by Jonathan Dy
The other day I was in my kitchen looking outside the window
admiring the beautiful weather we were so lucky to have, when I was struck by a sight so disturbing, so disgustingly scary that I wasn't even sure if I should reveal such an experience with you. But alas, I must, for I have nothing else to write about at this time. My family was having a little
barbecue in our backyard and as I looked across at the house behind us, I noticed that the residents started to hang their laundry up on the clothes line, as they always do once we are greeted by warm weather every spring. The scary thing is, all they have hanging up is their underwear. It is understandable that this drying method may be preferred over using technological means, but I mean, here I am, having din din with the fam and the view we are offered is undies on a wire. In a way, it's just not right.
Another bad thing about this conventional preference is that when
families are having barbecues in backyards right behind or next to this
undergarment exposition, the owners of the underwear in question don't get normal drying conditions. They suffer what I like to call "undies-kabob". The scents emanating from our bbq tend to float over to their backyard, creating a constant draft surrounding the underwear, thus resulting in a shish-kabobian odor being trapped within the fabrics. It's not a pretty sight, but I'm willing to bet this is where the idea for edible underwear originated from. There is such a thing as edible undies isn't there? Or did I just reveal one of my personal sexual fantasies? Whatever.
Spring this year was marked by another significant event, this time
pertaining to the academic component of my life. You see, I was studying
with a pal named Ludo one Sunday night for an exam the very next day at 2 o'clock. We busted our asses for pretty much the whole day, give or take a few dozen breaks to regain our sanity, and by the end of this study session, we felt we were decently prepared considering we only really studied one whole day. Let's skip now to moments before the exam. As we were getting the pre-exam jitters I broke open some of that shit they call small talk with a couple of members in our class to find out how their studying went. This is when all hell breaks loose in my world. Ludo and I were to find out that our exam was actually at 9:30AM and not 2:00PM, as we had thought! We were only late by about... oh... four hours. Needless to say, we were in a bit of a panic.
In the end, we were told all we could do was wait until August to
do the final, and it wasn't even guaranteed that we'd be able to do it. The thing is, the exam was basically a take-home so I'm here wondering what the big deal is. Even though we're accused of cheating, we already pretty much knew what was gonna be on it. Oh and to make things even more betterer, I decided (absent mindedly, of course) to pick up a paper that had been corrected by one of my professors over the weekend, and it turns out I got a 6... on 20! And the funniest thing about this bullshit is that I actually deserved a '0' cuz he wrote "0-6 (max)" which, in university-professor's lingo, basically means "this paper is bullshit and I was actually considering wiping my ass with it". Trust me, I know these things. That 6 was a pity 6. Whatever. You get what you deserve sometimes, right?
These little incidents had a slight affect on my studying habits
for the following exams, but the shitty thing about this whole day, I
think, is when we were on our way home and we hit traffic at 2:30PM!!!
Where the hell's everyone going at 2:30PM on a Monday? Geez! So Ludo and I went back to his girlfriend's place and had some hairy tuna sandwiches, misty beer, and played Nintendo all evening. Oh and if you're wondering about the hairy tuna, I purchased it at this small convenience store on the way home cuz I figured why not waste all the money I have on food that may or may not be hazardous to my health, and I really felt like eating dolphin... I mean tuna. Also, hairy tuna was all they had left outta their vast selection of sandwiches. I'm serious, I found a frickin hair in it. I'm sure they just forgot to shave it or something. I actually had a
hankerin' for the furry chicken sandwiches they are so famous for, but
those obviously sell out right away.
Everyone has different images defining the four seasons we
encounter during the year and I guess, to me, what defines spring is
stress-induced fuck-ups in academia, char-broiled briefs and hairy tuna...
whatta sad, sad life I live.