Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

…. you spend the last forty-five minutes of a decidedly long and arguably boring six-hour nursing meeting passing notes with the most feared and formidable teacher in the nursing program.

Yeah—for those of you who know Mrs. Harris, pathophysiology and acute medical-surgical professor extraordinaire, that’s who I’m talking about. The whole time I was waiting either for my alarm to go off and wake me out of a very strange dream or for the earth to split open and half of us to fall into hell and the rest of us to drift up through the ceiling.

(Though that sounds kind of bad, like I’m implying something about the moral status of our nursing students. It’s just an illustration, guys.)

This morning I actually got up and exercised, if riding your bike for 40 minutes can be called exercise, which in my book definitely is. (As opposed to sleeping another hour, anyways, which is what I wanted to do.) I’m pretty pumped to have a bike, because in my mind’s eye it looks like losing the seven pesky pounds that have rather stubbornly attached themselves to my personage since I started college. We’ll see.

Also, as I was walking across campus today in a rather hungry, sleepy, dizzy daze of having just sat through too many hours of presentations and inductions and other nursing what-not, I spotted my friend Meagan walking towards me. No one else was around, which becomes important in the story. So I waved really big and said, “Heee-eeey!” in that extremely too-many-syllables Southern way. But instead of responding, she just stared at me. At which point, of course, I realized that the girl I’d accosted was, ah-hem, not Meagan at all, and I didn’t know her from Adam.

I’m pretty sure she was a freshman, too, because she had that totally freaked out, why-didn’t-I-just-go-to-the-state-school-with-all-of-my-high-school-friends look. Oops.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“Against stupidity the very gods themselves contend in vain.”

—Friedrich Schiller

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…. you go to Kroger, select what you need, get in the check-out line, purchase it, take your receipt, and walk away.

Specifically, without what you went in to buy. And the cashier lady has to yell after you, “Ma’am, you’re a complete bass-ackwards idiot and forgot all of your stuff!” Or something to that effect, anyways.

Marvelous. This is what the first day of school, not enough sleep, too much humidity, an unfilled prescription, and too little chocolate will do to you.

But other than this rather embarrassing faux-pas (which I’ve also done embarrassingly often), today was a pretty exemplary first day of class. I stayed awake in all my classes (chapel does not count, because Dr. Burks says the same thing on the first day of chapel every year), actually used some of my groceries, kept my room clean, took a shower, and managed to make myself utterly detestable by channeling my inner Hermione in my ethics class by being totally unable to stop answering questions. Over all, the perfect beginning to a semester, even if the humidity was typically Arkansian (or whatever) in its dependable way of hovering around 113% and slowly expanding my hair to the size of a small asteroid.

And even if every time I have used my groceries I have been faced with Murphy’s Law Subparagraph 2.3 Phrase 0.3: If your mother is not present with you in the kitchen, whatever you are cooking will explode, overheat, catch fire, run over, or do other inexplicable things that would not have happened if she were with you, even if you were doing seemingly the exact same thing. (Needless to say, I ruined boiled eggs today….)

Additionally, I would also like to point out that I have already started on the mountain of homework that is vaguely reminiscent of the workload Harry and Ron and Hermione experienced during their O.W.L. year. Which is pretty good, considering how much I really just want to curl up and sleep.

I have to admit, I think this is going to be a good semester, even if I do spend a lot of money on things I just leave at the cash register.

. . . . . . . . . .

“It is not my fault that I never learned to accept responsibility!”

-Unknown

Dog vs. Boyfriend

Posted: July 30, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

  vs.

I’m about to begin my senior year of college. Well, sort of, but I won’t get into all of my staying-late and I-have-enough-hours-to-have-graduated-my-sophomore-year-of-high-school gripes right now. But in lieu of this unavoidable fact, I started thinking back to who I was when I began college and who I am now.

That person is really rather different.

