Monday, December 31, 2007

There are no updates

because I am attempting to spend every possible minute OUTSIDE my house, which means that I don't have access to a computer.

Case in point: I am posting this FROM MY PHONE. Which sucks, because of the teeny little keys, the teeny little stylus, and my gigantic klutzy fingers.

But it is much better than being at home and being sucked into Argument #8472: How The Liberals Are Ruining America vs. OMG STFU ktxbai, or Discussion #5309: Why Technical Competence Is A Clerical Skill, aka, I Am Too Incompetent To RIP A FREAKING CD. USING A MAC. WHICH IS DESIGNED SO THAT STUPID PEOPLE CAN USE IT. I QUIT.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

/ Time can break your heart / Have you begging please

Why did you teach them to recognize me? Because I can deal with them not remembering me, I really can, watch them stare past me blankly when someone asks, "and who's that?," let them be squirmy and upset when I carry them, brush it off when they cry for no reason, ignore it if they refuse to play patty-cake or to identify their respective noses.

But when somehow, after four hours of chasing them around on the floor, something clicks and one of them sees me from across the room as if for the first time, yells "Ka-ay" and toddles over to attach himself to my legs, that is when I cannot deal, because that is the exact moment when they break my heart. Again.

And why do you let me even complain, how infrequently I see them?

Why does their mother, who inadvertently committed herself to a crazily difficult life times two, still make a point to give everyone else awesome Christmas presents?

And why her? Why not someone else?

Well? Do you have any answers for me, you son-of-a-virgin-bitch? No?

I thought as much.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

I'm sorry, I can't take your call right now...

...because I'm busy playing Super Mario. No, really. This is it. This is the culmination of 11 years of whining, begging, pleading, 11 years of infallible "but-everybody-ELSE-has-one" logic, 11 years of the comparatively insignificant yet very real anguish of the pony-less, Barbie-less, and Nintendo-less child.

I. Have. Super. Freaking. MARIO.

/yes, it's technically my brother's
//He's completely owning me in Guitar Hero, but my Mario has totally saved two more galaxies than his.
///I'm sorry, but the princess is in another castle.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

We fish you a hairy chrismoose

In high school, when I was busy geeking out on the debate team, I was taught that to win in extemporaneous debate, one must show that the other team's position will lead to unbelievably horrific consequences. We were given a list of such unpleasant scenarios, in descending order:

1. Dead American babies.
2. Dead Americans.
3. Dead foreign babies.
4. Dead foreign adults.
5. Severely injured American babies, severely injured Americans, etc., all the way down to "mildly perturbed foreign adults."

There is an obvious point for argument on that list and it is over the placements of #2 and #3. I have, and still could, on cue, go for hours upon hours on how the two should so obviously be switched, but, as I learned, my opposition can also argue for just as many hours.

From those interminable arguments, gov classes, and conversations I've had in study lounges when I felt like being pretentious instead of actually studying, I have drawn one conclusion: conservatives place dead Americans above dead foreign babies, and liberals go for the reverse.

Who's right and why, I haven't the slightest idea. I just thought I'd share, because, obviously, this is so topical right now.

/Merry freaking Christmas
//I only have five hours left to finalize my plot for stealing the brother's Wii

Friday, December 21, 2007

Pulling a Britney in 5, 4, 3, 2...

One day, I will show up with half my hair shaved off and the rest dyed in stripes of black and neon purple, with a nose ring and thirteen Angelina Jolie-esque tattoos, because seeing as how we've already reached MAXIMUM PARENTAL FREAKOUT LEVEL because I had the audacity to get my hair cut with layers, I might as well ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING WORTHY OF A REACTION.

/left nostril or right nostril?

Wednesday, December 19, 2007


How to go dancing at a frat:

If at some point during the night, you have accumulated a posse of gay boys, go to Step 1. If not, go to Step 6.

1. Dance with gay boys.

2. Get out-danced.

3. Successfully avoid sketchy, lurking straight boys by looking "taken".

4. Chastise your posse for dancing on the stripper poles because it's destroying your ruse.

5. Repeat as desired.

6. Accumulate at least two other females.

7. Venture on to dance floor.

8. Step in spilled beer. Make note that these have become your new "frat shoes."

9. Begin dancing.

10. Allow 0.00000000001 seconds to elapse.

11. Discover random guy attached to your ass.

12. Engage in complicated non-verbal communication with friend.

13. If necessary, maneuver so that friend is between you and random guy. Drift slightly to left. Make escape to perimeter. Repeat.

14. If friend assesses guy as hot, continue dancing.

15. Subtly push guy's hands down from breasts.

16. Slightly less subtly, remove guy's hands from crotch.

17. Repeat. If repeated more than three times, he's too drunk. See step 13 for escape details.

18. You may engage in conversation with random guy at some point, but this is optional.

19. Make final escape with other females.

20. Order pizza, bitch about current state of gender relations on campus. Blame the frat system.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Double standards

I have come to the conclusion that when the hot hipster college boy barista gives you a free latte, it's cute and flattering, but when the weird-not-as-hot-definitely-older-than-college-boy barista does the same, it's sketchy.

I could analyze the larger implications of this discovery and blame society for something, or I could just be like SWEET FREE PEPPERMINT MOCHA! and leave it at that.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007


I have returned home from finals. Posting will resume after I awaken from what I estimate will be a three-day coma.

Monday, December 10, 2007

It would be inappropriate to mug the guy sitting across from me for his nachos, right?

Saturday, December 08, 2007

I am too fucking stupid to go to school here.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Head. Wall. Repeat as necessary.

This is my story:

I'm studying bio and hating my life on fourth floor berry (aka, the hardest part of the library to get to). At 2:56, I realize that I have to give a tour at 3pm. I haul ass out of the library, run to my room to get my Official Tour Guide Nametag, stab myself repeatedly while affixing said nametag to my coat, attempt to cut across the lawn in front of Baker through the snow and WIPE OUT in a really epic fashion, get up, dust myself off, continue running to McNutt, burst into the admissions office and discover....

that there are no tours this week. SWEET.

Sunday, December 02, 2007


Raw egg/chocolate syrup/relish/mustard/vegetable oil/oatmeal/overcooked spaghetti is a bitch to get out of your hair.

But after the eighth or so shower, your hair is actually quite nicely soft and shiny.


Friday, November 30, 2007

See? SEE?

What did I tell you?

"Also, I lack the expertise to change it, as my facade of using lengthy technical terms very quickly while nodding authoritatively has still failed to confer upon me actual knowledge about even the simplest coding."

But nyoooooooo---I had to try and change it ANYWAY (spurred on, no doubt, by some *commenters* AND I BROKEDED IT.

Then I fixed it. There will be no more futzing with it until after finals.

That's all.

(and if you comment about it I will go Miranda Priestly on your ass. Try me.)

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Spiffy fact:

Ants cannot climb up "Shiny" Mac laptop displays. They try, but they fall back down.

How I know this is not so spiffy.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Sweet fancy Moses on buttered toast

When I changed the template (hold the snark plz ktxbai) I FORGOT. To add. The SiteMeter.


I'm going to have to lie down now.

/stalkers do not like to be thwarted
//yes, I once cracked an alumni database to retrieve a 10th grade teacher's zip code, is there something wrong with that?


There is nothing wrong with comments. Sometimes, I just like to disable them...because I can.

The theme is white. I like it that way. Also, I lack the expertise to change it, as my facade of using lengthy technical terms very quickly while nodding authoritatively has still failed to confer upon me actual knowledge about even the simplest coding. know when you link to a really funny comic, but then keep reading and discover that you should have linked using a different comic, because this one is better? Yeah, I hate that.

I worship random people

So. Fucking. True. With nerd jokes.

Galileo said it better

Safe Food
Ice cream
Grilled cheese
Potato chips

Dangerous Food

Peanut butter
Candy bars

Curiously, if bread is consumed WITH any of the other three, both are neutralized.

Sometime, after I have taken Biochemistry and Physiology, I will be able to tell you why.

Another time, after I have sorted out my brain and forgotten the Biochemistry and Physiology, I will be able to tell you the reason why.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

I rule at the internet

Iiiiiiiiii just paid $249.92 for a Wii. WIIIIIIIIIIIIIN. Hi, suckers on Ebay who just paid $500.00.

Ok, so technically I didn't pay for it. My parents paid for it. It's for my brother, for Christmas. I "nicely" agreed to "help" them find it. I'm so thoughtful like that. It's "for my brother." It's totally also for me.

