I hate glory-stealers. Today, I was sitting in section when my GSI called on me to answer a really simple question. I was about to respond, when this little nerd named Tom belted out the answer. I swear I wanted to snap his little head off his body. Which brings me to my second lesson of the day. If a teacher asks a question and calls someone else's name to answer it, keep your mouth shut.

Speaking of bad drivers, what about bad walkers? If there's one thing I've learned from going to school at Cal it's that most people are so fucking stupid that they don't even know the rules of walking. Making my way through campus on most days turns into survival of the fittest. So many stupid people to avoid, so little space. For instance, I'll be walking through Sproul, which is a pretty big and open area. Anyway, I'll be walking in a straight line when some idiot(s) slightly ahead of me and to the side will start walking at an angle. So you know what happens when you have a slanted line and a straight line -- they eventually collide with each other. The other day I was walking at a constant speed in a straight line through Sproul when a couple of really stupid girls started walking at an angle. If they had taken the time to look around for a second, then they would have seen me and would have realized that by walking at an angle they would end up colliding with me. But why would they? They were, needless to say, huge morons. If you're having a hard time picturing what I'm talking about, well, it's kind of like when you're driving, and a car pulls right out in front of you without even looking and almost causes an accident. I really get tired of having to adjust my walking to accomodate other people's stupid walking. Another thing that really pisses me off is when people are walking and taking up the entire width of the path or sidewalk. They're so stupid that they don't even realize that they're inhibiting other people's motion because they won't get out of the fucking way. I mean, don't you even realize that when you take up the whole walkway and walk really fucking slow someone might be trying to get around you? I think the Cal admissions process should involve a mandatory walking test, and all those who fail won't be admitted no matter how smart they are. That would probably cut Cal's undergraduate population at least in half. I mean, if you're so dumb that you don't even know how to walk correctly, you have no business going to college in the first place. People should really employ the same common sense when walking as they do when driving. You know, look around when you walk, and if you see someone else that you're going to collide with, get out of the fucking way. An important note to keep in mind: if you think Cal students are smart, don't believe it. It's a lie, a big fat lie.

What is wrong with Berkeley drivers? I almost get hit by a car I'd say at least once a week. There's just something about Berkeley drivers that really distinguishes them from other drivers. Maybe it's the way they slowly yet impatiently roll forward as you're crossing the street until their front bumper is just about to collide with your legs. I've had two really stupid experiences in the past couple of months that involved those assholes known as Berkeley drivers. One occurred while I was crossing the street near Haas Pavilion. I began walking in the crosswalk, and some little dipshit apparently got frustrated that he had to stop for a pedestrian in the crosswalk. I guess he figured that he couldn't exactly run me over in his frustration, so instead he ended up honking his horn at me, as if to say, "How dare you make me stop driving because you need to cross the street? Who cares if there's a crosswalk there! I'm the king of the road." Seriously, I wanted to shoot that motherfucker in the head. Of course, when things like this happen to me, I always try to do something to piss them off even more. Which brings me to my next allegory. One night, Steve and I were traversing the three blocks between my domicile and his. We began to cross the street. Anyway, there's a car approaching the intersection but not yet there. We begin crossing the street. The car stops briefly at the stop sign. By this time, we're right in the middle of the street. Then...the car tries to beat us. WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, AND THE CAR TRIES TO BEAT US. So right at the last second, he realizes that he's not going to be able to beat us without hitting us. So he stops about two feet away from us. And Steve and I are pissed off, so we walk as slow as is humanly possible just to piss the tool off. It's people like this who really make me wish it was legal to murder people.

***NEWSFLASH*** If you're Asian, and you wear clothing from Abercrombie and Fitch, you're a fucking moron. I'd like to take a moment to talk about people who wear A&F clothing. First, let me start by telling you who A&F caters to. Preppy white people. That's it...if you're not preppy and white, you have no business wearing any of it. So why do I see so many Asian people on campus wearing it? I guess Berkeley students really aren't as smart as everyone thinks they are. It's as if they're not even the slightest bit aware that by buying A&F clothing, they're giving business to a racist and elitist company. Now, I really don't think anyone who's not white and preppy should be wearing A&F, but I'd think even more that Asian people would be more wary of the company ever since that whole t-shirt debacle earlier this year. What can I say? Now, I know that some of you reading this may find it to be a bit harsh. And maybe you're even realizing that I'm talking about you. But it has to be said. In case you missed the first newsflash: If you're not white and preppy, and you wear A&F, you're a FUCKING MORON. On second thought, even if you are white and preppy and wear A&F, you're still a fucking moron.

