Ok so this is not a BonnieandVikki land story, it is a Vikki kind of feels like rambling on about nothing story . . .

I'm sitting here in the Edmon Low watching out the window as girls in black dresses walk about looking classy and clean, knowing that in fact they are probably just as sticky sweaty as the rest of us.  Their sweat just happens to smell like whatever perfume they have gopped on to try and squelch their own unique musk.  I have a musk, a musk that permeates all of my clothes and for the most part is smells like something sweet, possibly a cinnamon loaf, but not as strong.  I like my musk although at times I am not quite sure that the person next to me is enjoying it.  They are probably thinking "why doesn't she shower twice a day and wear gaudy perfume like the rest  of us?"  "Becuase you embicile there are people in the world who happen to be allergic to most perfumes and can therefore appreciate the wonder of their own individual scent.  And the more you shower the dryer your skin becomes and the more lotion you have to wear.  Try bottling that and selling it you damn capitolist!"  Mostly, though I am watching the girls because I wonder how much their dresses cost and whether those said dresses could be hand made for $20.  That and I ponder at whether their legs in fact rub together like mine do when I walk in a dress.  Do they chafe as I chafe or are there only gaps between their legs, a void space that they never knew might actually fill up with the flesh of the once-muscalur-now-a-little-meaty matter which exists between my thighs.  They are sorority girls and it is rush week and they probably have no idea what I'm talking about and most likely will complain when they put on their freshman 2 and half.

And that makes me think about other things, like the fact that I don't own a blow dryer or blush or base.  These are not evil things to own, in fact, if they were the being that is BonnieandVikki would have died many years ago.  As much as she buys into all that stuff we are friends because she can wear sandles when her toenail polish is chipped and splotchy.  Maybe I can't stand those things because I could never understand how someone could talk about true beauty under layers of make-up and underwear that deforms your body to a different shape.  For example, my boobs are a foot or a few inches plus below my chin.  They don't go any higher than that.  They never were any higher than that and I think if I were to wear a bra meant to defy the gravity of my breasts I would probably fall on my face due to the imbalance.  Yes I want to be thinner, no not because a size 1 looks cool, in fact it looks like a stick.  I am a curvasious woman and I enjoy my silhouette when I lay on the bed and my hips bulge into the air.   I wouldn't mind being a size 9, 140 lbs.  For my height that is still not perfect, but those people can go screw themselves becuase I still need to be big enough to move my own shit and give my boyfriend piggy back rides and kick an attacker's ass.

I can appreciate the feminity of a woman's beauty but just put me in an evening gown, tell me to behave properly and not to touch my hair or my face because I might mess something up.  I might be able to do that for about 15 minutes and then quite possibly I would totally combust.  I enjoy my sexuality and I do not want to be man, in fact I think that above anyone else I know I am the one who thinks that my breasts are the most beautiful.  I just don't like weekness, I don't like the feeling that there is something out there that I can't do because I'm too small or because I don't have the arm strength.  At the same time I don't need to be like a body  builder and have to ability to strangle someone with one hand.  As many times as people think I'm too aggressive or too butch, the last thing I need is for guys to have fear for their dignity around me.

Anyway, that is all kind of trite and pointless and I feel like getting back to my Jewel Quest game now.  I hope you enjoyed the little delve into my personality there and I hope you will comment.

As has been mentioned before, Bonnie is the sole reason I have any social bone in my body (and no that is not code for a boner - I haven't gone through the sex change operation yet . . . ).  I only dated one guy in college that I did not meet through Bonnie and he left because he was betrothed which you think he could have told me before the whole thing started, but you've already read about that.

The very first boyfriend I ever happened to acquire in college I met through Bonnie one day second semester of Architecture.  She introduced us and the next thing she knew we were dating.  Stupid things like that happen in college.  He was a caucasion, long-bearded Muslim which should have been a warning signal that this wasn't the wisest idea possible.