/so it's marketed to

Friday, November 23, 2007

This is a conspiracy

to make me go insane and it is working because Physics. Is. Everywhere. INCLUDING THE WEBSITES THAT I AM TRYING TO USE TO PROCRASTINATE.

/at least when I shoot myself, I can calculate the requisite initial velocity of the bullet

Why I should so be allowed to bitch-slap people

*studiously avoiding making this person too identifiable*

Which is really no great challenge BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL THE SAME ANYWAY. Pre. Med. Men.

Think of every single good-looking, confident, white bread, upper-class ASSHOLE doctor on a bad daytime drama. Some stereotypes are based in fact.

Anyway, sometimes, you major in Political Science, to get away from them. Which is a huge shock, because sometimes, you, when you take Political Science, you have professors who are actually human beings instead of vengeful, brooding automatons that HATCHED in a CAVE somewhere and awoke to fulfill their lifelong missions of MAKING PEOPLE MISERABLE. Plus, if you study really hard for an international relations class, and do all the reading, and make a scarily-obessive-compulsive study actually DO WELL on the test. I know, right?

Sadly, sometimes the GODDAMN PRE-MED-MALES figure this out and ALSO take political science. And then you have amazing conversations like this:

[Background: My IR prof is totally kickass, has an actual sense of humor, and, unlike many of her colleagues, writes CLEAR and SUCCINCT papers. (Alexander Wendt, I'm looking at you.) She also happens to be married to another professor in the department. Which, as I have mentioned, is really not that uncommon around here in the boonies.]

Anyway. The scene: Walking out of class. The protagonist: yours truly. The antagonist: Duh. Italics are sarcastic comments that were only said in my head. I hope.

Mr. About To Be Kicked In A Sensitive Area: "I don't know, I'm just not overly impressed with her research. Because I'm such an established scholar in the field, of course, and I'm drawing on the esteemed wisdom that comes with my NINETEEN years of age. It's sort of irrelevant and subjective--you could easily reinterpret the data and come to a different conclusion. This never happens in scholarly research. At all."

Your Fearless Blogger: "Well, I thought that maybe the stuff about *A very unspecified country* seemed cred-"

Mr. About To Be Kicked In A Sensitive Area: "I'm cutting you off because I was too busy admiring my reflection in that window to realize that you were talking, and you know she was only appointed because her husband has tenure?"

Your Fearless Blogger: "Are you INVITING me to kick your ass? Oh come ON, that rumor circulates about half the female professors...would you say that if the genders were reversed?"

Mr. About To Be Kicked In A Sensitive Area: "You know, probably not. That's just how I think. And I am now, in the Ultimate Asshole Move, admitting that I am an asshole. And being proud of it. Shame on me, right? *Smiles, thinks he's hotter than he actually is*

Your Fearless Blogger: "Oh, I have to print something so let me head for the library before I fly to California and steal a certain person's Awesome Hulk Hands Of Power.

Can I borrow the Hulk Hands? He really, really , needs to be Smashed.

Well, it's not good, but it's a reason

After extensive self-analysis, I have determined why I ammaybewas pre-med:

1. My 11th grade math teacher told me to.

And that is it. I couldn't come up with anything else. I could have added some half-hearted funny examples of other ridiculously things that said math teacher could have told me to do, but honestly, I can't.

I considered adding "Because Kate Walsh once played a character who had awesome shoes," but honestly, that was later. Plus, with the way malpractice insurance is going, the doctors probably can't even afford the shoes anymore. Which is lame, because all emergency surgeries should be performed by someone wearing in Manolos. Obvi.

(Bonus points if you can identify the movie quoted in the title.)

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Breaking the fourth wall

There is about to be a massive post influx. See, I like to hold the posts before I publish them. While this is ostensibly so I can go back and edit them, it's actually so I can forget about them, but never fear, I did find them.

Also...who the HELL is from the "State of Connecticut Department of Information Technology?" Out yourself.

Monday, November 19, 2007

So I can't sleep

Probably because I slept until 3pm. Just a hunch.

So I'm going through old email, and it appears that I actually *sent* this to a high school teacher:

Hi. Yes, it's rather late (or early, depending on one's perspective) to be starting one's English homework. Naturally, being me, I've just discovered one of the detriments to operating on such a schedule: if one has, say, misplaced one's copy of Sound and Sense (with the assignment sheet), then one really has little recourse at this hour. Ok, I have to stop saying "one." It's pretentious.

So, I'm emailing you to...explain the situation I suppose, and apologize (again) for handing-in of assignments lately. As you may have picked up on, I tend to freak out for indeterminate periods and this is one of them and I know that it's not an excuse and again I apologize. (and basically I'm never going to college, yay)

I will make my best attempt to locate my book and complete the assignment by class tomorrow. Today. Whichever.

---Caffeine has really had quite enough coffee

How was I NOT kicked out of school?

Epic. Fail.

So, last night I attended an amazing party. It was a classy, formal business dinner for *name of prestigious student newspaper redacted*, at which the new directorate was announced and several awards were given (*avoiding self call, shut it, it's my blog*). Oh, and alcohol was consumed.

Naturally, my parents call me in the middle of this. I spoke to The Father, not The Mother, small favors. Sadly, my tolerance is still very low, and the giggly levels are really unacceptably high. Slightly busted.

The cover story for today:
Oh yes, we had a lovely sit-down dinner, and everyone had a glass of champagne to toast the new directorate.

What I seem to recall transpired:

Open bar. I grossly overpour a rum and coke.

Due to a miscommunication / diabolical plot, there food. Lovely. Wheeeeeeee!

There is actually champagne. Lots and lots of champagne. It's like bubbly juice that sprays everywhere.

There is an after party. There is another open bar.

Did you know that peach schnapps mixed with tonic water tastes exactly like orange soda?

I mix another to confirm that it actually does taste like orange soda. It still does.

There is a Harry Potter party next-door.

They have "Butterbeer." I don't know what the hell it was, but it tasted like liquid candy. All of it. Also, I got sorted into Slytherin. Bastards.

We go back to the afterparty. There is something involving pineapple juice.

There are drunken editors who are interested in "cuddling." With everyone.

There are drunken freshmen who are attempting to hook up with the editors. Both parties involved are straight females. There is running away. There is intense laughter.

There is me in 3.5 inch high heels. There is ankle pain.

There is grilled cheese.

There is sleep. There is 8 gallons of water and asprin. There is more sleep.

And then there are blog posts that ensure no one will ever hire me. Woooo!

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Grover = AMAZING

I am currently appreciating Sesame Street on a whole new level:

Experience your daily dose of lovable blue monster-ness here.

I think this is where I rant about how Sesame Street has gone completely to hell, because seriously? Cookies are a sometimes food? ELMO'S WORLD? In my day...

/Get off my lawn, you damn kids!

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Plz to make room stop shaking now ktxbai

Hai look iz me!

Inane question

"Hey, Caffeinegirl, what happened to that huge bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans?"


Have you MET me?

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

You aren't Meredith and neither am I

You want to be Meredith? Of course. She's the TV heroine, pretty, cute boyfriend, but her life isn't perfect, too dark and twisty.

And you, you who suffered real and true challenge, of course you identify with Meredith. The character was designed for you to reach that conclusion and that's why the advertisers pay big bucks.

But listen. Any kind of cred you get for your life sucking? You probably have more than Meredith. You are the girls who had nothing and stared life in the face and fought and are on the way to end up with something.

Meredith is the girl who you should hate. Meredith never worried about money. Meredith is white, classically pretty, Ivy-League rich girl. Meredith has parents who gave her advantages.

And somehow, Meredith is the girl who started out with "everything" and has no right or claim to suffer...but somehow ended up with nothing.

I've seen real life Meredith.

Beautiful, skinny, lettuce for dinner, an hour at the gym for each leaf, a scar on her arm from a mirror she broke years ago.

Good grades, but grades that aren't for her and will never be good enough.

She'll do well. Med school. Like her mother.

Still not good enough.

A surgeon. The most noble of professions, she can pick up a scalpel and save a life. Who can argue with that?

Not good enough.

Hundred hour work weeks, blood on her hands, strangers she won't remember in her bed. She gets a fellowship. So what?

She'll marry. She'll be beautiful. Maybe he'll be McDreamy. Real-life Bradgelina.