I miss my cute, little, black Acura Integra. Seeing one parked on the street is enough to make me cry. :(

So I've been having this problem lately that's really starting to bother me. I'm a grinder, that is, a teeth grinder. Ever since I was a little girl, I've been grinding my teeth during my sleep. I've endured this annoying and sometimes harmful activity for years, probably mainly because I'm not even aware that I do it. I've never experienced any pain related to it, except for the occasional sensitivity to cold and the worn down stumps that i call canines. Well, just this past summer, after years of grinding my way to dentures, I finally went to the dentist and got fitted for a nightguard. I didn't realize how bad it had been all those years until my roommate, Tara, told me it was so loud that it was waking her up. Anyway, I've been wearing my nightguard religiously for a few months now, and I thought that all the problems associated with my grinding would end. Yeah, that's what I thought. But lately, I've been waking up to a new problem. Upon waking up from a peaceful night's slumber, I can't open my mouth all the way...well, technically I can, but not without a loud and painful and horrifying SNAP from my mandible. It's like the left side of my mandible, where it attaches to my head, gets stuck. And when I try to open my mouth, I feel resistance. Of course, I can force it. I've only done that once, and I'm never doing it again. One morning, I attempted to force my mouth open, and my jaw made this really unappealing noise, kind of like the way a bone would sound upon breaking. And because it was coming from my own head, it made the noise just that much louder. And it hurt. Brushing my teeth in the morning becomes a test of patience and skill. "Don't snap the jaw, don't snap the jaw." It usually goes away on its own by mid-morning, but geez, as if i didn't have enough problems already...

Last Friday, I ended up in Artist & Craftsman Supply, a cute little store down on Shattuck Avenue. I was there picking out birthday gifts for my two loveable roommates, Alice and Connie. On the way to the store, I had gotten into a little tiff with my boyfriend and, as a result, wasn't too happy. While I was inside the store browsing, my boyfriend called me and an argument ensued. To top it off, I was the only one in the store, except for two sales clerks. My voice began to really escalate, and *sigh* they heard everything. When I got off the phone, one of the clerks asked me if I wanted him to beat someone up for me. I laughed and asked them if they knew any place that sold wrapping paper. They suggested Walgreens down the street, but then the guy who had made the original comment told me that they sold some rolls of paper that could be used as wrapping paper and proceeded to show me to the stash. While we walked down the aisle, he apologized for getting in my business, but it didn't bother me, and I told him so. Anyway, I noticed that the rolls cost over $4 each, and being the cheapskate I am, decided that was too much to spend on wrapping paper. As I was leaving the store, the guy put his hand on my shoulder as a playful sort of gesture. I headed further down Shattuck to Barnes and Noble, but upon entering, realized that I wasn't going to find anything there. Anyway, I realized that it was almost 7 o' clock and I wasn't sure when the arts and crafts store closed. So I ran back about four blocks just to find out that it stayed open until 8. Of course, when the guy saw me he started a playful banter session, helping me pick out gifts and whatnot. Finally, I decided on a sketchbook and a photo album, and I picked up a roll of that wrapping paper. When I got up to the register to pay, the guy gave me a fat discount...I think he said something about students getting a discount, but it was obvious that he was giving me a much bigger break on the price. As I left the store for a second time, he told me to come back sometime...and not in that phony cashier way -- he really meant it. That whole experience made me really happy. Because I've become so cynical lately, it felt nice to have a pleasant conversation with a stranger, a really nice stranger at that. In fact, I think I'll go back there soon...

