Kahlie went ahead and got tickets for her and Robert. I ejected my card and Kahlie put hers in so I could hop back on and get my ticket. When I got to the fare selection screen there was a notice that said online ticketing was no longer available for that fare (or, as it turned out, any fare).



After several refreshes it became clear I might be fucked. I immediately hopped on the phone with Greyhound hoping to purchase a ticket over the phone. After the most superfluous key pad menu maze I’ve ever experienced I was thrust on hold for nearly half an hour listening to music from a silent movie before I was able to finally speak to a human.

I told her my situation, that my friends had all just purchased tickets online and that it was imperative I be on that bus with them. She put me back on hold to “check” for me. Check what, exactly? Check that the bus in question exists? That I’m not lying about the website? We’ll never know, because after a few more minutes on hold I was disconnected.

I felt myself slipping. I flung my phone onto the table, shot up out of my chair and took a moment. Regroup. Try again. Breaking something won’t get me on a bus.

I sat back down, picked my phone back up and redialed. Went through the menu again and I was back on hold. Luckily, I was only on hold for about ten minutes. Unfortunately, this new woman had nothing but bad and/or nonsensical news for me.

I told her what happened and she told me I could purchase a ticket over the phone. Eureka! It would cost more because it was over the phone. Lame. I asked her if I would be able to receive my ticket via email like the online tickets so I could print it out and she said no. I asked her how I’m supposed to acquire my phone-purchased ticket if the station is closed and she told me I couldn’t. Um? She said it was up to the discretion of the bus driver whether or not I would be let on after pleading my case. I double checked the facts: I can purchase a ticket over the phone that is impossible to pick up and after paying more money to do so there was no guarantee whatsoever, and from the sound of it not even a very good chance that I would actually be let on the bus? No deal! Over the course of our discussion she had taken a tone with me as if I was the stupid one for asking all these ridiculous questions about the simple acts of purchasing a ticket, receiving it and using it to get on a bus. So, I snapped. I told her she was useless when she said she hoped she was helpful, told her I would never choose Greyhound again after she asked that I do, and hung up defeated.

I then called Greyhound’s online support number. Already disillusioned with every customer [dis]service Greyhound had offered me so far, my expectations were fairly low; but nothing could have prepared me for what I heard on the other end of that line. My spirits raised a little when I was barely kept on hold, but then shattered when I discovered the person on the other side was one of the adults from Jim Henson’s Muppet Babies.


Um, hello?


I can’t understand you, could you adjust your mouthpiece?


Uh, hello?


I felt myself losing it again. I told Kahlie and Ashley what I experienced and Ashley gave it a go with identical results. FUCK. I guess that’s that.

When we left Bridgette’s it was sunny out; expecting a quick trip I hadn’t bothered with a jacket. Now it was a couple hours later, dark out and fucking freezing outside. Ashley and Kahlie took turns trying to keep me warm, but between being freezing and still without a ride home I was starting to get pretty verklempt. When we got back to the house I grabbed a beer and went out back for a moment alone while Ashley and Kahlie filled everyone in. I called my best friend and talked it out.

I was starting to think something was trying to keep from going home and maybe it was time to take it as the sign it clearly was and just try again the next day. But, there was still one more thing I could do.

I texted Taylor and asked her if there was any way at all I could ride bitch in Phil’s car. I had plenty of money for gas and didn’t mind the snug ride. About half an hour went by before Taylor called to tell me Phil wasn’t going to leave anyone behind in Santa Cruz and I was in as long as I had some money for gas and I could give Bianka a ride home when we got to the city. Thank fucking christ! Goin home!

Phil wasn’t planning to head back to LA until after midnight so I had a few hours to kill. I hung out in the living room with everyone, watching tv and drifting in and out of a much needed nap. He and his friend Mike arrived around 12:30 and the five of us piled into his Camry. I volunteered to ride bitch, being the smallest and the latecomer. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would only be for five hours and then at least I’d be home.

