Monday, October 30, 2006

Yo, Bob!

Allow me to introduce you to someone:

His name is Bob.

Don't be shy, let's get up close and personal.

I'd like to start off by clarifying that Bob is NOT the result of one of my "milk decomposes" revelations. Nope, he got that way ALL BY HIMSELF. Isn't he a good boy?

Because I basically live on chocolate pudding, I purchased one of...several packages from the Why Yes, We Inflate Our Prices By 200%, Thanks for Asking store. I didn't realize at the time that where I thought I had four puddings, I really had three----and Bob!

Bob was discovered later that night. The Other Biology Nerd and I were studying in my room at the perfectly acceptable hour of 3am. Naturally, at such a time, more food becomes necessary. TOBN was casually opening a pudding when she shrieked--for she had discovered Bob.

Bob could have suffered a terrible fate that day. The logical course of action, after finishing with the eeeeeeeeewwww's and I almost ate that's, would have been to throw him out.

Fortunately, he was in the esteemed company of the aforementioned two Biology Nerds, so we merely spent the next twenty minutes poking him and giggling. We then sealed him up and stuck him at the back of the refrigerator so that he could hopefully grow into something even more delightfully squishy.

The Awesome Roommate however, being more of a Humanities Nerd, is not impressed with Bob. I know. How could you not want a pudding rotting and GROWING stuff in your refrigerator?


Sunday, October 29, 2006

So I still rule

And milk still decomposes.

No, I don't know how this keeps happening. It's COMPLICATED.

And this is why I should change my career plans

From my highly non-scientific observations:

There is a perfect correlation between a female's ability to be a lawyer and her tendency to be a COMPLETE raging bitch.

And I want to go to law school?

Monday, October 23, 2006

Timing, people! TIMING!

Look, if I've pried myself out of bed, slogged through the rain, and hiked up four flights of stairs?

I'm no longer happy to discover that you've canceled class.

Now, if I'd known earlier and NOT ALREADY HAVE WOKEN UP? Different story.

(What, you can't plan your emergencies in advance? Sheesh.)

Wednesday, October 18, 2006



My econ midterm grade is apparently now accessible on my student page online. I have not actually checked, but I have heard as much from other people in the class.


I HATE FINDING OUT STUFF ONLINE. Seriously. College admissions? Nearly killed me. (Those of you who knew me then, yeah, DUH.)

And now it's THERE. WAITING. Waiting for me to check it. AND I'M SUPPOSEED TO BE WRITING A PAPER HERE.

Fuck it. I'm not checking it. I'll go to her office hours tomorrow and ask for it back, and then I can further humiliate myself by crying in front of her. EXCELLENT PLAN.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Life as me

Oooooooh I'm supposed be rewriting an essay because it's due tomorrow, but naturally I'm blogging instead because productivity? Pffft.

I just got back from a meeting with one of my professors who had the unfortunate job of informing me that basically, I completely suck at writing. Lovely. He did so, of course, in an extremely polite, scholarly fashion, which made things even greater, because he's this amazingly refined academic and I'm the girl who tripped walking into his office.

I'm also the girl who....ok, this is where it gets complicated. See, I fidget. I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with all the coffee I drink, but seriously, if you could just hook the fidgeting up to a generator, we'd have even less excuse to be at war in Iraq, because we'd have no energy problem. (Ba-dum-CHHH! Come for the caffeine-induced babbeling, stay for the biting political commentary. Biting.)

So, I'm fidgeting. Usually the fidgeting involves an object, like my fingernails and my teeth, but I'm still working on that, so I was playing with a pen. A purple pen, if you'd like to picture the whole scenario in your minds. Anyway. The pen has a clicky thing on top, which is absolutely fantastic for nervous twitchers, but I'm also speaking to said prof at the time, so that's out. I thus had to be content with bending the somewhat rigid clip on the pen. Oooh look. It gets farther away...and farther away...and farther---aaaaaand it's just broken off and been catapaulted an indeterminite distance away and I don't see where it's landed. NICE.

Oh great, he probably saw that.

Erk---what if it, like, catapaulted into him? Or clipped him on the ear mid-flight.


Best-case scenario--he didn't see it happen, finds a mysterious purple piece of plastic in a distant corner of his office some weeks later.

Worst-case sceanrio--I just tagged a highly respected academic with a pen cap.

Smooth, girl. Real smooth.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

You might want to rethink the order there

"Well, first they got drunk. And they had sex. Then they got drunk again. And they had more sex."

"Then they went on their first date."

Doing a slow burn

Memo to that guy on the next elliptical trainer:

Hi. I'm sure you're an incredibly fit, hardcore athlete. You must be. You have the super-expensive Nike Shox, the clothes, the iPod accessories. And wow, I must say that I was impressed by the sheer speed at which you were able to operate that elliptical. Those pedals were FLYING.

(I was particularly blown away by the way your incredible velocity caused you to fling sweat on everyone in a fifty-foot radius. That really sealed my opinion of your TREMENDOUS athletic ability.)

