Paper Cuts

Oh God. The GRE is upon us. Mom asks, “Why are you studying only now. Don’t you need more time?” Well, yeah I do, but there’s not enough study time in the universe for me to avoid making a big a## of myself. So I figure starting now is just fine. In preparation for taking the test sometime in October (Hey! No pressure with the “setting a date”thing ok?!), I’ve spent what, two whole days looking at a GRE exam preparation book and I’ve come to the realization that I think my IQ has taken a significant leap for the worst since I’ve graduated–heck, since I’ve taken the SATs to get into UH! And so, burdened with my huge apathy for math and the quantitative section of the GRE I thought I would cheer myself up by taking a gander at the Verbal Section. Much to my chagrin: This stuff is hard! Now you have to feel some of my pain considering that I have a degree in English and pride myself on stuff like Analogies, Reading Comprehension, and Antonyms! I am down with the grammar man, hip to the litwit theory, into the read-ing for com-pre-hen-sion! But tell me how can one accurately pinpoint that BAREFACED is to SHAME as HEADLONG is to FORETHOUGHT! Oh well, at least I’ve got my fractions and ratios down. FINALLY!

Being fresh out of college I never imagined that I would ever again have to deal with the issue of ukus. Boy was I wrong. As a reading tutor at an elementary school, today I came in to do my usual routine and was instructed that yesterday the class had a “case of the ukus.” As goes with usual uku exposure protocol, the class would have to be at the school nurse’s office promptly at 10:30 for an extensive uku check. I would have to follow along because this uku thing is apparently serious. The teacher, a very nice and very knowledgeable old timer, apologized to me for the interruption and commanded her class, in a very authoritative and in-control manner, to get in a line and move on out. The first-graders walk haphazardly to the office with the teacher in the background urging the stragglers to get on task. Waiting for the school nurse to finish lecturing the kids on how disorderly they were running to her room and instructing them to not touch a thing in her office, I noticed the last girl in line and her buddy D whom I’d tutored in the past. She was scratching her head. Miss T. comes by and asks her, “Is it really itching? It must be itchy huh?” The girl shakes her head “No,” not wanting to call attention to herself. Miss T. turns her back to attend to the kids in the front and there is my little man D, kolohe little kid, the runt of the class, with a mouth full of silver, full on scratching his head like a wild man. D had a bad case of it. At least that’s what it looked like. By that time I’m itching all over! I imagine buggies crawling everywhere and hey, is that something walking across my neck?!?! The uku neurosis had kicked in. Plenty of parents of little kids have told me about this, their kids come home with a note and everything goes in the wash. Plenty baths for everyone and random tweaking and scratching everytime a breeze passes by. Later on that day I am tutoring in my room and here comes D with his tutor. As he passes by he flashes me a huge smile showing me all of his shiny teeth. It appears that D didn’t have ukus…and I’m all itchy!

I am sitting here suffering from a huge food guilt attack. I’ve just downed the entire Great Harvest Bread Co. Blueberry Cream Cheese scone in one whiffle of a dinner break. Now when I am talking about cream cheese scone I do not mean a pitiful smattering of cream cheese oh so delicately massaged into the dough. I mean a chunk of the mother mass of cream cheese. I’m talking huge bites of cc in my mouth, so much of it I swear my teeth are now a glistening snow white. Oh heavenly delight of sinful naughtiness I am a bad bad girl. I’ve just returned from seeing “Little Black Book” with a good friend and must admit to enjoying it. Something about Brittany Murphy, she’s just so screwy…not quite all there…diabetic sweetness that I’m sure must come from a strong dosage of zoloft. She reminds me of someone…oh yes…she could be me. Something about the way she carries herself on screen. Or maybe it’s the roles that she plays…delusional women…trying to fit themselves into the world, yet always lacking. It’s all somehow very refreshing… like continuing to scratch (for pleasure) that really itchy mosquito bite that’s already an open wound.