We started out heading south according to Mike’s directions. Phil was blasting a Meatloaf album to keep himself awake. This, also, was not ideal, but I had no intention of complaining. We were driving for almost an hour and got all the way to Seaside before we realized we were going the wrong fucking direction if we intended to take the 5 home.

On the drive back towards Castroville it came out that Phil had apparently taken some Xanax. Xanax is the furthest thing from a good idea for someone who’s already tired and responsible for driving four people from one side of a state to the other in the middle of the night. We didn’t make it to the 5 before Phil pulled off the road near a cliff in the middle of nowhere to take a power nap.

His power nap lasted an hour and a half before I was able to rouse anyone else in the car enough to suggest maybe someone else drive for a while. I offered, but Phil wouldn’t hear it. I’d spent the last almost two hours feeling claustrophobic and like I was suffocating in the small stuffy car unable to move my legs and the ability to keep my cool was rapidly decreasing with this nonsense. Bianka let me out and I got some freezing air; she switched spots with me and I felt better already knowing I’d be able to wiggle my feet for at least the next leg of the trip. Mike bullied Phil into getting us moving again and we were back on the road.

We made it to 5, but not quite to Fresno before he pulled off again. If I had to stay trapped in the backseat of a Camry in the middle of nowhere for two hours again, I was likely to kill someone. Probably Phil. By now it was five in the morning, we were nowhere near home, and at this rate we were going to hit rush hour traffic before we even got anywhere near LA. When I passed on this information to Taylor she laid a smackdown. She would be driving while Phil got the sleep he obviously needed in the backseat.

I emailed my boss from my phone to tell her I may or may not be at work.

With Taylor driving I was able to relax enough to doze off for a while. When I regained full awareness the sun was out, we were around Van Nuys, and we weren’t moving. Traffic. I went back to sleep.

Over the next FEW HOURS we trudged through traffic, dropped off Bianka in LA, went to Phil’s house (which, as it turns out, is right around the corner from my house), transferred to Mike’s car, and drove to San Pedro to Kahlie’s mom’s house where my car was. Then, I dropped off Taylor at her place in Downtown LB and finally made my way home after grabbing some Mexican food by my place. I got home at 12:30pm.

The trip back wasn’t the party van part two we had all been looking forward to, but we made the best of it. If I was going to be trapped in the middle of nowhere with some crazies, I’m glad it was them.



so, as many of you already know, I drive Blake to and fro Disneyland every friday. as a thank you, she bought me a ticket about a month ago. before yesterday I had only been to Disneyland three times; the first time was a very awkward trip with Serena when she was engaged to Robert and right after I started dating Alex. the other two times were with my sister and my nephews.

Blake pretty much knows everything there is to know about Disneyland, so I knew I was going to be getting the most possible out of my day. we got there around eleven and stayed until 12.04am. due to fatigue and sensory overload, I was a little woozy for the first couple hours, but I didn’t let that slow us down. I tend to fare none too well at theme parks, as a rule. normally I’m tired because I woke up early, it’s entirely too much movement for me, and the unusual smells and close contact with a TON of random people and hustle n’ bustle usually throw my body into shock until I adjust. I’ve been known to faint.

anywho, besides having a fuckin AWESOME time, a few interesting things happened to me/us while we were there.

upon our first trip to bathroom, I encountered a creeper. I was in my stall, doing my thing, when all of a sudden a camera appears from under the wall between my stall and the one next to mine! holy inappropriate batman! since I noticed it right away, I had time to make a stern face at it before it disappeared. thinking the person next door would see that I was onto them, I assumed that would be the end of that ridiculousness. however, the camera reappeared! so I made another stern face! by then I was done, so as I was collecting myself I hear from the offending stall, “wtf?! *random name* where are you?!” then, from the stall on the other side of me I hear, “I’m over here!” then, from the first stall, “are you in the stall right next to mine?” this is when I interject, “NOPE!” and walk out to wash my hands. RIDICULOUS!