Maybe they'll divorce. Maybe not. They'll have children, you're supposed to. Also beautiful. Also smart.

But she won't be there. Not because she's selfish. Not because she cares more about her career, but because she can't. How can you be a mother if secretly you are still the child, crying out for Mommy who never came home, told you that she loved you yes, but never told you that it was okay to not be perfect.

So the cycle begins anew and stupid procrastinating teenage bloggers can dryly remark on the irony of the situation, how people who spend their time saving lives destroy their own.

And they want to take real-life Meredith away, fix this girl whose parents broke her and make her cry. Merediths, as you may not know, don't cry.

It would mar their mascara.

Disclaimer: I haven't slept in 36 hours.
This doesn't make any sense.
I'm not talking to anyone specifically.
Meredith is a fictional character and despite her name, so is real life Meredith.
I have 700 pages of reading due in nine hours.

Monday, November 05, 2007

If I blew up the biology building right now

could I pass it off as some kind of wacko V for Vendetta inspired political statement thing?



Artists use lies to tell the truth, politicians use lies to cover the truth up, and biologists cloak their lies in statistics and cryptic terms to pass them off as scientific fact.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

If g = 9.8, G = 6.67E-11

In terms of the whole gravity situation: let's imagine me desperately clutching the tip of the South Pole. Back on the Earth but JUST BARELY.

(Nerd sidebar: I chose South Pole for the visually imagery because it's the "bottom" but let's all pretend we're smart and know that since acceleration due to gravity is towards the CENTER of the earth, it could just as easily be the North Pole. Or an island in the south Pacific. Actually, let's go with the island.)

Anyway, being on the Earth means I HAVE A BIOLOGY TEST. Fuck. And unfortunately, my Biology Professor Formerly Known As Awesome is really emphasizing the "Formerly" part. He is THIIIIIIS close to getting a nickname like "Biology Professor Who I Hate With The Seething, Burning, White-Hot Intensity That Up Until This Point Has Been Reserved Only For People Who Teach English." (No, not you, duh. Hi.)

Fortunately for him, his one redeeming quality is still going strong. Despite his habit of asking questions on the test that were not covered in lecture or the textbook, despite his insistence on explaining an A-B-C sequence by only talking about A and C, and despite his choice to hold EVERY DAMN "OPTIONAL" x-hour at 8:30 in the morning, he is still good for quotes like this:

"Histones don't completely prevent digenstion of DNA by nucleases, but they do retard it significantly. It's kind of like forcing someone to eat a ham sandwich while squished up against their car--they can do it, just not very efficiently. Also, mustard will totally ruin your paint job. Note use of italics on 'totally.' Hmm, maybe I should have italicized 'significantly' also."

This is all that is standing between him and CAFFEINE GIRL'S ONE THOUSAND YEARS OF (non-violent) PAAAAAAAIIIIIIN. And believe me, if it happens, you'll read about it in the newspaper. Pretend you don't know me.

Friday, November 02, 2007

g = G(Me/Re^2)

falling. off. planet. Newton. has. no. fucking. clue.

/be with you momentarily

Monday, October 29, 2007


I just heard some suspicious giggling and a *thump* outside my door, followed by the sound of someone making a break for it.

When I opened the door, I found a PRESENT! From my big sister! (Cheesy sorority big sis/little sis thing.)

Anyway it was cheetos, chocolate, and RUM.


Sunday, October 28, 2007

So i cut and pasted this from an email

to Leina. Ergo: the first comment will be Leina, because Leina is ALWAYS THE FIRST COMMENT, and it will be something along the lines of "hey, this is what you emailed to me!"

I am psychic.

Anyway. On the topic of sorority hazing.

See there's no "hazing" because we all signed a pledge card that said we are doing everything "voluntarily."

stuff I have done "voluntarily"

1. Been kidnapped, dressed as a unicorn, driven to the godforsaken middle of nowhere while listening to german techno dubbed over an audiobook of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and made to play blindfolded leapfrog while tied in a garbage bag

2. Drank (non-alcoholic beverages only, OF COURSE) out of a ten year old boot that has never been washed and has previously undiscovered life forms growing in the inside.

3. I am currently wearing a wrist band that says ΣΔ and I am never allowed to take it off until I die, or risk more shoebeers I MEAN NONALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES. In shoes.

4. Jello-wrestled unattractive frat boys

5. Boatraced more times than I care to admit

6. Went to bail the ΣΔ alumni out of jail when they got arrested over homecoming...stupid alums.

7. Been thrown out of a volleyball game thanks to The Girl Who Feels That Flashing The Whole Campus Is a Public Service's tendency to A) Live up to her name, and B) thinks it's funny to encourage the pledges to explore the numerous ways in which rival school's names can be creatively related to various parts of the male anatomy.

8. I'm also currently carrying a hip pack with ducks on it that I am also never allowed to take off until I die, and I must have a full supply of chocolate and fruit snacks inside in case any sisters see me and want some.

9. Got sent to food court at 12:58a.m. (they close at 1) to get mozz sticks for The Girl Who Feels That Flashing The Whole Campus Is a Public Service OR ELSE.

10. CLEANED. THE BASEMENT. You don't want to know.

You know, this should be a blog post.

And then it was.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007


and promises that I will break.

1. I did break my foot, but not very badly. It's more chipped than broken. I was on crutches and am still supposed to be on them but they were driving me fucking crazy, so I'm not.
I will write a post about I swear.

2. I am not in a frat. I'm in a very loud, ragey, all-female sorority. Which is awesome. And one day, perhaps after I die from biology, I will write about that.

3. I am going to strangle my *class redacted* professor. She's actually very good and even gives organized lecture notes and designs tests so that your grade is actually somewhat correlated to effort spent studying, but she keeps saying Hi-RO-shima. I would be less annoyed if I didn't know that she spoke Japanese.

Ohmygod she just SAID IT again. Hi-ro-SHI-ma or I kill this bunny.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Fun Fact

The less I update, the more traffic increases.

I suspect that this trend will eventually peak and reverse itself, but that doesn't mean you get a post or anything.

Unless you'd like to hear about K+/Na+ p-type ATPase pumps and their frustrating reliance on FUCKING POLAR MOLECULES. Anyone? No?

//brain. go. fwomp.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Unexpected seriousness

I don't know what to say.

On the subject of the last post

Well, I avoided joining a sorority.

Unfortunately, I seem to have accidentally pledged a frat.


Tuesday, October 16, 2007


Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Don't rush a sorority.

Any questions?

Saturday, October 13, 2007

if i type them out will they go away?

why do you bitch and whine and moan about the women? was it really that much better back in the day? you don't seem to mind the women when you beg and plead and coerce them into your frat basement, grope anything that moves, call them lesbian bitches if they push you away, or trash their reputations later if they don't. why is it you are calling for the removal of the women when the women should have left on their own long ago?

why did you teach them to pull my hair and laugh and know my name, let babies be born whose only destiny is to die, pretend to give us twice the joy when you were just setting us up for twice the pain? are you punishing someone? or are you just a bastard?

why did you build such a beautiful campus if you intended for us to be locked in the stacks for the rest of our lives? why do i even bother to tell the prospies about extracurricular activities? who invented a gpa?

why endow us with sense, reason, and intellect if there is such overwhelming evidence that you intended us to forgo their use?

why am I writing this instead of studying?

why do you play with dice?

why are there no capital letters in this?

why not?

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Signs you may be pre-med

1. You fall asleep on top of your physics book in the library. So you decide to go home.

2. You exit the library, thinking "Destination: home." Five minutes on auto-pilot later, you find the door of the science cluster.

3. You didn't really go that far off course, because your dorm is next door. You selected it because it's the closest residential building to the science center.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007


Yes, I broke my foot. No, I don't have time to tell the story right now. Yes, it involves me being an idiot.

/*crunch* is never a good sound

Monday, October 08, 2007

I come from a long line of English majors that I will NOT be continuing, but one that does impart me with a genetic TWITCH every time I hear BAD GRAMMAR.

Needless to say, this song is causing me to have a minor seizure.

I should probably be be more offended by the blatantly sexist and objectifying themes of the song, but honestly, if it was "From where, pray tell, did you get your body?" I would be content.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007


False alarm, not my parents. *exhales*

Also, people on Facebook--is my pic too emo? Discuss.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

I stalk people

But you all already knew that. And if you didn't, well, this just became awkward.

Anyway. Because I'm lazy, I prefer to confine to my stalking to that which can done over the internet, i.e. IP tracing those of you reading. Yo.