For one, I’m a nursing major now, instead of an English-major-who-might-go-to-PA-school-if-she-doesn’t-do-what-all-English-majors-do-and-just-go-to-more-school-so-their-great-great-great-grandchildren-will-still-be-paying-off-her-school-loans. (Although I still like long hyphenated phrases).

I study a lot more than I used to.

Also, I wear dresses and skirts now and my hair is longer, which I guess means I’ve finally given up my elementary school dream of being a vicious-awesome tomboy.

However, one of the most substantial differences is this:

I would much rather have a dog than have a boyfriend.

When I first started college, I went in with the firm and unwavering determination to find a boyfriend OR ELSE, OKAY?! I was a little scary, in truth. I liked about half of the male population at Harding my first semester, and you think I’m joking. Those first few months probably would have made a really good B-lister rom-com that all the girls at Harding who were exactly the same way would have loved. (I know this because I’ve watched all of these movies with my friends. Hooray college.)

But I have seen the error of my ways and come to a much better understanding of life. Dogs are simply better than boyfriends. Don’t believe me? Allow me to convince you.

Reason Number One

Dogs are uncomplicated. Dogs need five things: food, water, exercise, sleep, and you. (Well, six things if you don’t fix them, so you know—spay and neuter your pets, kids.) And the thing they need the most of is you. Boys need food, water, exercise, sleep, a mid-afternoon snack, football, time alone, guy time, video games, movies, nachos, more football, magazines, girls, and undoubtedly nameless unfathomable things that girls don’t know about it. The list goes on and on.

Reason Number Two

Dogs do not give a cat’s tail if you are in a bad mood or not. It’s wonderful. You can sit and complain to them about absolutely anything you want, from the fact that Gossip Girl is in re-runs, again, or how you don’t have any friends or how your best friend didn’t sit by you in class today or how the library didn’t have the book you wanted or… you get the picture… and it doesn’t matter to them one iota, no matter how long you go on (so long as you take them to the bathroom after a few hours). You can even pet them while you complain. Just try complaining for six straight hours about how much you hate your chemistry teacher to your boyfriend while petting him simultaneously.

Reason Number Three

Dogs are easier to potty train. You teach them to do their stuff outside and that’s the end of it. Try teaching your boyfriend not to splash or leave the toilet seat up. Again, just try. Let me know how it goes for you. Not that they don’t want to, but unfortunately, milkbones don’t have quite the same effect on significant others as they have on the canine species.

Reason Number Four

When dogs use too much tongue, it’s cute. When guys use too much tongue… yeah.

Reason Number Five

Dogs have fur, and fetch, and let you give them tummy rubs, and do tricks if you give them treats, and are cuddly, and… huh. That is mostly the same, except the cuddly part, although I’ve met a few guys in my time who are rather a lot like teddy bears….

Anyway, it’s not that I have anything against guys. Obviously. Guys, especially tall guys, give great hugs (which dogs can’t do), and generally smell nice (which dogs almost never do), and are usually a good deal more straightforward than girls (whereas dogs can’t talk and have no opportunity to be straightforward or otherwise). Also, if you take a guy for a walk, you don’t have to pick up their poop, and after a summer of working at the Humane Society, that’s really quite a plus. One day, I hope to find one—a guy—who is really, really awesome. But, at this point… they don’t have anything on this:

And that, my friends, is why you’ll find me at the animal shelter instead of hanging out in Keller or Allen or Harbin lobby this next semester. Cheerio.

Hold on to your seats everyone, because this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for!

After years of silence from our dear J.K., we finally have the announcement that millions of fans have been dying to hear: There is going to be a new series!

We even have a title of the first book!

Drum roll please everyone….

And it is….

Hairy Otter and the Albino Dementor!


Hahahaha. Oh, I crack myself up.

Obviously I got into our old Beanie Babies, or at least the ones that didn’t get jettisoned in one of Mom’s Catastrophic Clean-outs (which are in the same category as her Destroy the Greenery Days, in which she decides that our trees have too many branches and starts lopping them off at random). And I was absolutely thrilled when I found these, and it was one of the rare moments when I thought I had come across something truly funny.