when we were on the Monsters Inc ride in California Adventure (which I hadn’t been on and is way cute and fun!) I got called “young man” and then my hair was insulted by the person occupying the Roz position at the end of the ride. silly.

the geniuses of Disneyland had the wherewithal to capitalize on swine flu by bottling what I presume to be generic hand sanitizer in “Disneyland” bottles and selling them for what I can only imagine is a ridiculous price. we saw them everywhere on the belt loops of children and the knapsacks of their panicky parents. as a precaution, Blake and I did wash our hands slightly more than usual, and every time someone sneezed I couldn’t help but whisper “swine flu!” faux-alarmingly.

while we were in line for Thunder Mountain was probably the most colorful part of the day (despite the fireworks!). we had been in line for at least fifteen minutes, moderately canoodling throughout, nothing too heavy. I’m not into uber pda in front of strangers (as we all know, I have no such issue in front of people that I do know, which is why most of my friends have heard me having sex). anywho, as Blake and I were closing a quite sizable gap that had been created in line when the large choir group in front of us moved up, I felt a forceful hand on my shoulder yanking me backwards. I assumed that this was the result of someone in a dire situation trying to get somewhere with the quickness, so I did not resist. however, as I turned towards the grasp, I was met with a middle-aged white man who began yelling “hey! hey!” in the general direction of Blake, who stopped moving upon realization that someone was yelling and I was not right behind her. once he decided he had our full attention, he not-so-kindly removed his hand from my shoulder and began yelling, “look, I realize you guys are ‘together’ or whatever, but NOT in front of my kids!” his “kids” were in fact two 13ish year-old boys who couldn’t look more disinterested in what was happening. at this point, I interrupted his rant about our impropriety and informed him that his homophobia was absolutely not my problem. as he continued on his tirade, I began to think about how unbelievable it was that he dared to lay his hands on me. then, I got really mad. I took a firm step towards him, reminded him again that his homophobia was not my problem and informed him that he needed to get away from me and that it is completely unacceptable that he touched me, and that he’d better not to do it again. I did all of this without swearing and barely raising my voice. upon realizing that I was not a teenager and that I was not even remotely afraid of him, he retreated. I made sure Blake was ok (which she was) and then she informed the kind Disneyland worker that the guy behind us in line had just grabbed me and started yelling at us. the Disney employee apologized to us profusely and moved us into the fastpass line. wooow. what really blows my mind is that someone thought it was even slightly okay to put his hands on someone else. let alone to start yelling. excuse me. tap me on the shoulder to get my attention. tell me politely that you disapprove of my “lifestyle” and ask me to knock it off with your kids around (to which I would politely reply that your homophobia is not my problem, but because you were polite, I would make an effort to be “less outwardly gay” for the rest of the line). DO NOT grab me, with some sort of self-appointed authority and begin yelling at me with any air self-righteousness. competely unacceptable. he was really lucky to have caught me at one of the peaks of happiness of my day, otherwise there may have been both swearing and yelling accompaning one of my rage blackouts. but, I mostly found him ridiculous, and a poor excuse for a decent human being. so I continue to laugh it off.

I made the conscious decision to suspend my critical awareness for most of the day so that I might enjoy the park and so as not to drive Blake completely insane. however, an exception was made for It’s A Small World, because it’s just too much! I had to ride it because they made new additions that Blake insisted I see, so I told her there was going to have to be commentary afterwards and she agreed to the terms. I try not to overload Blake with my “cynacism” as a general rule; especially while we’re in her happy place. since most of the earlier rooms of the ride were for the most part unchanged (the “European”, “Asian”, “Arctic”, and “Central and South American” areas) I didn’t pay much attention to them and instead focused on the newness of the “African” room and the last two rooms (Blake remarked afterward that she was going to show me something in the room right before the Africa room but I was “all over Africa already” with my critical outrage face on). whereas most of the aforementioned rooms were represented overwhelmingly by puppets of people, the “African” room was not. rather, a man on a camel and some others denoted Northern Africa. where one would imagine to see people from Central Africa, there were instead puppets of animals; jungle and savannah animals. towards the end of the room, there was a circle of dancing African women, darker than the fellow on the camel on the beginning of the room, but very few men of the same color. hm. the second to last room depicts what one immediately recognizes as “cowboys and indians”. presumably, this is a room for the United States. one side has a big red barn with three white farm boys and a blond girl sitting on a haystack. the other side, has a white man on a horse wearing a cowboy hat and a row of standing Native Americans, almost entirely women. the final room has everyone “represented” in the same clothes we saw them in earlier, only now everyone is dressed in white. in fact, the entire room is white. the entire world has come together peacefully under a cover of pure whiteness. wooow.