I also especially love how, as you stepped off your machine and wiped the sweat from your forehead in a manly fashion, you smiled condesendingly at the struggling guy next to you, and informed him that "It gets easier, bro."

How touching. The Star coming down to speak words of inspiration to a mere mortal. Maybe one day, he'll reach your level.

I would, however, have been slightly more impressed if the read-out on your machine hadn't been blinking "Current Resistence Level: 1" in large, easily read LEDs throughout your entire display of "fitness."

I'm proud to report that I did not scream "He's on Level 12, BITCH."

But I wanted too.

Because basically, despite the clothes, the iPod, the sweat, and the disgusting attitude?

You're still not a badass.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Types of drunks

Some people CANNOT HANDLE ALCOHOL. (I realize this is a revolutionary discovery. I'll wait as you alert the media.)

I suppose I could stretch just a TEENSY bit farther in my reasoning here and say that different people handle alcohol in different ways. Yes, I sound like AlcoholEdu. Relax. So. I've encountered the following personalities:

1. Sleepyhead--Takes it to heart that alcohol is a depressant. Becomes lethargic, boring, and usually heads back to the dorm to take a nap. This is me, by the way. Hold the beer, hand me a Red Bull, and we'll carry on.

2. Persons of extremely advantageous ancestry--Ask them how much they've had. They'll get it wrong, not because they're too trashed to remember. It's becasue they can't count that high.

3. Persons of extremely disadvantageous ancestry--Half a Keystone light and HEY LOOK AT THE PRETTY COLORS I CAN SEE THROUGH TIME!

4. I love you, man---Some of us have apparently confused our beer with our Ecstacy. A rather interesting character, especially if you can videotape his more revealing confessions.

5. Obedient--Completely trashed, but will follow you like a puppy dog. Amusing, easy to lead away from frat.

and my unfavorite:


*pulls hair out*

Ok, I have a test in 5 hours. i should probably get around to...studying or something. Yeah.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Quote of the Day

"Hold on, sunflower seeds have SHELLS? No way! THAT'S WHY THEY TASTED BAD!"

I love you EB!

Sunday, October 08, 2006

You guys are so cute, but I'm getting squooshed

Awww. People complained that I didn't update! (And by people, of course, I mean, MASSIVE HORDES OF CLAMORING FANS. Not, like, one of you who has no life. Hi Leina!)

So. Things I've been doing instead of blogging?

1. Devoloping new and creative ways to fall out of bed.
2. Sleeping on other people's rugs.
3. Accidentally melting plastic bowls in the microwave.
4. Accidentally-on-purpose melting plastic bowls in the microwave because hey look, swirly plastic!
5. Bitch-slapping Paris Hilton.
6. Contemplating my sudden lack of socks.
7. Making excellent use of green food coloring and blaming Dr. Seuss.
8. Negotiating Fruit-By-The-Foot property rights.
9. Popping the bubble wrap. All of it.




So, this extremely kick-ass professor at my school developed this revolutionary method of teaching languages that is actually quite well known, and I think I've just handily dispatched with any secrets of where I actually attend college if you know how to use Google.

Because, like, I have thousands of readers stalking me.

Anyway, this method. Basically, they cram four years of high school spanish into one trimester, snap their fingers in your face, and demand that you answer instantaneously in a language you don't speak.


Because you will speak it. They make sure of that. However, I no longer think of this as "learning" Spanish. I think of it as being ASSAULTED by Spanish.

Unfortuantely, right now, Spanish is winning.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Damn technology. (Damn frat boys.)

I do not like being bested by technology. (Case in point: spent half of Friday night bent over The Blonde With Hot Librarian Glasses' broken speaker while we figured out how to use nail clippers as an emergency screwdriver. And it WORKED, bitches, it worked.)

Regardless, technology does occasionally win. Example:

Blitz (it means email, it sounds cooler, go with it) is life. Blitzes may, of course, be directed to multiple people. If blitzing out to a campus-wide list, the option becomes available to suppress recipient list. Proper etiquette dictates this, as it prevents the inevitable idiot from hitting "reply all" and spamming THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY with their stupid question. Frats having parties generally want blitz out to as many people as possible, so it's far from unusual to get a message from a frat that has a suppressed recipient list.

Quick review of frat boy stereotypes: Your average frat boy is not a genius, but your average Dartmouth frat boy is pretty smart. But your average Dartmouth frat boy is not geeky, because they're all concentrated in one frat that has lame parties. That said: non geeky frat boys can become veeeerry technologically proficient if they have sufficient motivation.

Case in point: I received a blitz today from a certain frat. It announced that they were having a "Schoolgirl party." (You know, in retrospect, this sounds REALLY STUPID. But this frat had a schoolgirl party last year too, so it's plausible) The recipient list was suppressed, ergo, it went to the whole campus. My friends also received it. Nothing suspicious so far.

