The ramblings of my mind even confuse me, sometimes.
Graffiti on a wall in Portland. Still not quite exactly sure of its significance.You know it's been one of those nights when you're awoken by someone gently but insistently pounding on the bedroom door, turn over to get your bearings, and realize you don't remember the name of the guy whose bed you're in.
(The one at the door? Your friend, who's ready to go home now, thankyouverymuch, given that apparently the guy she hooked up with snores.)
One quibble: WHY are there no diners in LA? Because surely, a diner would be open at 6:15am as the two of you make your way home.
Something to think about: When I tell guys I meet in bars that I'm getting my PhD, with the intention of becoming a professor, half don't know what to do with this information while the other half invaribly respond with, "Wow, if you were my professor, I'd totally want to do you," or some variation thereof.
Now, I believe that in the narrow expanses of the male brain, this is considered a compliment. I also assume this has something to do with some lingering adolescent lust processes I don't even want to get into right now. However, the thoughts that fly through my mind (or plod, depending on the amount of alcohol I've had), are 1) Couldn't you come up with a better line?, 2) WTF, what about my brain, nearly 24 years of schooling, can you be attracted to me for my mind, and 3) Really? Sex? That's really always on your mind, isn't it.
Also, it always makes me a little self-conscious for the week or so (until I forget) post-"compliment" when I'm actually in class TAing, because I can't help but be suspicious as to what exactly is going on in the heads of the guys in my classroom. Besides how boring the lecture is and exactly how much Vitamin C is in those protein shakes they're drinking, that is.
(Of course, since I'm usually tipsy, if not drunk, by this point, my response is something along the lines of... well, me blinking a bit and taking a big swig of my drink. I haven't yet been able to figure out an appropriately witty, whether insulting or flattering, response yet.)
(Ohohoh! I have a retort now! Two retorts, in fact, depending on the how attractive said guy is. Response A, for a cute guy, is, "If you were my student, I'd do you too." Too forward? Perhaps. But it would be funny! Response B, for someone less than desirable, is, "If you were my student, I would be wondering why you were so old and yet in my class." Too mean? Hee. I think it's still funny. I will let you know if ever I remember to use them. Gosh. Sometimes, I am no worse than a guy with my ability to come up with stupid lines, I think.)
Perhaps I shouldn't be hypocritical, since when drunk in Cancun one night, my friend and I made a ranked list of our professors in order according who we would most want to have sex with. Yes. Alcohol tends to make the mind wander to such topics. And don't you dare tell me that you never entertained such thoughts about your cute professors. Since there are so few male faculty, we had to bring in male administrators and even our favourite bartenders. Yes, we made a list. Yes, it's actually on paper somewhere. Hey, we incorporated their personality into our rankings too, so we're not all doing it based on looks.
If that book gets into the wrong hands, we're so screwed.