it was surprisingly humid and overcast all day. which was kind of nice because I didn’t get sunburned, but simultaneously kept me in constant fear of getting cold. a little after 8pm, roughly an hour before the fireworks extravaganza was expected to begin, it started to drizzle! there had been a slight breeze all day, so we were already a little worried about the likelihood of the fireworks going on and when it started to almost rain, we got really worried. when we started making our way towards a primo fireworks viewing position, Blake asked a kind Disney fellow what the likelihood was, in light of the slight rain. he told us that the rain was actually no factor whatsoever and the only thing to worry about was the wind. he said there was an 87% chance the fireworks were a go. we waited for the announcements. fifteen minutes to scheduled firework time, the fireworks might not happen announcement came on. expecting to hear this announcement again ten minutes later, instead we heard the fireworks are happening announcement! knowing they would at least start them, we were immediately pleased. the rain stopped, and the air stilled, and the fireworks went off without a hitch. 🙂 magical.

we rode everything we intended to, and even got another pass at Big Thunder Mountain, this time sans [overt] homophobes. 🙂 although, apparently the teenaged boys in front of us kept looking back at us. I told Blake they were probably just looking at her boobs. when I kept getting curious looks from youngsters all day Blake told me it was because I was wearing cool sunglasses.

Blake took me on the subs for the first time because I love fishies! it was easily our longest wait, and I had to close my eyes for the jellyfish part, but it was excellent!

all in all we had a fantastic day. exhaustive, but wonderful. I don’t know how she does that every friday.


paranoia, paranoia.

so, for the last several days I’ve been experiencing a heightened anxiety about:

1. my car being towed
2. my car being broken into
3. getting jumped (often while walking to/fro my car)

what. the. eff.

you might be thinking, “hm. finals perhaps? are you overcaffeinated?” no sir. if anything I’ve been undercaffeinated!

perhaps I’m channeling all the worries I should be [but, as yet, am not] having about finishing all my finals on time into this uncharacteristic paranoia about the immediate safety and security of my self and my things.

well, I’d like it to stop.

also, I came ridiculously close to being hit by a car last night. how close? I leapt out of the way, and had I not, I would have been very hit, very hard. I venture to guess that the driver was pretty drunk, as he swerved quite a while after what could have been our point of impact, then slammed on his breaks. holy slow reaction time batman. lucky for me, I was not drunk and have the reflexes of a cat!



there just isn’t another word for it.

Prop 8 hasn’t officially passed yet, but it’s much closer than I expected, and the margin is certainly the inverse of what I expected. I expected to be filled with hope, not despair, not utter sadness.

it was significantly easier for me to ignore the inherent homophobia of the situation when I thought it was coming primarily from Mormons outside of my homestate. it was another opportunity for me to roll my eyes at the “religious crazies”, as I like to call them.

they had a material advantage and a rhetorical advantage. apparently, millions of dollars to spare and the usual “protect the children” slogans, the constructions of “natural” and “historical”, plus the always highly influential religious angle.

all of these things were increasingly difficult for us to combat. refuting lies, offering sound arguments, attempting to symbolically inundate anywhere near the same level, pandering to people’s sense of morality. these were huge projects, and I think we faired very well in the face of evil.