Now, as some of you may recall, I have a fair number of rather short, pleated skirts. (What???) Enough to supply us all, actually. So we had the skirts. We had the short white shirts. And the heels. And the hair ribbons. And, naturally, The Blonde With Hot Librarian Glasses was working the glasses. Yes, we're sluts. But that's why frats have themed parties--girls will use any reason, no matter how flimsy, to JUSTIFY dressing like a whore--ESPECIALLY if they have the reasonable expectation that MANY other females will be similarly attired.

If, however, a group of schoolgirls hits the frat and discovers that somehow, they were BASICALLY THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO RECEIVED THE BLITZ TELLING THEM TO DRESS LIKE SCHOOLGIRLS....well, there's going to be some rage. And some MAJOR staring. And some frat brothers telling you that "you ladies are welcome back anytime." And that's all that they said that I'm going to repeat.

I, after escaping, jumped back on my computer and discovered that someone has figured out how to suppress a recipient list even if the blitz is only going to a few people, thus tricking those few people into thinking that they are one of HUNDREDS of recipients when actually, they're just targets. NICE.

Monday, October 02, 2006

At least we're resourceful

I'm currently substituting a tennis halter top for a bra.

The Roommate is wearing bikini bottoms under her jeans.

Guess who forgot to do laundry?

Sunday, October 01, 2006

I remember

It officially being October, four of the Incredible Floormates and I were discussing what we should be for Halloween. So far we have two criteria:

1. It must be coordinated for five people

2. It must include stripper boots.

Yes, we've considered the Spice Girls. We'll see.

And, because I can remember, here's what I was for Halloween for as far back as I can recall.

Kindergarden: A ballerina. The first dramatic casualty of The Mother's "You WILL wear a sweater over that" decree.

1st grade: A witch. I believe I ate a large quantity of the green lipstick. Yeech.

2nd grade: A hula dancer, just like Molly from the American Girls Collection. I believe this one was also subject to the indignity of a sweater, but it was ok, because in the book, Molly's mom did the same thing. (And Molly wore a red sweater. Did I wear a red sweater? DUH.)

3rd Grade: A cheerleader. Due to inadvertent coordination, my best-friend-at-the-time was ALSO a cheerleader. Oh the drama. (We are no longer friends, and I believe that a large part of that stems from this incident. And my pom-poms were BETTER, BITCH.)

4th Grade: A Milky Way.

This one bears repeating.


Lesson to parents: Do not be obsessive compulsive and actually MAKE YOUR KID A MILKY WAY COSTUME out of a GODDAMMED BOX, because A.) They will need therapy later in life, B). It is impossible to run at optimum candy-collecting speed whilst encumbered in a Milky-Way like box. C.) If you fall down while attempting to run ANYWAY in said box, you will fall down. (Yes, my friends laughed at me. Shut up.)

5th Grade: A hippie. Fittingly, this was the first formal rebellion against the Parental Regime of the Sweater, because I had the WORLD'S COOLEST tye-dyed shirt and THE MAN wasn't making me wear no sweater. Of course, being me, I didn't actually gave the guts to ditch it, but had to carry it in the bottom of my candy bag.

Which was, in retrospect, moronic, because then I had LESS ROOM FOR CANDY. Tragedy, really.

6th grade: Harry Potter. I would really not care to discuss this one because, well, in sixth grade, I had read way too much for my own good and subsequently morphed into the world's tiniest raging Feminazi. Oh, painful memories. So, naturally, I was a boy for Halloween, because this, people, this was A Statement. Single-handedly crushing gender stereotypes right and left, that was me.

*takes break, attempts to build time machine, hit middle-school-self over head*

I did manage to partially shake the persistent rumors that I was a lesbian by dressing like a complete prostitute for the next six years, but that's another post.

7th Grade: Yoda. The second in a line of painful adolescent choices. While I fully support dressing up as sci-fi characters, this is a risky move and requires the right environment, the right company, and the right crazy attitude. Funnily enough, the warm, nurturing, ACCEPTING middle-school environment does not meet these criteria.

8th Grade: Nothing specific, but did dye my hair eight different colors with those awesome spray things and managed to stain several other people by brushing up against them. Good times.

9th Grade: Avril Lavigne. The origin of this one escapes me, but I am at least comforted by the fact that this was at a time when she was still cool and not a yet poser.

10th Grade: Trinity. Yes, from the fucking Matrix. Now, I was SUPPOSED to be one of SIX PEOPLE in Matrix attire at school that day, except EVERY SINGLE ONE of you PANSIES chickened out. (I know you're there--you're fifty percent of the readership at this point. And I know where you live.

Not that I hold a grudge or anything.)

11th Grade: Freudian Slip. I wore a white lace slip and carried a (fake) cigar. Approximately three people got it. Sigh.

12th Grade: Elf queen. At this point, I no longer cared. Wanted to be an elf queen, dressed as elf queen. Highly recommended.

And I have a spanish test in ten hours. Awesome!

Beep. Beep.

Someone's alarm is going off. It's behind a locked door.

And it's been going off.







He had better make it home tonight, because at this rate, I'm going to incure a serious fine when I BREAK THE WALL DOWN.