Being 'Special'

This is a rant I have been trying to NOT write for a while now. Apart from being entirely too mean (ah, who am I kidding, like that would bother me) it is also somewhat politically incorrect, and let's face it, a bit too snooty. But well *insert unrepentant devilish mea culpa and lovin it grin here* ...
So, I'm taking spanish classes, in a class of all of two students, which at the time seemed like such a good idea. Oh, yeah, and to clarify, the second student is me. Hmmm, and why, in a completely uncharacteristic gesture reeking of dramatic-transformations,-makeovers-and-other-sponsor-attracting-tactics, you may ask, have I put myself second? Well, that's because there are a few rare people in life that you come across (if you get to be that lucky) who are so very 'Special' that you cannot help but put them first. If you let them, they have the power to change your life, transform the way you look at yourself and the world, and maybe even shake your belief in Darwin. Along the way they also tend to provide a few laughs to be shared with a circle of close (and equally Mean and Evil) friends.

Papoosha, my previously mentioned dog was one of them. He, too, is special in ways that are impossible to explain. Though god knows I've tried (goto picture for brief but speaking visual clue). Anyways, so, I never thought I'd be the kind of twice-blessed person who gets to meet more than one such mind-boggling spectacle in one lifetime. But there you have it, I've been know to be mistaken before (tho' not about Dick Van Dyke). So, the other student in my spanish class, as I'm sure you've guessed (unless you too are one of these exceptional kinds, in which case let me know, I think I'm starting a collection), is the new special person in my life. Wow, that just comes out so wrong without scare quotes! She's this lump of a girl who I would not have likened to a sofa based merely on her physical appearance (honest, the thought never even crossed my poor little misrepresented mind), but the more I get to know her, the more frequently a piece of furniture replaces her in my head. Tho' not the kind of fun and friendly furnishing found in the marshes of Squornshellous Beta. Well, between a classmate with a piece of driftwood for a brain and a teacher who believes the path to comprehensibility goes uphill all the way on Decibel Mountain, these classes are more fun than I care to admit. No really. What other way to an ideal start for your day than to sit there groggy eyed on an empty stomach watching all the fun and, I must admit, feeling sorely left out of the whole "special" thing. So the retard goes back and makes a mistake in something that was drilled into us about two classes ago, at which point also it resulted in the same ten minute struggle between the two that it quickly develops into again. If they weren't two women, I would take their daily monosyllablic battles as some sort of neanderthal 'guy thing', but as it stands...

Everytime the Retard makes a mistake, it all quickly degenerates into a shouting match between the two, with their faces inching closer to each other with each successive volley - throwing just the one poor mispronounced word at each other till in sheer desperation the poor word rolls over and gives up the holy... well, you get the picture. Which also leads naturally to the question "Which one of the two am I referring to when I say the Retard?". Ten minutes ago I would have said my classmate without thinking about it, but now I'm reconsidering. Maybe its like the travis song with all the pregnant ladies, and I'm the poor fellow in chains at the end.

p.s. Song of the Month: Femme Fatale by The Velvet Underground. apropos of nothing. or maybe Some Kinda Love instead.