I was moderately prepared for people’s blatant ignorance and confusion, and especially their apathy.

but I was completely unprepared for this level of homophobia. the fact that people apparently have no qualms with not only excluding people from something most consider a fundamental right, but actually removing that right from them. taking a step even further, to no longer say “IIIIIIIIII don’t think I’m ready for you to have this just yet, let’s wait. I’m pretty sure you’re a whole person, but I want more proof”, but now to say “I have found you lacking, so I’m taking this away from you. we are not the same. you don’t deserve what I have. your family is not as important or respectable as my family.”

I think we lost a lot of votes (about 300,000 that we really could have used) to people that got sucked into lies. people that could have been swayed if they had a close friend voting no, or just someone to explain to them that what the people on the radio and tv were saying were lies. “all that stuff about elementary schools… it’s a lie. that stuff about churches getting closed down… big big lie.”

but this doesn’t change the fact that those people voted yes because they were scared. because they were worried about their kids. because they were homophobic. because, maybe they were on the fence, and maybe they didn’t really like the sound of voting yes, but at the end of the day, homophobia won. other people’s, religious zealots that don’t even live here’s homophobia won. the same homophobia that we all encounter every day, however indirectly.

the same homophobia that we all will encounter more so, most likely, after tonight.

one step forward. two steps back.

PS. in Arkansas, gay couples can no longer (could they really before?) adopt children. uh. no steps forward, five steps back.




so. I just got done posting this thing about the spider when out of the corner of my eye I see another fuckin creepycrawly on the floor next to my bed. it’s moving HELLA fast, and I’m praying it’s a spider so it’ll be easy to kill and I can be on my sleepy way.

upon inspection, it’s a mother fuckin cricket!

there was a time, many years ago, when I used to catch crickets all the time and touching them was no big thing.

not anymore. anything that jumps gets an automatic fast pass to the bottom of my shoe. sorry. too fuckin creepy. I don’t know when this transition occurred, but that’s where we are now.

so, I go put my shoe on and step on the damn thing. I lift my shoe up and the little bastard hops all over the damn place and onto my fuckin bag right next to my bed! we’re a jump or two away from the little shit being lost in my bedding! GODDAMN IT! time for reinforcements. I put my other shoe on.

let me paint the picture for you:

I have no light in my room. I’m doing this by random aquarium fluorescent light and my laptop, which is not plugged in, mmk? I’m wearing a tshirt that’s nearly too small for me, panties (because I’ve been wearing them lately) and my new slip-ons. I’m bouncing around on the balls of my feet in non-lighting sizing up a fucking cricket.

luckily, despite being on my bag, he’s on the flap and I know my bag is empty because everything is in my other bag. so, basically, I stomp the fuck out of my bag.

naturally, this gets him, but now I’ve got cricket guts and crap all over my bag 😦 plus, I’ve got the remnants of two creepycrawly carcasses that need to be vacuumed in the morning. GROSS.

and all the while I’m thinking to myself “WHERE IS JON WHEN I NEED HIM?!”


ugh. ridiculous.



so, spiders and everything else that could be described as “creepy” and/or “crawly” freak me the fuck out.

usually, when I encounter them in my dwelling, or sometimes just within range, I kill them.

I don’t like this. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. but they freak me the fuck out. I realize this is unfair.

lately, I haven’t had to kill things because I’ve been surrounded by people that don’t mind picking them up and putting them outside; Hailee, Sara (even though it usually takes a twenty min pep talk and strategy session), Nikki (sometimes, to some degree). it’s been nice, not being a murderer.

sometimes, if spiders aren’t directly threatening me (ha), I’ll let them go on their merry way.

last night, I noticed a daddy long leg(s?) had taken up residence in a small web wedged in the floor/wall/bed right next to my head where I sleep. because daddy long legs are benign, I decided to let him live. I did a test to make sure he wasn’t attached directly to my pillow or blanket and he wasn’t. also, he was kinda in a weird place, and they’re hard to kill on carpet. and they freak me out extra because their legs are so long, I always worry they’re one of the crazy jumping spiders. so, I did the motion test and he didn’t move, so I didn’t kill him.

