Slacking Slackers and The Work They Don't Do

Everyone knows someone who they wouldn't miss if they dropped off the face of the earth. I haven't met anyone like that recently but I have been checking off a lot of check boxes on my mental list of "Things That A Person Would Need To Do In Order To Make My List Of People That I Wouldn't Miss. "

*I don't have any serial killer tendencies and am not going to act on my urge to make this person disappear. 

The Things That A Person Would Need To Do In Order To Make My List Of People That I Wouldn't Miss list is forever growing and as of late, I've decided that fine tuning said list would not only be of service to me, but also to people that I meet and have to interact with on a daily basis. 

I'm going to keep it as a regular part of these posts
I have a lot of things on the list

Point Number One: I have an unusually low tolerance for laziness. 
This isn't meant to be directed toward one type of laziness. I condone, in full, skipping breakfast because it's too far of a walk from your bed. This point is more directed toward academic and *occupatory laziness that stems from one's own desire to be a slacker. I could not be clearer when I say 

1. Do Not Go To College If You Hate Learning, Studying, Gaining Knowledge or Typing Papers

2. Do Not Complain About The Minimum Wage Job That You've Chosen To Work Because You Need Money to Spend At The College You Are Enrolled in But Are Rarely Seen Attending. 

3. Do Not Whine When You Have To Work Two Minimum Wage Jobs To Pay For The Clothing That You Bought At A Store You Could Not Afford to Be Shopping At , To Wear To The Classes That You Do Not Go To At The College You Never Attend. 

For the love of all that is sacred, please, if you hate learning, studying, acquiring knowledge, going to class, typing papers, taking exams, becoming well rounded, making friends and interacting with people that aren't made of pixels,  do not go to college.

Do not send in an application. 

Do not apply for financial aid. 

Do not buy a quirky colored set of Twin XL sheets for your bed. 

Do not pack your family's minivan or apply for you commuter parking pass and join the thousands of students on move in day who actually want to be in college. 

Go to a career fair, learn about traveling options, apply for your dream job or go get an internship. But do not waste the time and money of your parents and professors by getting into a school that you found in a brochure, taking classes that you heard were "easy," and laying in bed tweeting about how you only live once and that condones skipping your English class to go to the mall, for the seventeenth day in a row. 

When you fail your required English class, forget to pay your housing deposit, get three parking citations and have to commute, retake English and live off campus, guess how many people will feel bad for you. Go on, guess.

It won't be the people that suffered through the classes you skipped 

It won't be the people that woke up at six in the morning and registered for classes while you were at Starbucks

It won't be the teachers that got fed up with you turning in things that were consistently late and unfinished

The number of  people that will feel bad for you will be equivalent to the amount of people that enjoy having their car breakdown on the side of the road, in the middle of a heat wave, while they have frozen groceries in the trunk.

The number will be zero. 

The only person that is going to have sympathy on the big mess that you've made is you. No one is going to feel sorry for you because you are lazy. 

Now, I'm not saying that you need to wake up every and attend all your classes with homework done, study guides completed and five essays in hand. And I am  definitely not saying that you do not have the right complain. As a college student I know that I do a lot of complaining. All I'm saying is that I have no time or desire to hear people complaining about things that they can change and choose not too. And chances are, the people that you are complaining to feel the same way.

So you didn't finish your Physic's lab, and want to copy my notes? 

If you were bed ridden with the flu, and had to miss class (which is what you told our professor) then I'd be more than happy to help you, and heck maybe we could even study for our exam together.

However, if you were at the "rager," that someone threw in my hallway last night at 3 am, are worrying about who will sign you into class because 2:15 is just a really inconvenient time for you to haul your self out of your room, and don't even know the name of the professor that we have,  then I'll probably tell you to get lost. 

Do not complain about academic troubles that you have caused for yourself. And certainly do not do it at an institution where education is of a pretty high value to the people that watch you pass out on the bathroom floor at least two nights a week. 

Drink yourself into a coma at home; don't do it at college. 

All that being said, I have to give a small and bittersweet pat on the back to students that manage to maintain a 3.0 GPA while still having 368 photos of themselves at a toga party to post on Face book, every single weekend. I know a few of these people and they are usually copying someones homework and essays and have a small amount of time left before they realize that their final exams aren't open note and that their academic advisor is citing them for plagiarizing. 

I just somewhat admire multi-taskers, because it does take effort to consistently remember to copy lab notes from a class that you know nothing about because you've attended less than half of the sessions. 

I am curious as to whether or not my professor has noticed that your seat is always empty but your name is always on the sign in sheet. 

