This has been sitting in my draft folder for a few weeks now, so any “yesterday” and “other day” references are completely inaccurate. Not that it matters.
The other night I was awoken from my snoozing. I am not sure what actually woke me up, but I do know as soon as I was awake, I looked over at my left arm only to find a giant, black blob crawling on me. Naturally, I let out a terrified wail and smashed senselessly at my arm. Throwing myself out of bed and to hit the light, I turned it on to find a spider the size of a quarter chilling on my bedsheets. Well, curled up with a few legs disconnected from it. I immediately started do the “eeewww heebie-geebie” shudder dance and stripped my clothes and bedding off. I ended up taking a shower at 3 in the morning – JUST IN CASE. I changed to completely different clothes, I threw my pillows on the ground, and managed to fitfully get back to sleep with the light on. I slept with the light on again yesterday, because for some reason it seems less terrifying or less likely that a giant spider will once more find its way to my bed when it isn’t dark.
I am still sleeping with the light on every night. I am a child.
I recently received my grades back from my final three essays. I managed to get a mid-merit and low distinction on my two for Dr. Shaggy. I was shocked – to say the least. I had been convinced I did terrible on them, but he was pleased enough with my one on decorative Macedonian military/household items and whether they were used that he gave me juuuuust over the edge to a distinction. Grades here go: fail, pass, merit, distinction. I’ve been in the low merit range (equating to a B or B-) with all my papers so far for Dr. Freckle, so getting a B+ and A- felt pretty dang good. I even managed a mid-merit on my Greek commentaries for Professor Soothingvoice.
Still no word on my exam results… but now I will pass the class ONLY if I got a 44 on the exam. Which I don’t think I did, I’m pretty sure I got a 38. Results should be coming back to me in the next few weeks. I’ve been a wreck trying to not think about it.
I made friends with a random American guy while snacking at the British Museum. He was kind enough to share a table with me when all the others had been taken. We got to talking and he let me know that he was on a fast-paced Euro trip and this happened to be his London stopover. We exchanged information, and he’s been sending me fun photos of all the places he’s gone so far.
He had a…gross, as far as I’m concerned, experience in Amsterdam which he relayed to me. This was his next stop after London, and while there some people from his group decided to go to one of the sex shows (gag). Apparently, one of the er…performers… wrote on one guy’s chest with a marker. But not using her hand. Meanwhile another performer had people actually eat a banana out of her ladybits. WHO ON EARTH PUT THIS SHOW TOGETHER? I want to know who was the first person to be like, “Yep, new thing, guys. Food and markers in the hoo-hahs. It’s gonna be huge. Practice starts tomorrow. We need to work on your writing style. Also, I need to know if anyone is allergic to certain foods.”
Chlamydia and Gonorrhea are real things, people.
A guy on the tube today went to open a canned beer, but when he popped the tab, fizz burst from it and flew all over me. He and his friend stopped chatting and we all just paused and stared at each other, not saying anything. Finally, he mumbled a “mmhsoorry” and we awkwardly turned back to our own imaginary bubbles.
I’m a starer. There. I admitted it. I can’t help it – or at least I don’t try to. I like to watch people. If they have interesting clothes, pretty faces, fun hair, whatever. I stare like a creep. Today, there was a girl with the most beautiful red hair on the tube. It may have been real, I don’t know. It was a realistic colour red, at least. It was crimpy, extremely vibrant, and matched her brown eyes and ivory skin. She looked like a dang magazine photo. Minus, ya know, being on the scummy tube.
Anyway, the point of my overzealous description is to say that I was staring and we made eye contact. Really awkward, triple-take eye contact within a few seconds. I averted my eyes only for a millisecond because I wanted her to think I wasn’t staring anymore, even though I was. She finally turned her whole body to face the opposite direction in order to avoid any more ocular rendezvous.
I dyed my hair recently. Total mistake. I was so excited for the change. I was going to get rid of the red once and for all ––watch out, world, it’s time for a neeeww me –– except not. I mean, it’s new. But it’s also crappy. I wanted to do it big and dye it a really fun colour while I didn’t have a job and could. I was thinking I could try the pinky, rose-gold colour I’ve been throwing around in my head for awhile. I told the lady my idea. We looked at photos. It came out… okay. Not quite what I wanted, but still okay. That is until I washed it once and all the colour decided to disappear. Now I’m left with damaged, straw-like bleached hair that’s this weird pale orange shade. It looks atrocious, but I’m not sure what to do now. I’ve just been sort of ignoring it, trying to convince myself it looks okay. I ordered these other dyes from Lime Crime, to try and remedy my bad dye job, but even they didn’t seem to make any difference in colouring my hair. Maybe it’s just going to be impossible for my hair to hold colour now. Maybe whatever she did to bleach it has made it so I’ll be stuck with awful, straw coloured hair until I die.
Also, I don’t hear well. Most people know that. I went to get my hair cut a week before I dyed it, and had a different lady who cut and styled it. She had a really thick accent, and also would talk to me while blow drying my hair, or when other stylists were blow drying their client’s hair. Add to that I didn’t have my glasses on, so I couldn’t attempt to read her lips, and I was lost half the time. She was discussing relationships with me and said something about her husband. I didn’t understand what she said, so I smiled insipidly. She sort of paused and said, “Do you understand?” And I admitted I didn’t hear, so she repeated herself. I still didn’t hear, but I had a feeling a smile wasn’t an appropriate response. But I also didn’t know what the appropriate response should have been. So I just sort of sat there and furrowed my brows. I asked the lady who dyed my hair about the hair cut lady’s husband, and she said he died 6 years ago from cancer.
I LAUGHED AT HER HUSBAND’S DEATH.
That actually happened about 3 weeks ago and I am still currently cringing over it.