Maybe. I guess that is sort of up to you. And now you are possibly pissed at me because you thought there was actually a new series. Well, we can keep hoping, can’t we?

I still have my fingers crossed that she will write a couple of books involving the Founders of Hogwarts.

Hmmm. I have several other interesting pictures in my Photobooth. I think I’ll post them, just for kicks.

Me minus makeup minus doing absolutely anything with my hair. I kind of like it.

Me being mysterious. Probably one of numerous failed attempts to make a Facebook profile picture that would make all the boys like me.

Me trying to look dramatic and with straight hair. Zomg. And a freakin’ huge forehead to boot. But best of all… in Italy! Remember that, blog readers? Remember how it was awesome?

And then these are of my little brother, because my brother is awesome, and also out of his mind. He also doesn’t look anything like this, obviously.

Like I’ve said, he’s pretty awesome.

And now more me, because I’m feeling narcissistic tonight.

Here is me trying to look gansta and tough. I sort of succeeded, I think.

Dressed up for a social club mixer/as a prostitute, apparently. What does it say about me that I kind of like this look?

The time a zit went wrong. Really wrong.

Two Kellums. Both my fondest dream and my worst nightmare.

Okay, you get the “picture.” Hahahaha. I really need to stop.

Since you guys seemed to like the post I made a few weeks ago about goings on in the lovely Kim Kove (what a retarded name…), I decided to make another post on the same subject.

This time, we’ll be discussing the wildlife of this varied and rich ecosystem. (But in case you’re wondering… yes, our neighbor’s trailer is still there. My parents think it will eventually leave… but I don’t. We’ll see who wins.)

First, we’ll be visiting one of the creatures that also frequents the Harding campus in great droves: the grey squirrel. The Kim Kove variety are somewhat smaller and thinner, undoubtedly due to the lack of Chick-fil-A fries and half-rotten caf food (it’s only, I dunno, a quarter rotten when first taken out of the caf) left on the front lawn. However, there is something special about our Kim Kove squirrels.

They’re intelligent.

They use tools.

And, most of all, they use their intelligence and their ability to create tools to make weapons.

You think I’m kidding, but over Spring Break, Dad and I were outside grilling Whiskey River Burgers, which are about the most amazing thing since chocolate, when all of sudden we heard this crazy screaking noise. I know that’s not a word, but that is what it sounded like. Then we discovered what it was. A squirrel was sitting in our plum tree, gazing down on us, sharpening a massive stick into a point. Just watching us, as if daring us to continue to existing in his territory.

And you think living in suburban Alabama in boring. We have organized squirrel gangs, k? And what do you have?

Then… we have birds. But not just any birds. Demon birds. My first real remembered experience with these valkyries was a small incident, but an omen of things to come. I was sitting on the back porch when I was in, oh, fifth or sixth grade, and I got pooped on. Lovely. Sort of scarring for an awkward preteen but not that big a deal.

However, due to the fact that Dad has never quite gotten around to wiring off the little alcove in the overhang on our front porch, we have two birds that come every spring and stay until late fall to make babies in this high rise of a nest that gets bigger and featherier and poopier every year. And not only do they and their mutant children cause a two-foot-deep layer of bird manure to gather on our porch, but they don’t really like people being on their porch. Not at all.

For instance, the other day, I walked outside to see just how dead our herb garden has gotten in the unseasonable dry heat we’ve been having lately. I didn’t even get all the way out of the door before I was dive-bombed like a target in swallow military training. Dive-bombed, guys. Absolutely horrendous, having tiny, impossibly fast, beaked, angry birds attacking you. These little dudes give the iPhone app a run for its money.

But they aren’t the worst. The worst is the one that I call The Happy Bird. You know how birds generally sing, you know, during the day? Well, this one sits outside my window and starts singing at, oh, midnight, usually. Very happily, and very loudly. Way too happy and way to loud for that position on the clock. A few nights ago, I scared my parents out of their skins banging on the window around 1:00 in the morning trying to make it stop, please heavens above make it stop.

