There is a God. Springtime is finally here. The sun’s shining bright, it’s much warmer now & everyone seems friendlier, the flora is starting to grow back and even the birds are back. [Or, like my sister’s former teacher who always unsuccessfully tried too hard to speak American once said: “The bads are burk.” Talk about putting the wrong emphaaasis on the wrong syllaaable.]
Good it’s warmer tho, coz I gotta up the ante in the fitness department. Not to say I’m unfit, & Shawty loves my [apparent] athleticism, [Matter of fact, she’d want me to gain weight. Never that.] but I’m still trying to jog 5-plus miles every day. I can barely do 3; don’t know how people do the 5, for real. I guess I didn’t inherit the Kenyan running gene.
It’s a busy time of the year, like it is for many, what with work & impending finals and stuff. It doesn’t help much either that the value of the dollar is sinking faster than Britney Spears’ career which means, like Rick Ross puts it, I gotta hussle hard every day.
And speaking of school, there’s some dude I wanna elbow right in the mouth. He’s sooo annoying. And it’s not just I; the usually unflappable instructor came dangerously close to exasperation, as did the rest of the class. He’s one of those self-proclaimed know-it-all types who’s quick to loudly – and rudely – interrupt the prof in mid-sentence whenever he has any input, which is like once every 65 seconds.
Like, in the last class the prof pulled out, from his bag of tricks, a coil pack. Soon as this dude saw it he was like:
“Did that coil pack come from a Mercedes?”
“No,” the prof responded. “I got it from a GM.”
“That looks like it came from a Mercedes though,” dude insisted.
“I took it out of the truck myself,” the prof retorted.
“Oh, OK. It still looks like it came from a Mercedes.” He paused. “Only difference is, that black wire over there is brown on the Mercedes.”
The prof looked at him for 5 tense seconds and looked like he was about to blow but didn’t say anything; he just turned back around to the projector screen. Wow.
>d® is gonna have to smack a b*tch. I can’t be busting my ass all day then going in to class, tired as all hell, only to have to listen to this hindiot talk up a storm. Nosir.
Then, last Thursday I went to the carwash to have the Lancer all spruced up [for the first time in like 2 months, which is very unlike me] and I couldn’t help but notice a gorgeous Mercedes SL500 convertible right behind me in the line. I mean, it’s impossible to not notice such a blatant status symbol. I left the Lancer and walked around to the pick-up spot. Soon after, this middle-aged Caucasian lady walked up and stood by me. A couple of minutes after I saw my car come around the corner. Where there should’ve been an SL500 behind the Lancer was a Corolla. The lady promptly turned around and literally ran back to the drop-off spot then came back half a minute later, looked up at me and said:
“I was afraid they’d taken my car for a joyride. People do that all the time.” With obvious pride, she added. “You see, I have a Mercedes SL500 and these people here like to play with it.”
I looked at her, smiled politely and walked away to my car without a backward glance. I honestly had nothing to say. Why did she have to stress the fact that she owned an SL500? Lady, I don’t even like Benzes! I’m never mad to see people getting paid, God bless ‘em, but don’t be talking about ‘these people’ messing with your whip. She reeked of a fragile inferiority complex, needing the female equivalent of an extension of the penis.
That time >d® almost smacked a b*tch.
Alright, gotta go try to convince boss-man I need to make a run someplace. Of course you realize I’m only trying to get out there and feel the sun, right?