I think I've said enough to express the anger I have for the fact that you came to class just to submit your half assed project proposal and then left get coffee.
I hope you find your place in the world because I can tell you it is not here

With Concern For Your Well-Being,

Katherine 

*occupatory adj.  ;involving or relating to a chosen occupation.
      In context
   
     Don't take on occupatory duties that you cannot handle because I will not listen to you complain when you have bitten off way more than you can chew. 
     Her occupatory complaints went generally unnoticed by the hard working individuals that were her co-workers. 

 I made up this word.

This is How We Dew

Next time you go to fill your radiator with antifreeze you're going to look at it and think "Oh my god that's Mountain Dew."

That is what I was taught today.
Courtesy of my math professor.

I desperately want to ask why she doesn't dye her roots the same beet red that she dyes the rest of her hair

And I really want to know the name and intelligence level of the person who told her that a blazer retained sophistication when worn with torn jeans and dirty Chuck Taylor's.

But my curiosity is what has put me into a slump today.
What my professor's wear shouldn't influence how I feel about them
But it does, or well it did.
Until she started having us watch Myth Busters and telling us about how she wasn't partial to drinks that looked like antifreeze, I can honestly say that I had assumed that this woman was someone who probably ate by herself at meal times. 
One of the "those who can't do, teach," types that drives a car that no one has ever heard of and eats microwave meals in her living room while watching Star Trek reruns.

For the record, I'm not hating on microwave meals or Star Trek. I'm just giving you a little insight into what I'd pictured my math professor doing on weekends.

All of those assumptions fell in with the fact that she wore dirty shoes and how she always wore her jeans up past where I imagine her belly button would be. All of those assumptions were loads of crap.

I've always done this thing where I form opinions on people based on how they look, dress, articulate, chew their food. 
And If you are up on your morally superior pedestal, pretending that you've never done this then you are either a saint, a new born baby or in denial.

Humans judge other humans on everything from their marital status to the color of their eyebrows. And that, to me is a pretty jerk move. I'm willing to admit to being a recovering hypocrite because I have done the prejudging thing and will probably unknowingly do it in the future.

What else astounds me is that the details that separate good judgements from bad are usually pretty small.

I had a history teacher a few years ago who also wore jeans with a blazer, strange footwear and admitted to having date nights with her dog. I mean she did lack bright red hair, I'll give her that. And while she never confessed to watching any stereotypical nerdy television programs, she did talk about cuddling with her puppy and wanting to watch Boys In The Hood instead of correcting tests. You know, the more I think about it, the stranger she seems. 
But to anyone who had never had a non-scholastic conversation with her, she was just an easy grader with blonde hair, long legs and a band of loyal, male teenage admirers. 

All of the things that made up her reputation were based solely on outward behavior that she exhibited at school, the way she dressed and for some really peculiar reason, the pitch of her laugh. She was one of those "throw your head back and laugh while the wind blows through your hair," types. She ate salads with "lite," dressing, bleached her hair and carried a purse. She sat with her legs crossed and only brought up The Voice when asked about what she did outside of school. 

I'm not defending her acting like a bimbo because I know her to be a pretty intelligent person and as the years progressed I found myself pretty disturbed by the way that she acted in public. 

For females, I don't want to undermine crossing our legs, especially when the skirt you choose to wear isn't very much larger than your underpants. There is also nothing wrong with carrying a purse or eating salad. I just happen to know that in the privacy of her own home, and on beaches and at restaurants this woman probably didn't think twice about crossing her legs. 

All I'm saying is that whatever flaws you do have, you are probably aware of. 
My previous history teacher was probably aware of the fact that most people aren't interested in running 5k marathons or having conversations with their dogs. 

It sucks enough having to listen to your own voice tell you that you're overweight or that you aren't as smart as the sixteen year old that is taking a freshman psychology class at your university, who even though you've asked nicely, still feels the need to kick the back of your chair during exams.
Having other people judge you because of that is equally if not more sucky than the daily reminders that you give yourself.   This is coming from someone who has been called a fat ass, and also recently a "twig bitch," so I consider myself to have experienced the spectrum of less than desirable qualities. Being called a "twig bitch," by my loving roommate, actually gave me a kick in the direction of writing about this. She also wants to be "a little skinnier so that she can wear a hat." She says her face is just too short and wide, but somewhere, deep in her soul, she has a beautiful face, and a perfect sized head for any hat. 
The problem is that no one will ever know about it.
Partially because a lot of people are too afraid to know, (she plays rugby and could probably bench press me.)
But mostly because, and this is factual, she is worried about the way that other people look at her. 
I would just like to question the population of planet earth and ask: What malfunctioned in your head and gave you the authority or right to decided someone's self worth based solely on how they choose to spend their free time Hmm? 
So what if some people like to watch Robot Wars. and skip the gym?
Who cares if some folks prefer to wear what you consider "ratty," shoes?
Some of these people might have more personality and spontaneity than you ever will.