Still, the most fearsome beast of the Kim Kove habitat is neither the the squirrel regiment of the Bloods nor the psychotic birds. No, the monster that is the most terrifying, the most horrifying, the most heartless and the one that keeps normal citizens from being able to take a simple exercise walk around the neighborhood is the Skeeter Dogs.

See how preciously adorable this dog is? Well, look closer. It’s really a devil in puppy’s clothing. You’ll be walking along, minding your own business, beebopping to Supertramp and Rihanna on your iPod, when out of nowhere, you are surrounded by a howling, bloodthirsty mob of Skeeter Dogs with slathering jaws and teeth that are just longing to rip your ankle tendons and leave you lying in the middle of the road, a fleshless carcass. So, in order to protect yourself, of course you start throwing rocks, hoping to scare them off.

Then the witch that owns the leashless horrors will undoubtedly appear and scream her head off about What Are You Doing to My Poor Precious Puppies? And you want to reply What Are They Doing to My Ankles? Haven’t You Read the Leash Laws??

Anyways. Haha. There was actually quite a sweet small little terrier that came up to me just the other day before going on his business, but you understand.

So—what are the denizens of your neighborhood?

I have one word to say to you all:

HORSES.

Today, I had my first horseback-riding lesson. As literally all of my knowledge of equinery… ah-hem… and horseflesh literally comes straight out of the mountains of books I’ve spent my life reading, it was pretty much the best experience ever MOST AWESOME THING I’VE DONE SINCE ITALY. Because now all those words became real, and all of the different bits and pieces that I’ve known from books assimilated themselves into an overall picture.

I worked with a fifteen-hand brown quarter horse (a hand is approximately four inches, so you can do the math) named Tank, which I’m assuming is because he’s big and stolid. Very big. That always surprises me, how big horses are. I learned which brushes to use and how to use each of them, and how to get him to pick up his hooves so you can clean them, and all about how to put on the saddle and bridle and all that good jazz. Oh and most importantly—how to walk around behind it without getting kicked. That’s pretty important, you know. Then I got to mount! It was brilliant. All of a sudden you’re every bit as tall as this huge creature, and then just by adjusting the way you sit and giving a little squeeze with your legs and making this little knk-knk-knk sound that I totally failed at, you can make it move. Just like that. And tell him which direction to go with the reins.

Mostly. Until it decides that it doesn’t want to, and then you have a fun little power struggle. I mostly lost, but it got a little better towards the end.

But it was so much fun. Honestly. I am getting all excited just thinking about it.

And my teacher, Anna, told me that I was going to do really good. Yes, really good, because this is the South, y’all.

Here is a little grammar for the different words I learned today, if you care, which you should, because have I mentioned that all of this is AWESOME? But feel free to skip to the end of the grey section if you don’t care. Even though you should.

Tack: all of the equipment used to care for the horse and make it do what you want

Curry comb: a brush with large plastic bumps on it that gets the dust and dirt up out of the horse’s coat; brush in circles with the lie of the horse’s hair

Hard brush: a brush with wiry bristles to get the dust and dirt off the horse’s coat; brush in quick short strokes

Soft brush: a brush usually with bristles of horsehair to get the finer dust off and to make the horse shiny and pretty; brush in long strokes

Halter: the strappy thing that goes over the horse’s face when you’re not riding it; usually, a lead rope will be attached to this

Bridle: the strappy thing that goes over the horses’ face when you are riding it; includes the following:

Bit: the metal bar that goes into the horse’s mouth and which directs it where to go

Reins: the things you hold in your hands that connect to the bit

Crown strap: a strap that goes on top of the horse’s head behind his ears

Throat strap: strap that goes under the throat and hangs loosely, with about a hand between the strap and the horse’s throat

Cheek strap: strap that, um, goes over the cheek

Saddle pad/blanket: the rug-looking pad that goes under the saddle across the horse’s back

