"A petrified elephant’s tooth has been found in Freeborn country, in this State. It is said to have belonged to a species now extinct. Shouldn’t wonder."
I see y’all got some sass.
"Elephant’s tooth," Mankato Semi-Weekly Record, May 3, 1861, no. 88.
|—||Ashton Webb (via beforetherewasinternet)|
"what music do you like?" is such a stressful question like what do you want to know??? genres?? artists?? albums??? time periods?? 25 most played?? what i’m currently listening to??? what i listen to at different times of the day?? be more specific??????
I’ll direct you to a few of my playlist names: “Hipsternomics”, “Suck Mah Ballz/Picture Me Rollin’…”, “Hey Gurl Hey I’m Fabulous”, “Morning Grumpies/Sucky Day Remedy”, and “Pants Optional Make-Out Party”
Every time I write a student named “Aaron“‘s name on the board for reading notebook checks, I think of this sketch.
My friend, Mark, put this song on a mix CD a few weeks ago for me and every time it comes on I’m like, “hell yeah!”
It’s February in Minnesota, which means that Mother Nature can do whatever the hell she feels like and we all just take it.
The most recent foray into precipitation has given us (and by us I mean it in a royal “we” sense, i.e. me and the universe) another smattering a shitty weather conditions that render our 1997 German engineering meaningless in slushy, fluffy snow. I had mentioned to a friend earlier this evening at pub trivia that I had played with the idea of leaving my car in the parking ramp, taking a cab home/get a ride from them, and then pick it up in the morning using the city bus route whose use is free through my student fees at MNSU. But I thought, “hey, no way that it could be as difficult to park off-street tonight like it was two days ago in the last snow emergency!”
After attempts from two different entrances that both resulted in me getting stuck – but luckily managing to be pushed out by a friendly neighbor – I decided to go back to my original plan (mostly after shouting at the elements how much I hated them, this place, and goodness me am I EVER moving somewhere else where I don’t have to deal with this anymore) and parked downtown at the central public transit hub.
While I’m waiting and getting a cab anyway, why not have a beer? So I chose the closest establishment and sat down by myself – always a gamble when you’re a female on her own. I ordered a beer, told the bartender my seasonal plight upon inquiry, and settled into watching Olympics coverage from Sochi while I eased my problems with chocolately, heavy, stout-y deliciousness.
Enter Michael. At least that’s how he first introduced himself.
I must have one of those faces that just says, “Hey, she’s nice and will talk to you,” because almost always I inevitably do. Which in this case I’m both happy - and sad - that I did.
“Michael” starts by asking me my name and what I do. I debate falling back on my Bar Name (“Chloe” in case you’re wondering) and a back story of some great importance. But I’m tired, it’s cold, and dude, I’m just waiting to call my cab. When he finds out I’m a history major, he asks if I know any Biblical history.
*screeching sound of a car coming to a stop*
I benignly answer, or rather, respond to his questions, feeling the creeping realization that this guy is a bag full of cats (translation: three kinds of crazy) and that I have no out. I glance at my phone (ohh, look at that, I have to go…elsewhere) and put on my coat, ignoring his comment about “just finding a motel to stay for the night.” Yeah.
Now, as I debriefed with my cab driver on the way home, I’m all for miraculous possibilities, that there is a higher power with messengers, I’ve seen it movies, I get it. But…I mean, are they supposed to be drinking whiskey at a bar on a Thursday, hitting on college girls, and have neck tattoos?
No – my concept of the beautiful and unexplained does not include a guy who looked like he had a rough life a few years back, “found” G-d, and is now making people uncomfortable all over the place. It’s much more of a we’re all connected through the organized chaos of the universe, I am you and you are me, I Heart Huckabees/David O. Russell style.
But I’m too nice, I can’t say, “F**k you, guy – no, you can’t sit there in that open seat,” because you never know. You don’t. And plus, as Marshall says on HIMYM, “manners cost nothing.”
But like the other bartender at the place I took refuge at later said, “Now I know why women just automatically respond, ‘No, get away,’ when guys come up to them.”
Because it’s not that we’re being bitchy. I mean, well, some of us females are. But so are guys, sometimes. But you hear enough stories like this, or in my case, unfortunately have them happen to you (more than once) that you wonder why even bother being approachable in the first place?
Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have stories like this to share with people.