I'm going to go interrupt my room mate's  pancake dinner and apologize for making her feel guilty about eating ice cream.
And then hopefully she will apologize for calling my cereal "rabbit food."

The point of this is that people like my incredibly athletic and lovable room mate and my dedicated and intelligent math professor shouldn't have to spend their lives being judged by "twig bitches." 

My math teacher has a master's degree, a published book and an iPad, and I do not, so that alone is enough to convince me that she is doing something right. So Ms. G, rock on with your un-dyed roots and your Hamilton Circuits. 

And for my room mate: If you want to eat ice cream, I will keep my vegan/health conscious comments to myself. If you want to get another tattoo, I'm not going to judge you. Heck, if you want to cut off all your hair and start referring to yourself as Josh, well then you'd be breaking the co-ed policy in our residential dorming agreement, but I won't stop loving you. 

Peace, Love and Cool As A Moose Maine, 
Katherine

P.S. I lost my Cool As A Moose Maine shirt, when I was ten, on purpose so that my mother wouldn't find out that i'd been teased at school for wearing it. 
Sorry mom. 

I'm feeling really glad that I don't drink soda

A Memoir

Just a few days ago I was convinced that I would die without having left anything to be remembered by. I decided that'd writing a memoir of my life and leaving it behind would provide sufficient evidence that I had existed. 
I was determined to write this whole memoir in a friggin two hour time space 

It was going pretty well until I realized all that I had done was shit talk Weeble Wobbles

Enjoy My Memoir 


If you are growing up in America or have had any type of childhood that included television, you’ve heard of Weeble-Wobbles. 
If not, enjoy my description. 

Imagine a plastic potato with a moronic face painted on. Childish clothing is painted onto the potato’s body. The child-potato hybrid rocks back and forth when pushed and because of whatever magnetic witch-craft went into its creation, you cannot knock the damn thing over. You can push it, kick it, flick it or even hold it down to a surface, but it springs back up like  it’s had an over dose of Viagra. 

These potato children are known as Weeble Wobbles and were advertised as children’s toys, on television commercials accompanied by a presumably under paid man and women singing a catchy tune about what a wonderful world the "Wobbly Weebles" live in and ending with " Lovable Weeble's are wobbling around, Weeble's wobble but they don’t fall down.” 
The fact that Romper Room, the creator of the Wobbly Weebles rhymed "down," with "down," makes me angry enough to set one of these wobbly fuckers on fire. 
It also reminds me of  Fisher Price's Little People Theme Song  and if my memory serves me correctly, Fisher Price came first. 
For those of you who haven't seen Little People, you really haven't lived. 

The Weeble Wobble song does however mention "There's just nothing like them anywhere around, Weeble's Wobble but they don't fall down." 


And this was the most honest jingle I’ve ever heard. 
No matter what way you attempt to “down,” a Weeble-Wobble, the little fucker pops back up and looks at you with its stupid, permanent smile and continues to wobble until momentum ceases. 
Nothing short of duct tape or a blow torch will knock it over and kept it there. 
Just incase you can't being taunted by a painted potato, it's pretty friggin humiliating. 

If a Weeble Wobble was a person, it would be that girl you went to high school with. The one who would skip class, cheat on tests and never show up on time and still managed to get an A on the end of the year exam.

It would be that guy you work with who is always late, never wears anything close to what is mentioned in your handbook and always seems to be on your boss's good side.
Until he gets fired for drinking on the job. 

Weeble Wobbles live to piss people off and are damn good at it

It is also completely possible that I just have a really low tolerance for plastic toys and stupid songs


I had a Weeble-Wobble and I took a lighter to it. It melted to the bathroom floor and I didn't even think twice about sweeping, and sort of peeling, it off the linoleum and throwing it into the trash. 

George Lucas Before He Was George Lucas

I have an aunt
She was a feminist.
She used to wear a poncho, cowboy boots and nothing else.
With a flask gartered to her thigh.
She also told me that she once dated George Lucas and that he used to be an incredibly nerdy and socially awkward guy.
She is educated and most of what she has said to me, in the times we do have meaningful conversation, is fascinating and intelligent. 
Now I do not want to say that she is a liar, but this is would just be an example of how someone could being speaking to you and you have to stop and think, "Your words are worth about as much as tits on a turtle." We can thank the fictional Sookie Stackhouse for that wonderful catch phrase. HBO has some witty writers coming up with this stuff..
Turtles don't have tits and don't really have any use for them.
And now I am imagining a confused mother turtle trying to nurse her baby turtles.
I think turtles lay eggs. Multiple eggs. I mean I think turtles can lay hundreds of eggs. 
Anyway.
George Lucas is still a nerd. And I hope he doesn't find out that I called one of his pre-fame relationships a crock of toads.
Uncle Lucas, forgive me if I'm wrong.  

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To My East Coast Point of View

Truthfully, Katherine Alice