Category: A Series of Awkward Events

A Series of Awkward Events, Thoughts

Fun little exercise

H.R. Gordon

I normally wouldn’t share these types of posts, but it just looks rather fun to do this one. Perhaps I’ll make this a regular thing when I’m looking for something to warm up my fingers and mind for writing -hrg

Thinking: About organizing how I’m organizing my planner for the coming month/quarter/semester/year. Long-term goals, what I need to be doing daily/weekly/monthly to achieve those goals in the time frame I’ve set.

Enjoying: the gluten-free pizza muffins my mom made for a New Year’s Eve appetizer. There were four left over; now there are three.

Feeling: determined and optimistic. I’m not really into “new year, new me” because I think you can do great things in your life no matter the calendar date. However, I just graduated university in December, and I was accepted into a master’s program and offered the graduate assistantship position, which covers my tuition and gives me an office with the professors. I’ve committed myself to a few good habits in my professional and person life, and everything seems brighter.

screen-shot-2017-01-02-at-12-14-05-amWearing: leggings, boot socks, and one of my friend Anthony’s shirts (It has this image to the left on it, so how could I not steal it?)

Needing: I was going to say “Absolutely nothing!” But then I saw that my water bottle was empty, so I need that refilled.

Wanting: Until I’m satisfied with the amount and quality of work I’ve accomplish today, so I can justify going to sleep.

Listening: the band Ghost

Making: this blog post.

Eating: I actually already answered this in “enjoying” because I evidently equate all enjoyment with what I’m eating at the moment.

Drinking: nothing because my water bottle is still empty ):

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A Series of Awkward Events, Thoughts

Come procrastinate with us!

H.R. Gordon

College students procrastinating…as always.

A Series of Awkward Events

The tale of the giant fucking centipede

H.R. Gordon

I spend Thursday afternoons in the newsroom finalizing the paper and uploading stories to the paper’s website. Usually, I’m the last one in the newsroom for the day, and I just hang out and do some work because we have a couch (courtesy of my grandmother’s old living room) and who doesn’t love comfy couches?

Often, my friend Raevin who doesn’t work on the paper will come down and hang out on these cushions that we have just chillen on the floor in a couch-like formation. Today, she jumped up from the cushions and screamed, causing me to scream “What the fuck!?” because it startled me.

She jumps on this super unstable chair nearby, almost falls off, and screams “THERE’S A GIANT BUG. OHMYGOD, HANNAH. KILL IT!!!!!!”

So naturally, I go to investigate.

There was in fact a giant fucking bug—a centipede to be exact. It was the size of my goddamn face and had an unnecessary amount of legs.

This fucker was huge. Thick body, long legs—ya know, everything media says men want in women. This thing had huge antennas or feelers or whatever they’re called when they’re on a mammoth centipede.

Not wanting to get centipede guts on the bottom of my combat boots, I ripped off some cardboard from a nearby box from the 32-pack of chips the editors all scarfed down the night before and tried to put the cardboard over the centipede and step on it. The little shit escaped.

Now, in the middle of me leaning underneath the big teacher-like desk the centipede was under and swearing at the escaping bug and Raevin on the chair looking down, a random boy walks in, looks around and walks out. (That’s been happening a lot lately because our newsroom was moved to where a computer lab used to be, so people think they can come in and print things out.)

I noticed him walk out, and my immediate reaction was to yell, “Hey! You’re a boy!”

Surprisingly, he stopped and walked back. He looked confused, a natural reaction to someone yelling your gender at you for no reason.

“Do you want to kill a bug for us?”

This kid, without even questioning, walked over. We pointed out the bug, and without saying anything, he took the cardboard from me, squished it and then scrapped the centipede guts off the floor.

We said thanks. He laughed and said “anytime” and then walked out.

I have no friggin idea who this kid is, but I appreciate him.

My life is a series of awkward events.

-HRG

A Series of Awkward Events

Nipple-to-boob ratio

H.R. Gordon

Like most college students, I go to the dining hall to have lunch with my friends on a daily basis. Except we’re weird. Weirder than that kid who walks around humming to himself all day and no one even knows his name. We’re a social weird though. We talk about topics most people don’t—or won’t—and we tend to bring our surrounding peers into the conversation.

So Wednesday, like any other day, we grabbed lunch from the dining hall and the five of us went to the café to eat—because who really wants to sit in the crowded dining hall and listen to freshmen discussing how drunk they got last night. (Seriously, dude? It’s a Tuesday.)

We sat down and began our normal conversation, which always leads to talking about feminist ideals and how society sucks or who wants to sleep with whom. So essentially, we start talking about how great boobs are—because they are awesome—and we had a pansexual and lady homo (lesbian) present for the discussion—and a guy sitting a few feet away chuckles and shakes his head a bit. My friend noticed and joked with him, and he said something along the lines of, “Oh, don’t let me stop you. Please continue this conversation.” So we did. We generally don’t let the company that surrounds us restrict our conversation, although this time, we probably should’ve considered it.

The boob conversation delves deeper into the topic of nipple-to-boob ratio and what the preference seems to be or is for those present that are sexually attracted to women, and my friend invites the guy to join the conversation. He does.       “I feel like there’s no bad nipple-to-boob ratio,” he says.

A smart answer.

Then the topic of “older guys” gets brought up, and the discussion leads to who thinks middle-aged men can be sexier than college guys and who prefers “that touch of gray” in a guy’s hair. Ya know, just casual public lunch conversation.

The random guy eventually asked all of us what we majored in, and we told him. Politely, my friend asks what his major is.

“Uh, I actually teach here.”

If you can picture 5 mortified, red-faced, jaw-dropped 20-something college girls, now is the time to do that.

Turns out he’s an almost 40-year-old psychology professor, and I’ll probably be in his class next year. I wonder if nipple-to-boob ratio will be on the syllabus.

My life is a series of awkward events.

-HRG

A Series of Awkward Events

My life is a series of awkward events.

H.R. Gordon

Every day something new and strange happens to me. When I tell these stories to people, most think I’m making it up or, at best, embellishing. The truth is: I’m not. I don’t need to embellish because the weird shit that happens to me is so weird if I embellished, I’d probably end up in an institution.

That being said, I’m making this page to tell the stories of some of the strange occurrences in my life, and maybe, just maybe, make a few people laugh.

So here goes nothing.

-HRG