A brief rundown--

Most frequent visitor: someone from I, of course, have NO IDEA who this is. *strokes chin in perplexed fashion, raises eyebrow*

Visiting blog at oddest hours of the morning: True, she has some help because of the time difference, but the random visits at 4am PST propelled her to first, it's She Who Wields The Awesome Hulk Hands of POWER!

Oddest random visitor: Someone whose IP was identified as "Department of Homeland Security." Please note that I would like to be placed in the "Disturbing, yet HARMLESS category." Thank you!

Second most disturbing keyword search: "Caffeinegirl livejournal." Dammit people, I told you NOT to go look at the LJ? What am I going to do with you? *shake head*

Most disturbing keyword search : "Teenage girl blow me"...RIGHT. MOVING ON.

Funniest revelation during stalking: has classified this as an "Adult website." Heh.

Most common ISP: Represent!

The reason I am writing this post, which is why it is very forced and much less funny than usual: I just realized that I'm still getting hits from in Connecticut. Now, any time I see that, I freak out for a second, because my PARENTS are in Connecticut, using optonline. Then usually I calm down and realize that someone I know is home in Darien, also using optonline. But.


I ran a trace, and the geographic area (thanks, shitty free utilities) is PROBABLY in Stamford. Unfortunately, my house is close enough to Stamford that I can't rule it out.

Therefore. I desperately need an answer to the following questions:

1. Has anyone been home / in Stamford lately?

2. Did anyone give the blog address to someone in Stamford / Darien?

3. Did anyone think about the blog while someone from Stamford could have been in the area and picked it up with their latent telepathic abilities?

4. Is there a random person around who I don't know?

5. KELLY! Could it be you? Please be you!

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF CHEESE EMAIL ME: if you know the answer!

And, if, horror of horrors, it is my parents: Hi! What's up? This is, of course, a complete work of fiction! Hahahaha...good one, right? Actually, this isn't even caffeinegirl writing this! It's The Awesome Roommate! I was bored, in Chicago, on my off-term! Caffeinegirl gave me her password. She's in the library, diligently studying!



Saturday, September 29, 2007

Sometimes the most efficient solution... not actually the best solution.

Case in point: I had three brownies that would not fit in the tupperware container.

So I ate them.


Thursday, September 27, 2007

Because that makes SENSE

Let's imagine you're a parent. A parent of the semi-psychotic-attempting-to-produce-super-kids variety, but a parent nonetheless. So, you're dealing with the crisis of your child attending one of two sub-par Ivy League schools. You obviously want her to go to the "better" (i.e. higher-ranked, damn-liberals-stigmata-free) college. You prepare a blindsiding onslaught of negatives about...let's call it Starts With A B University. To your surprise, in the middle of this harangue, your daughter falls off of her chair laughing. It seems that you have dissed Starts With A B for its "huge frat scene."

Your daughter, after picking herself off of the floor and wiping the tears from her eyes, asks you if you have ever seen Animal House. You say yes, because really, who hasn't?

Well, did you know that Animal House was written by Starts With A D alumni? she asks.

You can't really contradict her because she shows you three independent sources confirming this somewhat disturbing fact. You waffle, claim that surely the Greek life is more rambunctious at Starts With A B, reminding your daughter of that frat house you saw when you visited with all those beer cans on the lawn. SCANDALOUS! College students drinking? Well, I never!

Your daughter points out that you didn't happen to walk by a frat house while at Starts With A D. She also seems to be prepared with statistics showing that while 29% of students are members of a Greek house at Starts with a B, more than 50% are such members at Starts With A D. She also has numerous quotes from Starts with A D students along the lines of "it seems like everyone is in a house. It's the whole social scene."

You point out to your daughter that statistics can lie. (She will repeat this to you later when she learns that Starts With A D likes to report that about 50% of the TOTAL student body is in a house, but as first-years are not permitted to rush, about 67% of ELIGIBLE students are in a house.)

The argument goes on. Other points are raised, including your brilliant analysis that "anyone who wants her to go to Starts With A B is trying to 'bring her down' ". Your daughter briefly runs away from home. Eventually, reason prevails and she agrees to go to Starts With A D. After a brief attempt to sabotage some people who you suspect of "encouraging" your daughter to attend Starts With A B, you are content.

Fast forward. Your daughter LOVES Starts With A D. It's not as conservative as you thought, and now your daughter wants to go to medical school. This is vexing.

But even worse, now she wants to join a sorority. SORORITIES? All sororities are anti-intellectual and full of dumb blondes, especially at Ivy-League schools because, you know, stereotypically dumb sorority girls make up such a large percentage of the student body.

Round two of the argument begins. Your daughter brings up Round one, in which she allegedly TOLD you that this may happen. You categorically deny this and threaten many consequences if your daughter does indeed rush. Why didn't someone WARN you that there was such a significant Greek scene at Starts With A D????

Your daughter stabs herself in the eye with a pickle fork. You continue to wonder...why?

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Another story about pens

Sometimes, you schedule an interview. A long one, because the story that you're writing is very geeky and you need to interview someone who works for technical services.

Sometimes, that person is very accommodating, and sets aside an hour for you two to talk. And despite being rather nerdy and technical and awkward, he is actually interested and talking and gives you good information. Sometimes, he's even perfectly willing to be quoted. Sometimes, you're lucky.

But sometimes, at the beginning of this otherwise-unnaturally smooth meeting, you realize that you have no pencil. Or pen. So you dig frantically through the bottom of your bag and find an almost-dry green gel pen. And all of your notes are less ink and more SCRATCHED painfully into the paper.

Sometimes, after you thank the helpful person and get his business card, you leave. And when you're out of site, you destroy the pen and break it into one thousand splintered plastic shards and SLAM them into the garbage.

Sometimes, this is very satisfying.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Dear the Wonderfully Clueless People Who Design Clothes,

This is a teensy-eensy bit complicated, but I really think that if you FOCUS, you can figure it out. Ready? Ok!

It is entirely possible

That a woman.

May have a waist.

That is SMALLER than than her ass.

Got it? You could also say "It is entirely possible that a woman may have an ass that is LARGER than her waist" but I much prefer the first way, as it emphasizes SMALLER. Regardless of semantics, this is a FACT. Now, I realize that you people deal with lots of models, but could you take a quiiiiick break from the schmoozing and champagne and check out, say, an average woman who's Hispanic? African? Mediterranean? No? Hmmm....oh! Famous people! You deal with famous people, right? One word: BEYONCÉ . Good! Now see the part of her body that's narrower? Yes, with the ribbon tied around it. That's a WAIST. Very good.

Now, what if you were to custom-design a pair of jeans for her? There would have to be LESS FABRIC around her WAIST than around her ASS. Oh, DO NOT give me that look. It IS TOO physically possible.

Exhibit A:
The aforementioned Joe's Jeans! Woooooo!!

Note also my uB3r L33T picture taking skillz.

See how HAPPY this is? See how the jeans actually FIT the girl in the picture? See how, theoretically, she could bend down and the jeans might actually move WITH her, instead of SLIDING, resulting in massively annoying slippage and awkward hiking-the-jeans-back-up motions ?


Do you see? The space? The space that you could practically FIT ANOTHER PERSON INTO? The space that makes me want to SHOOT MYSELF, because these are awesomely amazing jeans and I almost look like a legit PERSON in them, except I can't MOVE, because if I do, they will SLIDE?

Wait! I've got it.

There, now they won't slide.

LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE REDUCED ME TO. I'm the psychotic-straining-muscles-attempting-to-take-pictures-of-her-(clothed, thank you very much)-ass-in-STUPID-JEANS-and-now-I-have-a-stuffed-animal-in-my-pants-
so-obviously-the-logical-thing-to-do-is-POST-THIS-ON-THE-INTERNET girl! I hate you all. Go choke on something expensive.

Yours truly,

Monday, September 17, 2007


Texas has very little space that is not paved over...but it has really awesome shopping!

The average Texas home/place of business cranks up the air conditioning until the liquid in your eyeballs freezes...but it's nice and warm if you survive to go outside.

The populace is EVER SO SLIGHTLY conservative...but they're polite about you would feel bad punching them out...but if you punched them out, it would be ok, because it's Texas.

"He needed killin'" will stand up in court...I am undecided if this is good or bad.

It's gigantic, so you have to drive everywhere...but everyone drives really fast. (To the point that it freaked ME out. Yes, this can happen.)