this morning I woke up and he was gone. I told Nikki, panicking, that I had eaten him! she deduced that I hadn’t eaten him because my throat wasn’t scratchy. phwew.

tonight, just now, I went to get in bed and he was back! I can’t say I was pleased, but I thought it was interesting I had gained this new spider friend.

the last and only spider friend I’ve ever had was Copernicus who lived outside of Raul’s house that summer. Bruce used to walk into his very impressive web every night. check it out, I snagged this awesome picture of him one night:

I mean, that’s a spider you don’t fuck with.

anyways, unfortunately tonight when I did the pre-bed motion test, new spiderfriend totally moved. so I got freaked out. and I put on my shoe, and I killed him.

I’m sorry.



so, yesterday Nikki and I had just finished getting tortilla express and were en route to Aldrich to meet up with Jenny for our Thursday picnic before class when what I think may have been one of the atheists (of the Atheists, Agnostics and Rationalists club at UCI) approached us and said we should “go hold [our] sign over by that guy that’s talking”. our sign of course was a Get Up Vote Down 4 & 8 lawn sign. naturally curious, we followed her line of sight to Colonel Sanders aka the christian fundamentalist that’s like 300 years old with the bow-tie. [I’m sorry I’m ageist.]

we, and several other individuals, including Andy, listened to his prattle for awhile. I can’t remember what exactly he was saying (I’ve done a lot of drinking between then and now), but I’m sure it was horrible. after a while he took a break and “Sister Pat” took over. Sister Pat liked to preach her gospel of bigotry and hatred a little more aggressively. whereas the Colonel had been sitting in his little chair, holding his creepy little skull, Sister Pat liked to walk around the circle that formed around her, clutching her bible and waving her shaky fundamentalists hands a la invoking the lord to instill fear of the devil in us or something. I don’t know. she was a freaking NUT.

anyways, she yelled about a lot of things; women/whores/feminists, sex, masturbation, Jews, Asians, Whites, “whoremongers”, Muslims, Obama and other democrats, sodomy, abortion, divorce, drugs, and of course, the gays.

some memorable assertions:

“we come to Irvine expecting to find intelligence because Asians study.”

“Obama is a Muslim, because his dad’s a Muslim and you’re born into religion.” at this point she proceeded to racially profile a poor innocent Brown man walking by (who I recognized as a fellow from my War on Terrorism class who, as of last quarter, was in MSU) and harass him into claiming Muslim faith and then tried to get him to say that people are born Muslim. he said “people aren’t born into religion”, but then his friend kinda said that people are kinda born Muslim so then she got bored and moved on.

“if you do drugs, you hate your parents.” and, you’re going to hell, for sinning against your body. or something. if you masturbate, you’re sinning against your body too. but then she said that “everyone masturbates, and anyone that says they don’t is a liar”. then she said most people masturbate, and that “all gay people masturbate” and they’re sinning against their bodies and going to hell. or something. obviously, it was very confusing.

“Asian girls can wear skimpy outfits because they’re so small. but you White girls that wear these skimpy outfits are whores because you’re too curvy!” she actually called Stephanie a whore, among other things, which was OUTRAGEOUS. and grounds to have her kicked off campus, probably. too late now though. damn. she also talked about how rampant female sexuality (my words) threatens boys’ virginity and by extension, everything. after she finished asking Stephanie if she was a “working girl” she noticed Nikki and I standing there in all our androgynous glory. Nikki and I were both a little fancy yesterday, which I think made Nikki look slightly more like a girl than usual and made me look slightly less like one. she started calling me “young man” but I don’t engage in rhetorical battles with fundamentalists of any kind when I can avoid it, so I was unresponsive. then, she stopped, pointed at me, looked at Nikki and said,

“is THAT a boy?” then, she looked at Nikki a little closer and said, “wait, are YOU a BOY?!” needless to say, this was priceless. I mean, I’ve gotten called sir before, tons, but “THAT”?! ridiculous.

goddamn public universities. I think I got sunburned standing out there, too.