It’s Tortilla Time|

As we make our way home from my Nana’s house:

Ben- Mum, want to hear a weird statistic?
Mum- Absolutely.
Ben- You know that 3lbs. of your body weight is pure bacteria?
Mum- Where do you learn this? Do they teach you this at school?
Me- Yeah, who feeds you this crap?
Ben- I don’t know, I just hear it.
Awkward Silence.
Mum- The singular form of bacteria is bacterium.
Me- Why would anyone ever need to use the singular form of bacteria?
Mum- They could say ‘there is one bacterium.’
Me- Or ‘the bacterium crossed the road.’
Mum- Yes, and then you could say that his brother crossed the road too and then there were two bacteria.
Me- I don’t know where I would be without you to teach me this stuff.

Teacher- Godzilla Graph? Tori, is there a reason why this is the title of your temperature vs. volume graph?
Me- What? Sara said that I could call it whatever I wanted.

In chem class, as we learn about pressure and force.

Teacher- Tori, what is pressure? Can you tell us what it is?
Entire class turns at me and stares, awaiting my response.
Me- Umm… this?

I have recently realized that I possess a hapless infatuation with the word sketchy. It frequents my vocabulary, emerging nearly every sentence to describe frivolous situations. There is just so much that I adore about the word; the fact that it rolls off of my tongue with immense ease, its ability to describe a wide array of occasions, and so forth. I could sit here all day rhyming off reasons why I hold the word sketchy in such high regard.

Yesterday I had a session with my math tutor in an attempt to prep for the test today (to little avail unfortunately). I was quite behind in her payments, so I promised to give her a cheque today totalling all the money that I owed her. She was visibly eager to obtain the money, so although she wouldn’t be there to receive the cheque, she instructed me to shove it into her locker. She showed little hesitation about this arrangement, perhaps fearing that if I didn’t relinquish the money now, I would vanish into the ether and vacation on her dime.

Preceding the first bell this morning, I went upstairs and attempted to shove the cheque into her locker. This proved an easier concept to grasp than to execute. The cheque became stuck, to which I stood on my tiptoes, peering into the small crack, and then struggled to push it through. My eyes were squinted as I scrutinized the locker, calculating ways to effectively force the cheque through. A girl whose locker was just next to my tutors stared blankly and dryly uttered ‘That’s soo sketchy.’

I froze for a second, in all my tiptoeing glory, looked up and shrieked ‘I know right!’

The Greece trip brimmed with comical occurrences, a most notable one was as follows.

The drinking age in Greece is merely sixteen, so presumably many of my classmates got smashed come night time. It became rather evident, however, that the drunkenness was not limited only to students.

Not only was alcohol easily accessible to us, but so were cigars. Cam and his buddies took advantage of this luxury and smoked a couple in their hotel room during the free time granted to us. It was during this time that of course the teachers decided to do a room check, a check done before our designated bedtime to affirm that everything is orderly. Scrambling around in a quick attempt to disguise the offending aroma of cigar smoke, Cam raced into the bathroom, pretending to brush his teeth, and his buddies doused the room in body spray.

When the door was at last answered my band teacher, visibly drunk, stumbled into the room and accounted for all the boys. His face was crimson, further evidence that he had been drinking heavily. Cam emerged from the bathroom and my drunk teacher, in all his stumbling and slurring glory, conversed with him about the evening.

Teacher- So, what did you do this evening?
Cam- Well, I went to an ice cream parlour.
Teacher- An ice cream parlour?
Cam- Yes, an ice cream parlour.
Teacher- Was this the highlight of your night?
Cam- Yes, yes it was.
Teacher- Well that’s TRAAAAAAAAAGIC.

And with that the teacher staggered out of the room, leaving as abruptly as he had entered. The smoke still lingered in the room, an overwhelming stench to one entering from outside, but it apparently hadn’t phased my teacher in the slightest.

Luck, for once, was on Cam’s side.

Friend- Tori, what’s written on your hand?
Me- Oh, this says DAD because every so often I feel obligated to call and give him the liberty of knowing that I’m still alive.
Friend- Oh, well what about this one?
Me- That says CO-OP SHEET, because I have a co-op sheet that’s due tomorrow.
Friend- And how about this one? ‘WYHA’?
Me- Well you see, I was sitting in chemistry class and all of a sudden that song Where’s Your Head At came to mind. You know that song? With the video where the people turn into monkeys? So anyways I thought hey, I should download that song and put it on my iPod.
Friend- In chemistry class?
Me- Why? Is that weird?

Whilst in the car.

Mum- Tori, look at this woman. She’s standing in the middle of the road and talking on her cellphone. It’s dark, no one can see her.
Me- Maybe she’s hoping that the operator can direct her to her common sense.
Silence…
Mum- Yeah, I highly doubt that.

The few days spent with my father were about as mundane as expected. I was pleased that I was able to finally meet The Potato (which has since been shortened to Po), though I will sincerely miss telling people that I have a brother that I haven’t met yet. Simply for the ghetto value, you see.

Liam is now entering what is considered to be the terrible twos, and after this weekend I have determined that this is a very appropriate title for such a phase. I have been subjected to much beating and malice at his two year old hands. An incident that stands out in mind occurred in the car.

Me- Liam, kick me one more time and I will take your soo-soo (soother, binky, pacifier, whatever-you-please) and toss it out the window.
Liam- Stares blankly in shock and angst.
Me- Okay, I may be kidding about that, but BY GOD I WILL take your soo-soo.

She-who-shall-not-be-named was her usual mannerly (ha) self. I wished to watch Rugrats, which was of course denied. Tom and Jerry was quickly put on instead. It wasn’t two minutes later that she-who-shall-not-be-named emerged from the television room with Liam and remote in hand. She remained out of the room for the remaining duration of the show. So there I was, sitting alone in a room, watching a stupid show that I had no desire to watch.

No offence is intended to those with love for Tom and Jerry, but as a child of the 90s, nothing can suffice for Rugrats.

Another interesting instance was when I noticed my coat thrown over a chair. Right after I had hanged it in the closet. Sometimes I don’t even dare ask.

My father was quite curious as to why I continually referred to Aidan as Po.

Father- So what exactly is with this ‘Po’ nickname?
Me- Well you see, Po is short for Potato, to which he resembles uncannily.
Father- You think he looks like a potato?
Me- Well, I mean it in the most lovingly way possible.

Ben- ‘Tori, mum wants you to do the laundry.’
Me- ‘Why? Why does she want me to do the laundry?’
Ben- ‘Because I unloaded the dishwasher yesterday.’
Me- ‘No, I’ll tell you why. Because I am a woman, and she thinks that because I am a woman I should do the laundry.’
Ben- ‘What?’
Me- ‘What?’
Ben- ‘Huh?’
Me- ‘Huh?’
Ben- ‘So are you going to do it?’
Me- ‘Yeah, I’ll get on it.’

We assume that the dense one possesses some sort of mild psychological defect, as he often shows immense fear of random household items. The broom and vacuum being an example of two everyday items that evoke much fear and anxiety in the life of Seamus.

As I sit in my room, packing my suitcase for our trip tomorrow, I hear the dense one barking his fool bloody head off.

‘Oh Seamus,’ Ben says, ’stop barking at inadequate objects.’