And now, they think I’m a sexual deviant.

I’m now in the second week of my master’s program and churning out an absurd amount of writing both in class and outside. It’s wonderful, really; though I’ve been sleep deprived (prior to last night, I had been awake for nearly 2 days; it’s amazing how 8 hours can immediately set you back to normalcy), I’ve managed to juggle my Assistant Lectureship (which is supposedly a part-time gig, but I call bull), multiple private tutoring clients, a social life, and my own classes and assignments.

That said, sleep deprivation has led me to produce some pretty interesting pieces. Maybe it’s because I’ve been bordering on insane, crazy-eyes and all, or maybe it’s just because I want to laugh (hysterically, I might add) to relieve tension and stress, but I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone of poignancy and entered absurdity with a gusto.

Expression equivalent to sleepless Rachel’s, courtesy of a smoke alarm that hated me for two nights. (Credit)

Here In Spirit

My mother and her best friend are polar opposites. Seriously.

Let me preface this by saying that I adore my mom’s friend, who would be my godmother were it customary in our culture and religion. She’s full of boundless compassion and wisdom in many regards. She is also the source of some hilarious stories.

My mother is a petite woman who is conservative in manner and dress; a lady, as defined by retro standards, if you will. She’s always well-groomed and a consummate professional. She lives in Suburbia, maintaining a nice home with a view and a pool, has a luxury sedan in the garage, and is fairly religious (though rational). The only thing she lacks is 2.4 children, but I’m sure I count for at least 2.

Her best friend, on the other hand, is an enormously dynamic person whose personality fills a room in a way no one else that I’ve ever met has been able to. She wears her hair in extremely long dreadlocks, spends half of the year or more in Jamaica (informally adopting neglected Jamaican children and teens in a manner that puts Angelina Jolie to shame), is a vegetarian, once believed someone had put a Vodou spell on me when I was sick, doesn’t particularly adhere to organized religion but believes in Jah (God), has an enormous heart, and has a gift.

Takin’ care of the world’s children like a boss… (Credit)

Stereotyping and Switchblades

I went to dinner last night with an old friend who is currently home on leave. It was an experience, to say the least, and an eye-opener on how well-suited he is to the Navy in some of the most stereotypical ways. I’ll refer to him as “Jay” from here on out.

By the way, the cowboy bears some slight resemblance to Jay… Minus the facial hair and the sexual orientation. (Credit)

Dating Derp

I’ve… enjoyed… a rather, erm, prolific dating life.

My last blog post (briefly mentioning my rather embarrassing recent lack of charm/wit) spurred one of my friends to leave a rather (tongue-in-cheek, I’m sure) surprised comment on Facebook. “Youre not the witty Rachel we all know and love while youre on dates?!” he wrote. “Weird.” Please ignore the sarcasm and pretend for a moment that he’s being serious.

It’s not just me, I swear. Lately, I’ve been on some sort of a horror loop of bad dating experiences. I take full blame for my moments of derp, but sometimes, the moment can’t be attributed to me. And sometimes, the moment is completely situational. Fortunately, I’ve never had to deal with anything that is quite this calibre… but seriously. Sometimes the awkward is just too much.

Tangent: Alex Skarsgard and Kate Bosworth can corroborate that extreme awkwardness (like acting out a rape scene with your significant other that will be marketed for public consumption) is just too much for a relationship to weather.

Dear Alex: I’m single. (Credit)

Time for 2 stories. Strap yourself in, as this is going to be a long one (story #2’s level of cringe probably exceeds story #1; story 1 is just about sanity).

The Magic Kingdom

I sometimes like to think that I’m Sherlock Holmes. This is a severe issue, mainly because I’m not. I do think I’d pull off a deer hunter and a pipe quite well, though.

I people-watch intensely and like to think I’m hyper aware, but I have a tendency to take it all a step too far and go beyond mere observations; I attribute back stories that are completely baseless and often utterly irrational to the people I see. Unlike Holmes, however, I blame an overly vivid imagination rather than any form of genius. I suppose that it must be better in some ways than brilliant insanity held in tenuous check by heroin.

Before I get too tangential, I should say that this post is about Disneyland.

Cue a dramatic, angelic choral flourish. (Credit)