pontificate.

Please don't think worse of me for admitting that there are a few people in this world who bug the crud out of me. Seriously. Like this girl in my literature class for instance. I'm sure you know the type, we've all met one at some time or another. People who love to pontificate. And excuse me while I pontificate on this subject for a minute.

This girl, seriously loves the sound of her own voice. For some reason she feels the need to comment on EVERY single point the professor makes, whether she's looking for participation or not, and whether this girl has anything interesting to add or not. Seriously, half of her comments are nothing more than what the professor already said, filtered through her (obviously) superior mind and vomited back to the rest of us in different word order. Brilliant girly, pure genius. Thank you for repeating almost exactly what the professor just said for all of us. We none of us lower minded folks got it the first time, but now that you have so graciously repeated it back again, well, shoot, now we get it. Whenever we're on break, she can be heard chatting quietly at the top of her inside voice lungs to anyone around her or within ear-shot (which at her volume means the whole class) about how old she is, how she's been in college for so long, and is so much older than everyone in this class. (Apparently too, because she's SOOO much smarter and more mature) I laugh because while I may look young (see here), I'm pretty sure I'm at least 3 or 4 years older than her. Not only that, but she loves to use this, I have a PHD in every subject under the sun, tone to her voice whenever she does comment. I wish I could describe listening to her when she uses this tone, but there are not words. What I'd like to do is stand up in the middle of her discourse and chuck my copy of Mansfield Park right at her head. Does that sound extreme? Perhaps it does. But before you judge me too harshly, let me illustrate one last thing.

Now this class is a Victorian Literature class. Perfect subject for me, let me tell you, since I LOVE Jane Austen. A phrase commonly used in that time period, and consequently in many of the books we've read this semester is: "What the deuce?" Meaning, basically, "What the Devil?" Interesting phrase, but one not typically used in our language. But alot in the books we've read. Well, yesterday evening I'm sitting in class. Potificator is sitting in the row behind me, and believe me she was in rare form last night. Fabulous since I was sitting in the perfect spot to get the full benefit of her volume whenever she chose to extrapolate, which was every other minute or so. At one point, the teacher went over to the computer to adjust something on the power point. She of course began, bla bla-ing it as soon as the teacher stopped for air. The volume was turned up on the speakers in the classroom and when the teacher started clicking around, it sent a DE-DONG sound across the classroom so loud that the whole class jumped, and the girl behind me yells out, "What the deuce?"

Seriously.

Maybe it was the fact that I had gone to bed at 1 am and was exhausted, maybe it's because it's "that week of the month," maybe it was having to sit 2 feet in front of her and listen to her all evening bugging the crud out of me, but it took all my self control not to turn around and say, "Are you kidding me?"

I have a lot of self-control.

Good thing for her.