Let's Put a Smile on that Vagina! (Or: Johnapuff, Why So Serious?)

Tyler is here reading over my shoulder. I wish he would walk in another direction. There we go. Good job, Ty.


So, I'm sitting in Moe Joe's (big surprise) blogging (but you now that). We went to the Save the Astro rally, which I'm all for since I miss being able to see movies without doing something illegal or spending a ton of money. But the thing was a big disappointment. I got funnel cake, which momentarily gratified me, but now I just feel fat. And I want to talk to Cece, but Moe Joe's is jam-packed with BITCHES. And I'm not just saying that they're bitches because they're here breathing Cece's air, which would be bad enough, but they are damn obnoxious. There was this one bastard kid who sat down where Khoa was sitting a moment before, declaring, "We're kids. We sit!" The self-same kid took one look at me and shouted to the girl sitting next to him, "I'm gonna step on her tittie!"


These kids are bastards.


I had a frustrating day that, when I come to think of it, consisted of not very much. I slept late, missing all of my classes, because I woke up with a pain that felt distinctly like a raptor claw reaching through my vagina and pulling out my innards. I was finally getting my period! For the first time, I was very happy to be in this state, since it was almost a half month late. I had been thinking that maybe I had gotten pregnant by some of Tyler's Miracle Semen seeping through four plus layers of clothing when he came in his pants (secretly) as I sat on his lap. Or something. Despite my joy to find that blood was oozing from my vagina, I decided it might be better to be unconscious during the more unpleasant parts of the affair. So I took my special period medicine and went back to bed.


I woke up around noon, when Lan Chi got back from all of her classes, and we had a nice conversation about boxes, books, and the many annoying features of Puff the Magic Gay Dinosaur. Like crawling into bed with Lan Chi squealing, "Swweeeping???" and pretty much ruining any chances she had of sleeping by doing so. And bragging to her every time she accomplishes something. And following her. Into the bathroom. And offering to help her pee, asking if everything is alright and asking if she needs any Tylenol to relieve the pain. Yes.


Craig and I decided to go to Hendrix and eat Burger King, like the pair of fattys that we are. We noticed that Johnathon was walking around with his Executive Folder of Doom, and we wondered why he always seems to be clinging to it these days. Freud would actually have some pretty good answers, in this case. Anyway, he stalked Lan Chi while she checked out all ten thousand villages at once, and wagged his sausage fingers at her merrily. Then we figured out that he was going to his Fancy Executive Meeting for CGSA, even though he is not executive. Craig and I debated for some time whether we should go and embarrass Johnathon by existing in his vicinity as our less professional than him selves. Unfortunately, by the time we decided that this would be a good idea indeed, we lost all of the executives and couldn't figure out where they had gotten to. So we went looking.

We went to the second floor, but found ourselves accosted by vampires (aka, the blood donation people) all of whom make really nasty faces whenever you don't want to give them your blood at that exact moment. So when one of them snarked at us, I shouted, "We can't! We're going to a CGSA meeting!" (gay people aren't allowed to give blood). And ran. After that, we decided to give up the cause.

We ran into Matt along the way, and my hand had sex with his hand, but we were too afraid to ask him if we could follow him to the exec meeting. Matt is one of those political kids who is really earnest and serious about everything. We aren't. We walked a little farther and saw Steven, who is our president. Actually, he's black. And president. He beat Barack to it. Anyway, he was listening to his ipod and therefore, oblivious, so he didn't see us for a while. When he did, he headed for Craig, looking eerily like an abominable snowman. Then he tripped. Scratch that.

So we followed Steven and complained lightly about Johnathon not liking us because we aren't as "executive" as he is.

"He's not executive," said Steven, snobbishness seeping from his pores.

Craig joked that I should be president, being a hot woman and all that. "It takes more to be a president than being a hot woman," cautioned Steven. Um, Steve? No duh.

Then I joked additionally, hoping that Steven would catch on that yes, this was a joke. Then again, being an executive isn't anything to joke about. I guess. But, being stupid and not realizing this, I said, "Well, I'll get myself a nice collection of pantsuits, and then I'll be qualified." An obvious allusion to Hilary Clinton, right, right?

"No, being president is more than just the wardrobe." No shit, Sherlock. I hate people who are condescending just because I can find it in my heart to joke about such mighty things as executive positions. Oh, Lord.

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Now, I'm going to talk about group dynamics in very general terms so as not to confuse anyone.

Groups are, by definition, gatherings of people. Sometimes, groups form accidentally, such as when you walk into an elevator with people who you do not know, and then the elevator gets stuck, and you rot in there for five days until you die of starvation/boredom. You and the people with you in the elevator are a group.

Many times, however, groups meet together because they have something in common. Like being gay. Sometimes, they meet together for multiple reasons. Like being gay and pompous and horny. Groups like this must have a leader. Why? Because. Because they won't look like a very official group unless the gayest, most pompous, horniest one of them all becomes leader. The leader has many responsibilities. Responsibilities are things you have to do. Like organizing. If you aren't organized, you won't look very good like a file cabinet, which looks better than most other things. Sometimes groups are called organizations because of this.

A group should be streamlined. Which means that those people who know how to be organized should organize all the other people, and hush them up as much as possible. In order for a group to function well, group members should never tell others how they voted. Ever.

It becomes necessary, when the less organized group members become annoying, that all the Important People gather together in a room with a very long table. The long table is a must. Proper etiquette at the table includes: 1) not raising your hands because this is seen as childish 2) refraining from spinning around in the spinny chairs even though this is VERY TEMPTING 3) sitting up straight and folding your hands on the table, so you are in constant contact with the table and never forget how important you are and how lucky you are to be SITTING AT THIS GIANT ASS TABLE 4) stroking the egos of those who are speaking so that when you speak they will stroke your ego in turn.

Sometimes, when you discover that the organization is not as organized as its name suggests it should be, it becomes your divine duty to impose yourself on everyone and take over. You can do this in one of two ways 1) killing them 2) being a slut, fucking everyone head one person at a time. Studies have proven that this second method is more efficient, given that this first method results in no group being left after you are finished. Which is sometimes considered a drawback.

The art of sucking up is an art.

You must stroke many egos simultaneously with your dexterous little sausage fingers. You must speak with many fluff words that serve the purpose of changing the sentence in such a way as to give it the appearance that it is conveying a missive of greater importance than, in actuality, it is, in truth-- even if sometimes this results in the aforementioned sentences becoming a run-on string of redundancies. No one will notice, because they will be too impressed with your puffing abilities. PUFF!

And if your puff sentences need some substance, you can take ideas that your friends came up with during the course of your conversations, and put them in one of your Speeches. Because it is for the greater good, and everyone needs a good figurehead who fancies himself a dictator.

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I think that says it all.

Angrier than Usual,

Miss Mei