His name was Matt (yes, Bonnie, I actually remembered his real name).  Matt was really nice except that he had this tiny little personal habit that drove me nuts: he was psycho! No really, I affectionately refer to him as Bipolar Boy.  He would be completely normal until some anti-Muslim article would show up.  (This was right after 9/11.)  And then he would pull a 180 and be cursing and throwing things.  I was actually kind of scared to break up with him.  I saw the boy yell at his mother but I knew everything would be ok in the end because all boys who yell at their mother while she's making them lunch go to hell.

So I was talking to Bonnie and telling her about this personal habit that I was having such a problem with.  Bonnie looks at me and shrugs it off as just being privy to the things girlfriends see.  BULLSHIT, I was not privy!   I was being subjected to his mental disability.  She assumed it was completely normal and that I was overreacting.  I thought she was evil and that the two of them were planning to kill me in my sleep.  They may have known where I lived but I was never loaning her the key.

One day after Architecture the three of us are walking to get some dinner.  Bonnie and I are joking back and forth, I'm just feeling relieved to not be left alone with Bipolar Boy that my spirits were up.  He would interject as well, seeming to be in a good mood and even, God forbid, or should I say Allah forbid, having a good time.  And then snap!  One second he's joking with us the next he's yelling at us in the middle of O lot about being childish and never taking things seriously.

So I took a half a beat back in the step rhythm, looking at Bonnie with eyes wide open and mouthing "See what the fuck I mean?!"  Bonnie in shock had realized it wasn't just because I was the girlfriend but that he was C-R-A-Z-Y.

After that Bonnie took me a little more seriously and I did background checks on the boys she sent my way . . .

When I first met Bonnie I found her an odd, odd creature for many, many reasons.  One she found it enjoyable to be nice to people.  Two she has a seriously unhealthy obsession with ducks (which I later fed but you'll find that out all in due time).  And third she had some really crazy sleeping habits.  The latter I happened to understand because I too was having the energy sucked about of me by Bilbeisi-zilla and the Architecture leeches.

You don't know what it's like to fully "conk out" until you've pulled a three day all-nighter (and dayer).  See the trick to staying awake wasn't protein or constant liquids or even chocolate covered espresso beans by the dozen.  It was all about staying in motion.  If you could keep moving, you were completely fine.  It was those times when you found yourself sitting for a really long time, you know like five minutes that were the hardest to endure.  So you might find yourself asleep in class because you haven't fidgeting every few seconds, or sitting down to eat (which is a monster since for normal non-architecturally scarred humans that drains energy - you know when you get cold . . . nevermind), or say for instance you're like driving or doing something stupid like that.

In order to keep away from these instances, the two of us would avoid our rooms and our highly comfortable beds at any cost.  (When the support structure of a metal desk 12" wide by 3.5' long starts to look comfy, you're in trouble, anyway that's a different story.)  What was farther away than our dorms, the guys dorms, namely Kerr 7.  What can I say, we love the geeks.  Whereas I was scared what kind of substances might be on the underside of these boys sheets, Bonnie did not have this phobia and was unfortunately attracted to sleep on anything looking anything remotely more comfortable than a rock.  I would find her asleep in Matt's bed or Kevin's or BJ's or Kenny's or whoever poor smuck she could weasel a bed out of.

Bonnie is a good girl and we all know this but when it came to her explaining how she had "slept" in the beds of like 8 or 9 of the guys beds on Kerr 7, it's a little hard to look at her the same way.  Then one would ask, "Well in what amount of time?"  Only a mere semester and then our precious little Bonnie is starting to look like a HOOOOOOOOOO!

Don't worry she kept her diginity when in the third year of my college career I managed to date three guys on the Computer Science Floor (Kerr 7).  Yes they all knew each other and unlike Bonnie I wasn't necessarily sleeping.

Personally, I blame Architecture (though I had dropped out if by then).  But that is of no consequence and I plan on sueing Oklahoma
State University for mental anquish and imposed stupidity for having a floor that consisted solely of nerds with glasses.