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Skiwampus Zippers

If you have never worn a skirt, you will have no idea what I'm talking about. So let me educate you.

Most skirts have zippers. Most zippers have a designated position on your body. Some skirts zip up the side. Some have a fly in the front like pants do. Some skirts zip straight up the back. Most of the time, these zippers obey the laws of fashion and remain squarely in their original position from the time you put on your skirt until you take it off.

But SOMETIMES... Skirt zippers get bored hanging out in the same old place. And they are sneaky. They're like mythical creatures that only come alive when you aren't looking. You'll just be walking along minding your own business, looking attractive in your skirt, and WHAM. Just a second ago your zipper was in the back where it belonged, and now it's partying up front and taunting all of your friends' zippers who are too uptight to swivel. I doubt anyone has ever actually seen a zipper actively moving from its intended position. And good luck wrestling it back where it belongs without looking like a fool.

It's a cool trick, really it is. But last time I checked, I didn't need a fly directly over my right butt cheek.

Skiwampus zippers must go.

Exceedingly Bad Breath

From an evolutionary standpoint, the ability of the human nose to detect foul odors is an indispensable safeguard that naturally prevents us from wanting to ingest and/or roll around in rotten or possibly harmful substances. This is a useful tool that (hopefully) keeps both young children and adults alike from eating poo and licking skunks.

I understand that sometimes medical conditions make it hard or even impossible for some people to have healthy, odorless breath. Healthy people slip up too. Morning breath happens. Garlic happens. Delicious foreign cuisine happens. Moderately bad breath happens to good people.

But I CANNOT, for the life of me, justify breath so putrid that road kill burning on a tire fire can't hold a candle to its stench.

The unbridled aroma of poisonous cheese has no business emanating from a human being's mouth. There are a myriad of natural, medical, and commercial remedies for bad breath which leaves most people without a single excuse. I refuse to sign for your smellogram.

Exceedingly bad breath must go.

Hipsters

(Guest Post by NB. See the original post here.)

I really don't like hipsters. Or thick glasses. Or people who wear ripped clothes. Quit trying so hard to discover everything before everyone else, and don't try so hard to look like you haven't showered for 17 days.

Hipsters must go.

p.s. Hipster Princesses = Funny

Sweaty Classmates

Dear Sweaty Classmate,

If you are realllllly hot and sweaty, do not sit by me. Especially if I'm next to the wall. When you take off your coat, hot air wafts toward me as if you were a human space heater. You make me feel like I'm trapped in a steamy oven with your hair. And you keep poking me with your notebook. Please respect the armrest as an invisible cootie barrier. You are ruining my life.


Love, but actually hate,

Your Concerned Neighbor



Sweaty classmates must go.

Raisins

Who among us has not experienced the exquisite disappointment upon biting into an oatmeal-raisin cookie when you THOUGHT you were actually biting into a delectable chocolate chip cookie? The ensuing shock is enough to bring a grown man to his knees. Especially if he hates raisins. Which he has every right to.

If only all raisins could be chocolate chips. Raisins wish they were chocolate chips. In reality, a raisin is nothing more than a chocolate chip's sub-par fruity and rubbery evil twin. Raisins are wrinkly and sticky and brown-purple and clumpy and have you SMELLED raisin breath?

I don't care what you or anyone else says.

Raisins are nature's boogers and they must go.

Back to School 6: Obnoxious Interrupters.

There are three types of interrupters:

1. Serial commenters. Their body clock is set such that every 5 or maybe 7 minutes, their arm spontaneously shoots their hand into the air during an otherwise fluid lecture. I honestly think some of them cannot control it. However, this does not make me any less agitated when they ask their 9th question, tell their 4th story, or suggest their 20 bajillionth thoery on the purpose of all things.

2. Blurters. A cousin of the serial commenter, once removed. They have the same tendency toward spontaneity, but lack the self control required to actually raise their hand before speaking. I'm sorry you are a college junior and don't understand words like panacea... but is it necessary to blurt out "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!" in the middle of the professor's sentence? Twice?

3. Unrelated Questioners. If we are talking about urban crime rates, please do not raise your hand to ask what the teacher's favorite type of ice cream is. Enough said.

Obnoxious Interrupters must go.

Back to School Part 5: Library Zombies

Library zombies are not uncommon. These students mercilessly haunt fellow library patrons with their creepily unbreakable gazes. Most encounters go a little something like this...

There you are in the library, just minding your own business. You are studying or doing something scholastic on the internet. Suddenly, you feel like you are being watched. You look up, only to discover a library zombie's giant, glazed and unblinking eyeballs peering at you from just above the top of your computer screen. He is across the table from you, and you are now his victim. He exhibits a generally greasy or unkempt appearance (complete with wispy mustache and braces), and although you hope he is harmlessly staring into space, you also kind of feel like he is actively trying to steal your soul with his incessant zombified stare. You look around you. The library is quiet but full. There are no other seats available. You are doomed to suffer his awkward gawking until one of you is done studying.

...

Sooner or later, his ceaseless staring causes you to panic like the pheasant from Bambi. YOU JUST CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. You begin planning your escape route, feverishly packing your things as you look for the nearest exit. But wait. Right before you make your move, you lock eyes with a second library zombie who has fixed his gaze upon you from across the room. He is blocking the exit. Second zombie then proceeds to repeatedly lick the back of his hand. Like a cat. Staring at you all the while. You realize that you are probably safer where you are with zombie starer number 1. You are trapped in a most awkward social prison, and the library zombies win again.

Library Zombies must GO.

Back to School Part 4: Student-to-Faculty Flirting

Most professors (at least at my college) don't flirt with their students, and that's why I'm not addressing faculty-to-student flirting. But I have seen my share of student-to-faculty flirting, which makes me want to puke up my entire digestive tract in one foul purge for the following reasons:

1. Student/faculty romantic relationships are strictly prohibited at most educational institutions.

2. Most professors I have are married.

3. A lottttt of students at here are married.

Which means:

4. Most students who flirt with their professors are super duper skankity-skank home wrecking hooch bags. Male or female.

They should take their gum-smacking cleavage-showing joke-giggling eyelash-batting self as far away from my professor as possible. I don't care if he is dreamy like Mr. Schuester.

Student-to-faculty flirting must go.

Back to School Part 3: Skirts with Backpacks

Sometimes, girls wear skirts with their backpacks. This would be fine, if they were aware that with every step they take, their backpack could potentially expose their bum to the world.

I am well aware of this phenomenon, and I only wear skirts which I have tested for no-ride qualities. I used to take pity on these poor girls who didn't have a clue, and would tell them tactfully that their skirt was tucked up under their backpack.

I always tried my best to let them know as soon as possible. In a best-case scenario I would be able to catch up with them before the exposure actually occured. I once RAN up a hill to catch up with a lass whose skirt was perilously close to panty territory. I breathlessly mentioned that her skirt was getting tucked up under her backpack, and all she said was "oh" as she tugged her skirt back down.

What?! No "thank you"... ?AND I RAN!

I watched her skirt get all bunched up again as she walked away. She didn't even care.

I have now become proud and bitter in my old age. Proud at the fact that I NEVER allow my backpack to eat my skirt, and bitter at the fact that these girls made it all the way to college without understanding the basic relationship between gravity and friction.

Skirts with backpacks must go.