There is REALLY SERIOUSLY GOOD Mexican food...there is REALLY SERIOUSLY GOOD Mexican food.

Final conclusion: Texas is very large.

This is the kind of hard-hitting analysis that you came for, right?

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Monday, September 10, 2007


Over the Hedge is THE BEST MOVIE IN THE HISTORY OF MOVIES. Even if you've already seen it GO SEE IT. AGAIN. NOW.

While you're watching imagine me as the squirrel. See? See?

Everyone who is even remotely associated with Joe's Jeans deserves a Congressional Medal of Honor. FOR SERIOUS.

Thursday, September 06, 2007


It has come to my attention that lately, I have been guilty of Blogging Under the Influence.

Three posts ago: Caffeine (Yes, this is obviously expected, but I urge you to scroll down and reread to fully appreciate the depths of this particular instance of insanity.)
Two posts ago: cute penguin-ness
One Post ago: NEW IPODS, PEOPLE (ok, so it hasn't worn off yet)

So, is there some kind of Anonymous group I should join?

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Delirious hyperventilation

If you saw any Apple fanboys spontaneously combust today, this is why.

This has caused my brain to completely snap and I will now just be going on randomly for a bit.

Umbrellas. Pink tap-dancing rats. Nuclear powered cheese. WATERMELON FLAVORED ATTACK CHIHUAHUAS.

//Sometimes, when I am putting oranges in the saurkraut, I think...of my thoughts. And they make me laugh!

Monday, September 03, 2007

I may have mentioned that I am five years old

Went to Linens n Things today because hey! Labor Day! Sale!

I needed a new bath towel and one of those plastic holds-all-your-shower-stuff doodads.

I came out sans towel.

Sans doodad.

And plus one gigantic fluffy penguin.

His name is Pepper, and this is why I have no money.

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Losing my identity

So, confession time...caffeingirl kind of weaned herself off of caffeine. Scary, shame, whatev.


Today I had some espresso. By some of course, I mean a whole bunch of. Espresso, that is. Which was fun. Especially the part where I went to bed.

That was five hours ago and man am I TWEAKING. In a baaaaaaaaaad way. I can feel my skin. IT'S ALIVE.

Also, you know when you don't eat for three days and then have to go out to dinner with your ultra-conservative relatives and lose focus because you're trying not to punt the very frail eighty-five year old woman through the wall,

EVEN THOUGH she is quoting Rush Limbaugh and expecting you to take her seriously, and you're trying VERY HARD not to mention some really good counter-examples like seriously kickass professors who started off in the country as illegal immigrants and wound up tenured at Ivy League institutions, NO MA'AM of COURSE no one from those countries could possibly be successful and this conversation is bordering as daaaaangerously close to eugenics as this sentence is to a run-on,

SO because this distracts you, you kind of forget that you don't eat food, so you order and eat approximately seventy metric tons of shellfish which lands smack in the middle of your digestive system which is like Bitch, what the fuck, we don't deal with this anymore get this shit out of here, so you're all Oh blow me, YOU were the thing that wouldn't shut up yesterday, STOMACH, so when I actually put stuff in you DEAL WITH IT, and you attempt to have a pleasant conversation HA HA with people while not shooting yourself because the couple at the next table is dressed in reverse,

BUT your small intestine flatly refuses to GET ON WITH IT ALREADY and instead decides that you are going to spend the rest of your life burping AND it's going to taste like fish EIGHT HOURS LATER because there is no actual DIGESTION GOING ON HERE SERIOUSLY, because you are LOSING ARGUMENTS WITH YOUR INTERNAL ORGANS, which is just pathetic, and then you can't sleep because of the aforementioned espresso slash FISH IN YOUR STOMACH so you decide that that it would be a great idea to TELL THE INTERNET THAT YOU ARE BURPING AND IT TAKES LIKE FISH.

I think I may have kind of pushed the run-on there, because sweet blessed cheeseburgers, it was a run-on WITH PARAGRAPHS. Fear me.

But whatever, it's almost 4 in the morning, which is an excellent song, by the way, and there's no way in hell I'm sleeping and I've got a niiiiice head of steam built up, so let's just keep going with THINGS I HATE.

Next up: people and their DAMMED LACK OF EMAIL CHECKING. Seriously. How the HELL do you not check your email every day? I check my email EVERY FIVE MINUTES and go into anaphlactic SHOCK if I don't. It takes THIRTY SECONDS and the world might end if you don't. Email. Do it.

Annnnnd related only by the resulting level of my rage: VINEYARD FUCKING VINES. The pants can either be Nantucket red, WHICH IS ACTUALLY PINK, FOR YOUR INFORMATION, oooooor they can have whales all over them BUT NOT BOTH. YOU PEOPLE LOOK RIDICULOUS! Aren't you supposed to be the elite upper-class who run the country? How can you run the country when you have LARGE MARINE ANIMALS all over your pants??????? And for chirst sakes, YOUR KID IS THREE YEARS OLD. Did you HAVE children for the SOLE PURPOSE of dressing them up? Buy a fucking Barbie and STOP REPRODUCING.

And tennis matches. Specifically, The Mother watching tennis matches and her resulting near-cardiac arrest. Chill the FUCK OUT, there's a REASON you get two serves, and it's because people miss ALL THE DAMN TIME and these are PROFESSIONALS who are serving at more than 100 miles an hour, so if they hit it in the net a few times, IT'S REALLY NOT A BIG DEAL. Are they freaking out? NO, and I daresay that they have A HELL OF A LOT MORE riding on it than YOU DO. You don't even KNOW THEM. Note how THEIR PARENTS ARE SITTING CALMLY AND WATCHING. Do you know how to do that? NO. YOU DO NOT. Evidence: I played 85 high school tennis matches, of which you attempted to attend THREE, and left after TWO FUCKING MINUTES each time, because you "couldn't take it" and for CHRIST'S SAKE EVEYONE ELSE'S PARENTS ARE HERE BECAUSE IT'S THE STATE FUCKING CHAMIONSHIP but you apparently are SO CONCERNED that I'm going to FUCK UP that you can't even fucking watch EVEN THOUGH we are actually WINNING, rather easily in fact, and actually crushed our opponents BUT YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THAT, BECAUSE YOU WERE BUSY FREAKING OUT AND DIDN'T SEE IT, and I am obviously in serious need of a therapist.

Also, Maria Sharapova lost, which pisses me off, because then I have to do something drastic like root for Serena, who is very talented, but also apparently BLIND because she keeps going on about DESIGNING her own fucking clothes and honey, if I were you I woudl shut up and pretend that someone else made me wear that because it looks like a POTATO SACK MADE OUT OF PINK SPANDEX and seriously, those have to be double-Ds, so I suggest that you invest in some kind of bra, because doesn't that HURT?


And now i'm doing that thing where i'm considering not posting this because I"m not a hundred percent sure exactly who reads my blog because i have def shown it to at least four legit adults including two former high school teachers, one of whom i think does actually occasionally check it and it's like OOOH LOOK SHE'S A SPAZZ but of course if you've actually met me YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT so what does it MATTER, plus they actually have LIVES and are NOT READING YOUR STUPID BLOG ANYWAY, EVEN THOUGH THE ENTIRE REASON YOU HAVE A DAMN BLOG IN THE FIRST PLACE IS BECAUSE YOU WANTED SOMEONE TO FUCKING READ YOUR ENGLISH PAPER, DAMMIT but it would be nice if the free tracking software had a better ip addy locator because telling me a person's in connecticut is NOT ACTUALLY THAT HELPFUL. i realize that connecticut is comparatively small, but EVERYONE I KNOW LIVES THERE, mostly, so it's like wow, connecticut! That could be....anyone! SWEET. I may be getting tired.

Yup, definitely

Friday, August 31, 2007

Things that Have Been Known To Bother Me, Part LXVII

1. When you're trying to remove the lid from a cup of Jello and rip off the little foil tab instead, requiring you to stab the Jello with a fork in a strawberry-bloody kind of way.

2. Biting into a stale Oreo.

3. Having inexplicable dreams involving your former high school math teacher wearing fetish heels.

4. Lacking some kind of method to bleach your brain of the aforementioned imagery.

5. When your parents threaten to kick you out of the house because you won't look at your grades, and your bank balance is $26.41, so this isn't going to go well.


