You know what I'm getting really really tired of? The wind. Right now Atlanta is taking over the title of The Windy City. It's getting ridiculous. I'm just waiting to hear that the tiny little girl in my physics class blew away. Legitimately it feels like I'm living in a grid systems of wind tunnels. Wind is easily my least favorite Piece O' Weather. Wind ruins everything. (Besides sailing, but let's be honest, sail boats could disappear of the face of the Earth and there might be 14 people that cared.) I like wind about as much as I like anything made by Tyler Terry. I like anything made by Tyler Perry almost as much as I like shaving with a cheese grater. Or trimming my finger nails with a chainsaw. You get the picture.
Over the past couple days, I have confirmed that I am teetering on the brink of lunacy. The other day I was viciously tricked into driving some friends to Athens, GA. We'll call the group The Expendables. Anyway, my valiant and generous trip to save The Expendables from certain demise, I hit traffic. And I don't mean just normal "I wish this would clear up" traffic. I'm talking about the kind of traffic that encompasses two wrecks, one set of construction, and two patches of the ever-infuriating traffic that has no explanation whatsoever. I began as a patient, well mannered driver enduring a common problem on the highway. When I came out of the fray, I had taken road rage to the next level, tried to run two people off the road, and developed at least two cases of tourrettes. I actually thought to myself that as long as I didn't get hit by shrapnel, I really wouldn't mind if every other car on the road just exploded on the spot. Things only got better from there. Once I picked up The Expendables, most of whom were drunk and/or mentally challenged, we belong the long drive to Athens. Being the expert driver that I am, I got us there safely, though I did it at an average speed of 95 miles per hour. Not to mention one of my 6 passengers (in the 4 passenger car) felt the need to continuously grab my face/head in what must have been attempts at killing us all. We arrived, finally, at which point I resolved to never drive The Expendables anywhere ever again, and holed up on the couch with a beer.
In one of my classes the teacher is granting us the chance to retake one of the tests. That's great news, except for the fact that we have to retake it either on the weekend before finals, or during the final week, on top of the actual final we already have for the class. She asked us which day we'd like, and said it was up to choose. After a solid half hour of debating after which I declared that I didn't care anymore, I realized that choosing which day to have multiple finals is basically like having to choose whether to listen to Coldplay, Creed, or that asian guy from American Idol.
As many of you know, I have a recurring habit when eating M&M's. If you don't know what I'm talking about, CLICK HERE and read the second paragraph before going any further. Yesterday in one of my classes I had a package of Skittles, which like M&M's are also great for dueling. It was the purple bag, so the blue ones were Raspberry flavored. (Side Note: Why the HELL is there a "p" is Raspberry?!?) Anyway, I was in the midst of a grueling set of Skittles Duels, and early on, a blue one established its dominance. Not only did it win more than four in a row (which is usually the average), it made it through the rest of the pack. WHOA. Right? It was mind blowing. Thus, I have deduced that the blue ras-P-berry (it's SO WEIRD) skittles are injected with steroids.
Today is both the birthday of Booker T Washington and Thomas Hobbes. It is also National Deep Dish Pizza day, which I believe to be far more significant.
Shout out to Guyton Porter.
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