Saddle: what you ride on; includes these parts:

Horn: only on Western saddles; the sticky-uppy part at the front of the saddle

Pommel: the part of the saddle at the front that the horn sticks off of

Stirrups: where you put your feet

Girth: the strap that goes underneath the horse to hold the saddle on him

Withers: the high part behind the horse’s head… not the horse’s butt, which was what I had always though

Forelock: the little bit of mane that falls down between the horse’s ears

Star: if a horse has a little diamond of different color on its forehead, that’s what it’s called

Strip: if a horse has a little, uh, strip of color running from the diamond down, that’s what it’s called

Blaze: a really wide strip

Sock: white coloring that goes up to the ankles

Stocking: white coloring that goes all the way up to the knees

And… that’s all I can remember. And probably way past your attention span anyways.

Did you know that horses have no nerve endings in their manes? So you can yank on them all you want and use them to get up into the saddle and all that and it doesn’t make a hill-o-beans difference. When Anna told me this, I could hardly even believe it, and I have to give a few experimental yanks on its mane before I believed her.

I would also like to point out that I got to the Hitchin’ Post where I’m taking the lessons without using my GPS or written directions or anything, and I took no wrong turns.  I consider this to be pretty exciting.

Next lesson next Tuesday. Get excited, because I am.

Yesterday, I got the second part of my tuberculosis skin test, and… I kind of think it might be positive. It’s all red and raised and it hurts occasionally. I cannot even begin to tell you how thrilled I would be if I actually got a positive result. I absolutely love infectious diseases. There is nothing that excites me more than that sort of thing. My microbiology class just about sent me over the edge of ecstasy I loved it so much. And for those of you who think I’m being sarcastic, I’m not. I should also probably explain that being TB positive doesn’t mean that I actually have tuberculosis… it just means that my body recognizes it and has seen the bacteria before.

And just in case you were wondering what a quarter horse is….

On WordPress, the programmers have provided an application that allows you what people entered into search engines to find your blog. Most of the times these things make sense, but here are three of the stranger ones:

  • “Woman muscle sex”
  • “What does the Bible have to say about PMS?”
  • “Men with feminine breasts”

Now I’m not judging. I just find it extremely strange.

Tonight when I got back from Bible study, I was standing in front of one of the mirrors, talking to Lisa, when I suddenly realized… I had had a zit actually inside my nose for the past several hours that looked like nothing so much as a giant booger. Thank you, life.

(It’s been a while since you guys have had a good dose of things-I-never-wanted-to-know-about-Kellum…. I think this one should hold us over for another several months.)

On the brighter side of things, I am currently in the labor pangs of a poem which I will post in honor of Valentine’s Day. It’s a love-ish sort of poem, I think, so it will sort of fit, if I can get it finished—I actually have it inside of me, but trying to get it to come out is proving sort of difficult.

Tonight at Dr. Garner’s Bible study, which I have begun attending fairly regularly (by which I mean I have been three times this semester and I am not getting a grade for going, as it always was for French devotional the past three semesters), Dr. Garner made a point that I felt was extremely valid. In regards to religious doctrine and dogma, he said something along the lines of, “We’re all wrong about something, and probably lots of somethings. In the Church of Christ, we like to think we have a monopoly on the truth, and that in itself could not be further from the truth. We try to save ourselves by being right when it is essential that we let God save us through grace in his Son Jesus Christ.”

I found that statement to be incredibly thought-provoking and important. Lately I have been considering very seriously how we are supposed to know what is “salvation-important,” so to speak, and what is more “marginally important,” because so many people have so many different views and each person sees the world and the Bible from his or her own perspective. Even still, I do not think that saying, “Oh, it’s alright, Jesus will save us, no worries,” or that we should cease to study and question and probe—not at all. Like Dr. Garner also said, there is no “cheap grace.” But this thought is very comforting, and is echoed by Paul in Romans 5:20-21, “The law was added so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased al the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Just something to think about.

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“Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.”

—Kahlil Gibran