Civilization has ended

Please confine your screams of horror to fewer than 130 decibels and close the door on your way out.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Dear The City of Stamford,

Please, for the LOVE OF CHEESE, fix your traffic lights.

Unreasonably optimistically,

Dear Everyone Else Who Has to Drive Through The City of Stamford, Because We All Know That They Are Never Going to Fix The Damn Lights,

Yes, the traffic lights are out of sync. Yes, this sucks. Believe me I FEEL YOUR PAIN. I'm sitting in the same traffic. BUT.

If the light is GREEN but traffic is not moving because the freaking light in front of it is still RED, DO NOT PULL INTO THE INTERSECTION. You know why? Because eventually this light will also turn red, and then you become the dumbass in the middle of the intersection inspiring a thousand and one honks. Which are not some kind of salute to your brilliance, fyi.

Also, now that we've covered this, when I practice what I preach and DON'T pull up, thus AVOIDING this kind of situation, it is really unnecessary to curse me out. I'll admit to being a white bitch, but I draw the line at the addition of the adjective "motherfucking."

I'll see your finger and raise you a grenade,

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

There are actual things I need to post

and then there's this.

I believe we have equal parts awwwww and sad.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Your skeletal structure defies millions of years of evolution and in any other time you would die in childbirth.

How did those genes survive? Why?

Was it so you could exist to be photographed in silk and Anna Wintour-approved feathers? To smile from your glossy page with silent superiority?

I could live on air and tears, but the fact would remain that even stripped of fat and muscle, the bones of my desiccated corpse would far exceed your own in circumference, and I would die hating you.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

I don't have enough hands

I'm about to go work out and I'm so sad. Afterwards, I will have to shower, and my hair will no longer be perfectly blow-dried.

I have purchased innumerable variations on the round brush, but have finally concluded that it is not the tools, it is I.


I can describe my lack of coordination with perfect grammar, so I win.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Blah blah blah Spamalot reference

In response to recent inquiries: No, I am not dead yet. Unfortunately.

There will be no discussion of organic chemistry, except to note that my previous metaphor was slightly off. It's really more like sticking your eye with a rusty syringe, draining the intraocular fluid, and replacing it with pickle juice. I could get into the subtleties of WHY a certain metaphor is superior but that would be talking about it.

So instead we're going to do an installment of Things I Would Really Like to Say, But Have Not, Because It Costs Fifty Thousand Dollars A Year to Go To College

1. If you cut that piece of shortbread in half, I will shove it up your nostril. We both know it's twenty calories a serving. EAT. IT.

2. Smoking is generally, A Bad Thing. But if the smoker in question is 85, she's already beaten the odds. STOP. BITCHING.

3. It is scientifically impossible for you to die as a result of missing a telephone call from your boyfriend. Especially if it's the fifth call THIS HOUR.

4. I swear TO GOD the next time you correct my grammar I will BLUDGEON YOU WITH MY COPY OF STRUNK AND WHITE. I KNOW that it's "It wasn't I." I KNOW. It's the predicate nominative because of the implied "to be." May I introduce you to the vernacular?

5. Yes, J.K. Rowling ripped off Tolkein. I realize that there is no such thing as an archetype. She's obviously a terrible HACK writer and of COURSE you would be EMBARRASSED to be associated with such a franchise. Especially the famous, successful part.

6. If you use the term "huge" to describe a sandwich because it has more than one piece of bread, I will force feed you a can of Crisco.

7. Your book? SUCKS.

8. No, I never EVER passed out in the library. This is something I am making up to get attention. I'm so glad you were able to see through such a transparent story.

9. Could we stop discussing people who NO LONGER WORK FOR THE DARIEN SCHOOL SYSTEM? THANK YOU.

10. The phrase "spending calories" makes me want to vomit up my lungs. There is no "calorie budget" and you do not determine if butter is "worth the marginal cost." This is not economics. It'S FOOD.

11. You know what would be nice? If I could mention a person in conversation WITHOUT prompting a little tangent about said person's weight, hair, makeup, and/or clothing. The next time you use the term "round" about A.) a person, and B.) a person who weighs about 135, I will defenestrate myself.


But you know what? My life no longer involves organic chemistry.

Life is good.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

I now fear sunlight

If you see me post, please yell at me, for I should be studying. Not that it will help.

I shall emerge from my cave on August 16th.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Translated for your horror and amusement.

So,this is what they say.

And this is what they mean:

Executive Order, as delicately rephrased by someone who may or may not have consumed JUST A TAD of caffeine:

By the authority granted to me as a male member of a long-time influential family in American politics and the refreshing sheep-like loyalty of the average middle-American Republican voter:

I, George Bush, President of the United States of America Jesusland, find that since I feel like creating a policy that violates several well respected amendments of the Constitution, I will whip out the “OH NOES TURRERISTS!” card, because that seems to work well with you people.

Hmmm…which version should I use? How about this: We are shocked and dismayed that any Americans might take action threatening our efforts to bring PEACE AND STABILITY AND RECONSTRUCTION GOODNESS to Iraq. Why are you laughing? No, the U.S. did not start this war, thus causing all the problems in the first place. It was terrorists, I tell you, terrorists! Why do you hate America?

Anyway, we haven’t raped the Constitution enough, so we’re expanding on our previous attempts.

Section 1. Except for the loopholes that we already slipped in to cover our Haliburton buddies’ collective asses:

We’re in ur legalese, seizin ur propertiez!


I know, I know, I can’t just go right out and take it, I have to cover my ass and have some kind of justifiable reason, so…hmm. Damn, I used lots of my good material in the Patriot Act…

I’ve got it! If Bob, Hank, and Condi say so! Sweet. Especially because they’re pretty good about doing what I tell them to, so essentially if I say so. This is fucking brilliant.

Okay, better throw in some legalese about the Iraq stuff…blah blah blah interfering-with-reconstruction-efforts-cakes. Whatev.

Doesn’t really matter what I say here? Know why?


Not a judge! Not a jury! Not anybody interested in issuing a warrant!

No judicial involvement of ANY KIND! The Cabinet members have the ABSOLUTE FINAL SAY!

Dude, I should have done this years ago.

What? Oh, the Constitution. Amendments Four and Five? Can you read them to me? Yeah, I used my copy as toilet paper when we ran out a while back. My bad.

4th: “The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”

5th “No person shall be deprived of… life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.”

Well, that’s interesting, I suppose. Shame I don’t care.

Sec. 2. Anyway. No violating the rules we make up. Not allowed. Yes, that’s another rule I just made up. What, a government where one branch seizes absolute authority to make all the laws is inherently unjust and prone to corruption because that one branch can never be properly investigated? You don’t say.

Sec. 3. For the purposes of this order: the terms “person,” “entity,” and “United States person” mean whatever the hell I want them to.

Sec. 4. Thought you saw a loophole? OH SNAP, NO! Sorry.

Sec. 5. Oh, also, we don’t have to tell you when we do it. Zing!

Sec. 6. Hmmm…have I wantonly expanded the government’s power enough? Of course not! Basically, if we have to do it to carry out this order, it’s allowed. Abuse of power? What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

Sec. 7. *Legalese to induce brain aneurysm in case anybody read this far*

Sec. 8. Oho! You think you can use this against ME? NUH UH! I win, you lose. Hee.

Ghostwritten by me, Cheney. What, you think Shrub writes his own stuff? You guys are so cute. He’s off playing with his Xbox. Oh, by the way: nobody tell him that Condi used a cheat code to put him in God-mode in Halo. He thinks he’s winning it all by himself and it will take HOURS to shut him up if he finds out. Later, bitches. You’re ALL my bitches. BWAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!

Anyone know where I can get one of those masks from V for Vendetta?

Saturday, July 14, 2007

I can't decide if it's the freaking quarter system or the freaking science classes

I was just talking to Everyone's All-Purpose Gay Boyfriend and realized that last term, he had 9 hours of class a week and got three credits.

Me? I had 15 hours of class a week and got...two credits.

He advised me to spend more time working the system.

I am the system's bitch.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

It's only sad if you stop laughing

As I am wont to do, I had "forgotten" to call my house for...a few days. I answered the eighth of my mother's frantic emails when I returned from lab at 11:30. She thought the response was hillarious and called me to tell me so, even lamenting that there was no "way to publish writing like this."

Oh yes. It's a shame that no one has a way to publicize their daily random pieces of writing in an easily updatable digital format. Yup.

