Thesaurus Rex (virtuistic) wrote,
Thesaurus Rex

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Part II

Ookay. I just got back from drawing and I have a question, how fucking hard is it to find engaging subject matter?! Wanna know what she had us draw today? No, you don't. I wish I didn't know. Still, I'm going to tell you so that you can empathize with me. Misery loves company, ooooh yes she does. Alright, ready for it? Here it comes, but you're not going to like it. I promise. She had us draw a dozen eggs. For three hours!!! And it's at that point, when she adjusts the lighting to make things "more exciting" that you seriously contemplate sharpening your pencils and either shoving them in your eyes or eating them. Your mind begins to contemplate just what would happen if a human consumed graphite, erasers, charcoal, or all of the above. One could also huff the fixative...



That's not the worst of it either. THREEHOURSOMG!! ... Still not the worst of it. Apparently, she had the class drawing eggs last thursday too when I was ill. Uhm, a bit strapped for ideas, sweeting? As if class isn't already going to be exceptionally irritating - because we're totally going to be spending the next three hours of our lives staring at, and drawing eggs - she shuts off the lights in the room so we can "focus". Honey, you've got me staring at a dozen white orbs, focusing is quite out of the question. I'm just waiting for the mental onslaught of inappropriate imagery because um, hello? When you're staring at a blank sheet of paper, and a dozen eggs, it's either pervy daydream/porn time or complete and total loss of all hope and cognizance. Plus, "when am I not thinking about porn, really"? Kidding. Anyway, no, no porn. However, the only reason my thoughts were kept clean was because they were kept agitated by this giant bloody lamp blaring me in the fucking eyeball. I think I've become an unwilling recipient of refractive surgery, because my eyes were watering like a motherfucker and every time I tried looking back at my paper to, y'know um...draw, all I could see were multicolored dots which is, as you might guess, the exact opposite of productive. However, I think her secret plan is to drive us all completely starkers, because she went back to playing her creepy ass world-music-techno: basically various foreigners being voiced over goats mating and dubbed in with south american style drummin'. Translation? TERRIBLE AURAL CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY. She told us that we could change the music if/when we wanted to, or shut it off. I put in my Ipod headphones faster than a crack whore puts in a you-know-what you-know-where when he/she's in withdrawl. Anyway, I could still hear the ting of some ill percussive instrument that was apparently all too eager to just be put out of its misery, and a brave and courageous classmate of mine turned off the "music" once Crazy Lady left. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. Crazy Lady came back about 30 seconds later and turned it back on and walked out the door!!! Some people astound and inspire me. Others make me want to weep bitterly and pray for death. Can you guess which category Crazy Lady fits into? Anyway, I survived. Cranky, frustrated, porn-less, and overly tired, but I survived none the less. Still, you all should count your lucky stars for that!

Back to dear old Oedipus. During lecture today while Branislav was breaking down Oedipus for all the uncultured heathens who apparently can't read prose in any form whatsoever (by the by, good luck with Hamlet, fuckers.), I found myself parodying everything he's saying. Thus, I have the script in my hand... and here's a preview.

Scene One
In front of the Royal Palace of Thebes, or y'know, anywhere but preferably Thebes. Enter Oedipus Mack-Daddy Rex, a superstitous priest-man, and some assorted peeps.

Oedipus: 'Sup? Why the long faces, chums?

Priest-man: A certain product is really hitting the fan out there. *thumbs toward city* There's like, a plague and shit.

Oedipus: I heard. Bummer, dude. So, are we talking the flu, or?

Priest-man: Um, more like death.

Oedipus: Hmm, well that's not going to fly. I need my minions. Is there some logical, natural explanation for this?

Priest-man: Probably... but that's not very interesting. I vote we blame it on bad karma.

Oedipus: I'm game. Superstition it is, then. I already sent my brother-in-law, Creon, to go consult Apollo to see what the deal is.

Priest-man: Apollo, you say?

Oedipus: That's the one. Hey, here's Creon! What perfectly coincidental timing!

Enter Creon and Creon's minion... < /end preview>

Anyway, despite the rant and other assorted nonsense, I'm in a really good mood. Memories of my ridiculously long phone call with Matt last night keep running through my head. His laughter, the really ridiculously wonderful topics of discussion. I want to snuggle something, or hug everyone within reach. Hee. Anyway... Dinner time.
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