If you've taken the time to actually read all this ridiculous monologue, thank you so much. But, seriously, you're probably wondering why I decided to name this blog The Stinky Cheese Man. You're not? Well, too bad, because I'm going to tell you anyway. The Stinky Cheese Man is actually the name of a children's book...now, I haven't even taken the time to read the whole thing, but I have flipped through it. It's about this tiny man who has a big round piece of cheese, possibly Gouda, for a head, green olives for eyes and a strip of bacon for a mouth. Anyway, he seems to be running thoughout the entire story, and eventually a wolf tries to eat him. Now, why do I equate him with the stinkbomb in my TKD class? I don't know. It just sounds funny, and he looks like a Stinky Cheese Man. So there.

"i mean... he just sort of looks raggedy... hahaha, i try to avoid partnering with him... because I think I feared that he smells... it's not even that I've smelled him... it's just this unnerving fear of smelling him" ~ my friend, Jasper, on the Stinky Cheese Man

Now that i've started writing about stinky people, I feel the need to continue. I mean, the name of the blog is. Of course, wherever there's a Stinky Cheese Man, there also has to be a Stinky Cheese Woman. And she also happens to be in my Taekwondo class. Now here's the funny thing...she's the tiniest little pipsqueak I've ever encountered. She's even smaller than my friend, Judy, who's 4'11. Yet she gives off an odor that would stun a yak. Deodorant, people, deodorant! It's not that hard. A little here, a swipe there. It's like falling off a log. Like the SCM, the SCW also creates that B.O. wind that i find ever so appealing. It's kind of funny, too, because she's extremely uncoordinated and probably couldn't hurt anything. However, she could probably knock Vin Diesel out with just her underarm odor. HAHAHA.

Stinky people shouldn't be allowed in gyms...
I take Taekwondo at the local Berkeley gym known as the RSF. I've been learning this ancient way of foot and fist since February. Anyway, I started all the way down the ranks as a lowly white belt, and currently my rank is yellow/green. I've seen many people come and go since February...every semester, I end up in a different class with different people. Sure, some people have promoted right along side me since February, but they're few and far between. Except for the Stinky Cheese Man. He's been following me since February. I even had to endure a whole summer with him. Why do I call him the Stinky Cheese Man? Well, I'll tell you. You know those people who just plain stink no matter what they're doing? That's this guy. As soon as he walks through the door at the beginning of class, he already reeks. And it gets worse. When we begin our warmups, his body odor escalates to an unbearable level. I mean, this guy stinks more at the beginning of class than I do after two hours of working out. And because there's a lot of physical activity involved here and we're all pretty much frantically running about, I always hope to God that I don't end up near him, like in the same line. Because when that happens, he creates a wind. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. He runs past me, and I get a noseful of the most putrid and vile stench I've ever had the pleasure to breathe in. But it doesn't end there. He farts...FARTS. When we have to line up to practice forms, he'll just let 'em rip like no one else is even in the room. One day, before I was aware of this, I lined up directly behind him. And he just started to let 'em fly like there was no tomorrow. Of course, once we're lined up, we can't move or anything, so I had to stand there and breathe in the wonderful scent. My instructor, Raymond, also likes us to do a lot of partner drills in class. One day, he told us to pair up and somehow I found myself without a partner. Then...I turned around, and there was the Stinky Cheese Man, without a partner as well. FUCK. So I had to endure these exercises with him, in which we had to touch each other. ICK! One exercise involved SCM lying on his stomach with his hands behind his back and me holding his feet down. Then, he had to lift himself up so many times, an exercise that resembles a fish flopping around out of water. Anyway, he began farting, and everytime he lifted himself up, he would fart so that it became like a fart rhythm. And of course, here's me sitting downwind from the bastard, not even able to get out of the way. *SIGH* Stinky people shouldn't be allowed in gyms. In fact, they shouldn't be allowed anywhere...

Berkeley sucks. I've been living here for over a year now, and I'm just now realizing that I have no friends. How did that happen? Anyway, I've resigned myself to a life of boredom here. Perhaps I could try harder -- get out there, meet new people, try to find my niche. Then again, I'm tired of this little college town. Anything anyone ever does here is go to the bar to get drunk, smoke up and get high, and engage in questionable sexual practices. It's just not my scene. I'm lost and confused, trying to find my way out of the hell that's known as college...