The email:
"i just got home from lab. shoot me. thanks. and i had my 18 millionth chicken patty for dinner AND THEY ROTATED THE ITEMS ON THE SALAD BAR AND THERE IS NO MORE HUMMUS. which is tragic because hummus was like a foodgroup for me. AND they switched out the vanilla columbo frozen yogurt for some weird strawberry bannana thing. i hate them. AND Fabulously Snarky British Girl's mom was in boston and took her to chez henri. she had a steak. we were all jealous. but lab at night is by definition horrible but actually not so bad, beause by then everyone is crazy, PLUS dr. alloise leaves, so the TAs were like SWEET let's blast music. my brain is not actually working now.

It's actually not that funny because this remains my state of mind.


I can't shoot him, so I'll shoot myself.

And this is why.

Honestly, what's the point of taking orgo if all of your scientific knowledge has to be explained to the freaking head of state using big colored pictures and hand puppets?

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Window screen: 839, Me: 0

In theory:

Catch fly with time-tested cup/slide a piece of paper under the cup method. Open window screen, release fly. Return to studying.

In practice:

Spend twenty minutes waiting for the fucking fly to JUST LAND ALREADY. Fly lands. Sneeze, spurring fly to buzz off again. Amputate nose.

Fail multiple times at dropping cup on fly. Realize that shadow is a giveaway, approach from other direction. Snag fly, engage in justified fist-pump.

Realize that you lack a suitable piece of paper to slide under. Take eyes off of cup for 1.5 seconds to get paper from printer.

Carry cup to unopened window. Open with shoulder, hit funny bone. Swear. Attempt to force screen up, curse chemistry test for inducing massive lack of nails. Bleed on screen.

Release the fly. Fly? Hello? Examine cup to see if fly has taken up fly.

Discover fly on ceiling pointing and laughing. Consider swatting the little fucker right there.

Repeat ENTIRE AGONIZING FLY CATCHING PROCESS, but for variety, replace the ill-timed sneeze with an unfortunately ringing cell phone.

Successfully release fly. Let two enormous moths into room for a net gain of one bug.

Counsel moths, point out that love affair with giant lamp is ill-advised.

Give up, waste time writing blog post.

And that's why I'm going to fail my Orgo test! WHY CAN'T I JUST KILL A BUG? Seriously. I can't. Surprisingly, it's for once not due to my massive klutziness--fly swatters fall ino the "tennis racket" category. I just...don't actually swat. And every time, I stand there and think "You've killed mice and rats, why can't you do this?" But when you decapitate the baby rat, it's For Science, and enters the part of your brain that exists blissfully unaware, and you very carefully don't let yourself think about it. Swatting bugs---I don't know. No laboratory, no swat.

Except for mosquitos. Seriously, you come in to suck my blood, all bets are off.

Friday, July 06, 2007


Hello, my VAST and adoring audience!

I apologize. I take Orgo. And I have five half-written posts saved that I can't finish, because Orgo has taken the sad, pathetic humor that I had and sucked even that dry. Ooooh, dehydration synthesis reaction! (Ba-dum-CHHH!)

But honestly? I laughed when the head of the chem department at Dartmouth warned me that I would be "eating, sleeping, and breathing Orgo" but now I must admit that if Johnny Depp showed up at my door wearing nothing but a thin film of chocolate, I would tell him to fuck off.

Unless, of course, he could help me with these diastereoisomer configurations.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

An ethical dilemma

As a fake New Yorker in Boston, I was prepared to enter a mass of people so severely misguided in their baseball team allegiences. (We will convienently ignore that I'm sretching across state lines to be in a suburb of New York AND that the Yankees are approximately three hundred million games back.)

What I was not prepared for, however, was the personally confusing juxtaposition of bumper stickers. Obviously, a person with a Red Sox bumper sticker is a complete moron, which is why they can't drive and should be honked at / cursed out / pelted with farm animals accordingly.

Yesterday, however, I saw a car whose owner had decided to display proof of his poor taste on the left side of his bumper. Typical. The RIGHT side of his bumper, however, was pure genius and you should all go purchase one. NOW.

So the question is, how is one to react to this awesomely moronic genius?

Flip them off with a smile?

Throw only half a dead woodchuck?

Suggestions welcome.

(Suggestions on how to stop blogging and STUDY FOR MY FREAKING ORGO TEST also welcome.)

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Everyone needs to immediately begin using the word prat

I'm not going to sit here and gross you out by describing exactly how much pain orgo entails. And I say gross you out because to convey it in all its supremely masochistic horror I would have to resort to really disgusting metaphors such as "taking orgo is kind of like eating a really long worm, vomitting it back up so that each end is hanging out of a nostril and then using it to floss your nose." And that was the graphic detail into which I was not going to go.


It may not actually be that bad because ( and I am about to roll out a new nickname here people, so this is big) BECAUSE of Fabulously Snarky British Girl, who I am lucky enough to sit next to.

And seriously? There are unbelievably prats who sit in the front and ask long and involed questions about possible exceptions to resonance structures in the case of a non-delocalized carboxylic acide group and the bitchy comments are not going to make themselves.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

This is a chemistry experiment

The vending machine just spat out a bottle of Diet Coke from 2004. Am I drinking it? Does it have caffeine? Do I take Orgo? Will it kill me?


I would like to point out that my urget need for caffeine is incredibly weird. I'm sleeping 7-8 hours a night. HOW AM I EXHAUSTED?

Losing my game here people, losing my game.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Offical Notice

I am about to begin taking Organic Chemistry.

If you don't hear from me, it's because I went insane and escaped to New Zealand


I got desparate and slept with the prof and it didn't go well


it did go well and the prof is with me in New Zealand.

Wish me luck, or if you're feeling really charitable, come strangle me.

We can't help it

If you accept admission to one of the other seven Ivies, you are legally, contracturally, and morally bound to bash Harvard at every available opportunity. As I am actually now on the Harvard campus, with some Dartmouth/other Ivy/Stanford and similar students, the bashing has begun in earnest.


We have to walk for TWENTY MINUTES TO GET TO CLASS? Who built this place? It's too spread out! They obviously don't have a land grant.

230 people in a class? Nice professor to student ratio. I bet they have TAs. How ghetto. I refuse to be taught by a person without a Ph.D.

Oh God. The food. SUCKS. I bet they don't even use free-range eggs.
(Please note that the food does actually suck, DRAMATICALLY, and the only thing that I ate for dinner was some salad and a brownie. Which is like two food groups people, so shut it.)

That guy was SUCH AN ASSHOLE. I know. He must actually go here. It's the rule.

Um, who has swipe cards? So 90s. We have proximity RFIDs, bitches!

Oh damn...they have plasma TVs too. But look! The piano, like, isn't even a Steinway! Seriously.

Unfortunately, at the end of the day, they are still Harvard. Fuckers.

Could be worse though. I think the Yalies automatically self-destructed after stepping on campus.

///Dartmoose FTW

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Desparate times

I really hate agreeing with Hillary Clinton. It makes my spine hurt.

But unfortunately, I have no choice.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

My ears, my sanity

While some might postulate that one can gain great insight into another's personality by perusing his or her iTunes collection, I for one would argue that it is actually the "Purchased" playlist that is the most revealing. It's one thing to grab a handful of free songs off of Limewire or out of someone else's collection, but actually forking over CASH, digital or otherwise, demonstrates a certain degree of committment / possible neuroses.

Let's check mine! American Idol, 98 Degrees, Paula Abdul, American Idol, Fergie, American Idol...shit. Clearly, I'm slightly hyperactive and have no taste. Theory supported!

(There's some Gorillaz, The Fray, and Gwen there too, I swear.)

Anyway, I'm browsing through the house computer and thus The Forty-Year-Old Younger Sister's music. Oooh, My Chemical Romance, I should steal that...yeah, and I don't have that KT Tunstall song...Regina Spektor, interesting...Ashlee Simpson, Rascall Fl--WAIT A MINUTE.


I am RELATED to someone who actually PUCHASED a song by a person who sounds like a cat being strangled, has a lower IQ than said cat, thought it would be a good idea to perform an improptu HOEDOWN on SNL, and can't even spell her own freaking name properly?

There are some things you are just better off not knowing.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

* Insert sharp objects here *

"Ohmygod, I had SUCH a disaster at lunch today. I ate SIX of Emma's animal crackers."

Ordinarily, this space would contain a lame attempt at a biting retort which would swiftly devolve into a largely unfocused rant about our society's fixation with unattainable body images but today, it will not.

