Huh yuh! Take that.

So yesterday I only had one class; my kickass early afternoon professor canceled to watch the Inauguration, so I didn’t have to show up till 6:00 for my later session. This worked well for me since I’d sobbed out all my bodily fluids earlier in the day and needed a quick nap to get through the evening. Running out the door, I grabbed my homework, my notebook, and Clay’s Leatherman.

Ya see, one thing I haven’t mentioned yet, is how each professor has scared the living daylights shit out of us re: sexual assaults on campus. I guess before Christmas break there were a few incidents by a few different guys and so now all we female types get to live in fear! Yeah! For the most part I feel safe, but my Tuesday night class is in way the hell of nowhere, some strange annex building (they call it a “bungalow” like I’m in the Hollywood Hills, sipping a mocktini naked on a bear skin) nestled among a bunch of strange warehouse buildings and parking lots. As the semester goes on, it won’t be quite so dark as I come and go, but for now it’s pretty much like walking into Saw 3. Not that I've seen it. Or ever wanted to see it. Tho for some unknowable reason my husband keeps adding it to my Netflix queue.

So I’m brainstorming what I should use for weaponry – pepper spray? pack heat? – but till I’ve decided, I’m using Clay’s Leatherman. (Does Bob Villa shill those? Do you think I could be in one of his commercials for “alternate uses”? I always liked his smile.)

It’s got a knife feature inside, which I opened up in the car and then kept in my hand, which I kept inside my tote bag as I navigated the darkened alleys of death-trap-land. When no one was around me, I pulled the whole thing out and waved it around like a crazy man in a bar brawl, backing up slowly to the door before jumping into his Camaro. I have no idea if this would really deter anyone from grabbing my boob, but I like to think it does. Plus, after reaching into my bag during class for chapstick and tissues, I can tell you that knife effing stings; I’ve got two matching cuts on each hand to prove it. So maybe I shouldn’t be a cop, so what?

But other than honing my Chuck Norris skills, class was surprisingly not-bad tonight. I was thirsty as hell with no vending machines in sight, and a probably-homeless man wandered in and asked if he could add the class, and we watched a video about how to sneeze into a sleeve – but all in all, so far, a well-spent sixty bucks.