Because I'm busy training rabid woodchucks to attack me and puncture my eardrums, thus preventing me from HEARING THIS SORT OF THING.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

The precious little sanity I have left

Did you work out yesterday?

Yes, I played tennis.

Oh, but you didn't work out on machines.

No, I did not. I did not lock myself in a basement for two hours. I played tennis. The weather was beautiful. There was no digital readout and I do not know exactly how many calories I burned. I lost. I had a good time.

What did you eat?

I ate two eggs (96/egg = 192) cooked in 1.5 teaspoons of butter (50) with one piece of bread (75), 2 slices of ham (25/slice = 50), and one vanilla light and fit yogurt (60). And for God's sake I woke up late so that was breakfast and lunch. (427, count 450 because I didn't measure the butter exactly.)


*Gains unique understanding of Lizzie Borden's psyche*

I swear I would go back to Dartmouth even if it were finals week every week.

Thursday, May 31, 2007

Do you even freaking UNDERSTAND

that today I have eaten NOTHING except for CHEESE AND MINIATURE REESES????

I'm serious.

Now, before you expect me to go all cheese-is-a-dairy-product-and-hey-peanut-butter-is-protein-yeah-baby-rationalization-face on you...let me confess that this was not just any cheese.

It was the kind of cheese that comes out of a can.


Saturday, May 26, 2007

Re: Comments on Last post

Dear Leina,


Love and kisses,

Friday, May 25, 2007

Deprivation Dilemma

Pirates of the Carribbean 3 is playing in theaters RIGHT NOW. AND I HAVE NOT YET SEEN IT.

There are unfortunately two factors contributing to my serious lack of Jack Sparrow:
1. I still have classes. BOOOOOOOOO.
2. The movie is NOT ACTUALLY PLAYING WITHIN 30 MILES OF HERE. Seriously. Remind me not to actually LIVE in the godforsaken middle-of-nowhere.

Fortunately, though we are miles and miles from real civilization, we do have...the Internet. And the Internet, through the tireless work of committed nerd-thieves, has ILLEGAL MOVIES.

Let's all pause and enjoy the delicious irony of pirating a movie about a pirate.

Anyway, the illegal files aren't quite available yet (but there is some ASSHOLE skeeving around the torrent networks trying to pass off a renamed copy of "Naked Sorority Pillowfight Vol. IV"--nice try. Also, rename the FILE and not just the TORRENT. Duh.) But after the juvilile fakes run their course, the movie will be available for download.

Assuming I don't get sued out of my I watch it? Or do I wait to actually get to see it in a theater? Because the theater experience, even in its $3 dollar bottle of water screaming children douchebags talking on cell phones glory is INFINITELY better than watching a jerky, out-of-focus, people walking in front of the camera bootleg.

Hmmm. Ok, decision: I will resist the cams. But if the telesyncs or DVD rips come out before I get home--I'm Jack Sparrowing it all the way.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007





What if she's been blogging about me blogging? Because now I'm blogging about her blogging abou me blogging. WE COULD HIT AN INFINITE LOOP HERE, PEOPLE. I MUST FIND THIS BLOG.

*off to IP-trace*

*and to stop The Awesome Roommate from cackling evily*

*except i don't know how to do that because she can kick my ass*

Monday, May 21, 2007

Currently cringing

DO NOT read the LiveJournal you posted in during high school. Just....don't.

/well some of it is kind of funny
//and some of it is kind of caffeinated
///and a lot of it is kind of weird

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Unfair standards

If we have a group of attractive women who have...imbibed JUST A BIT of liquor, at least two of them will probably, at some point during the evening, make out. This provides excellent photo opportunities, not only of the luscious-lip-locking ladies BUT ALSO of the expressions of any men who happen to be around. Priceless. (No, I can't post the photos, they'll kill me.)

Unfortunately, this situation is rarely reversed. Intoxicated men only want to, rather predictably, make out with women. Which they want to do all the time when they're sober anyway, so WHAT'S THE DAMN POINT? Can't the girls get something interesting to watch here?


Saturday, May 19, 2007


Guys may be assholes, but girls?


The end!

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

There is a reason this is called "I Believe in COFFE" and not "I Believe in Energy Drinks"

And that's because I DON'T believe in energy drinks because they fuck you up goooooooooooood. They mess with your BRAIN. And stuff. And it's kind of like existing off ina very far away bubble while time flows in beautiful, yet shaky colors in front of you.

Those of you who've guessed that I may be under the influence of one of these certain vile liquids, you win the right to feel important for two seconds. Not three. jUst two.


So. Enviga. NOT A GOOD IDEA. First, there's the whole fact that they actually taste good. Seems like a positive right? WRONG. Most energy drinks taste kind of like dishwater fluid after you used it to hose down a skunk who slept on a bed of acidic nuclear waste. This forces you to slow your consumption and prevents you from OVERLOADING YOUR SYSTEM IN FORTY-FIVE SECONDS OF ANDVANCED GULPING BEFORE LECTURE STARTS.

Anyway. The tasting good leads to the overloading which leads to the "I have small, uncomfortable insects in my pants or am having a petit mal seizure" effect, which is...awkward, shall we say. BUT shaking BURNS CALORIES.

And then we come to the really egregious part of this beverage. It claims to have NEGATIVE CALORIES.


No, I've never heard of the, oh SECOND LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS OR ANYTHING. Sheesh.

Ok, my brain is obviously fuzzy, but here's the short version:

Calories are related to the bond energy between the atoms and monomers that make up your food. Protein and sugars have the same number of bonds per molecular weight. One gram protein/sugar = 4 calories. (Which are actually kilocalories, but i'm not going there. Google loves you.)

Fats have lots and LOTS of bonds. Saturated fats have even more bonds. Trans fats have kinda funky bonds, again, worship the Google. But basically bonds = ENERGY.

But Caffeinegirl, you're saying to yourselves. Isn't everything made up of atoms? With energy in their chemical bonds? So why isn't everything food

Ah, I say, this is where the thinking splits. In the scientific world, it is generally accepted that humans evolved to process certain kinds of organic matter. We have enzymes and metabolic processes that can deal with carbohydrates. Cellulose? Not so much. Don't eat grass, or you'll starve to death. Though both are made of of glucosaccharides, the structure on the molecular level is different. (We take advantage of different sugar structures to make zero-calorie artificial sweeteners, btw). It was evolutionarily advantageous for us to be able to process certain kinds of matter, i.e., food.

Now, if you live in Kansas, please ignore everything I just said. Obviously, an intelligent designer said LET THERE BE PEOPLE and there were people. Then he said LET THERE BE LOTS OF TASTY FOOD, especially these things called apples because I'm planning to screw with these humans later. Right.

So, in summary:
1. All matter has chemical bonds
2. The human digestive can break down SOME kinds of matter and harness the chemical bond energy.
3. Kansas is kind of fucked-up.

Therefore: Stuff you put in your mouth has potential energy. If its of the kind compatible with the human digestive system, it has positive calories. If it is of the less compatible, more ornery kind--zero calories. Essentially, nothing can have negative calories. Unless--hmm, my physics knowledge is still JUST A TAD shaky, BUT, if you had some kind of wacko matter that went around destroying bonds in OTHER, already consumed matter, you woudl have negative calories. YOu know what matter breaking bonds of other matter sounds like? IT SOUNDS LIKE NUCLEAR WASTE, PEOPLE. So, eat a nice missle for lunch and let me know how it goes.

Anyway, the logic that Coke is attempting to use to market this stuff has to do with not nuclear waste but with rate of metablism. The rate at which you BURN calroies taht you have already taken in can be affected by any number of factors, including but not limited to: age, overall endocrinology, type of food consumed, amount of sleep, level of activity, number of tiny microscopic gnomes living in your cells, and how many socks you lost in the laundry last Thrusday.

In this case, it has been shown that grean tea = boosted metabolsim. How much? YOUR MILAGE MAY VARY. It is seriously impossible to pin down every factor that could possibly affect your metabolism and how much it will do so in an individual. EVERYTHING you consume affecs your rate of metabolsim in some way! But we don't know how. That's why the convention is just to label how much energy is in the food, and we leave it up to the consumer to determine how much energy they need. Which we apaprently aren't very good at but hey, McNUGGETS!

Basically, we COULD get into how much each food affects your metablism, but it would bmean that a bag of potato chips would have to come with the nutrition facts not printed convenitently on the bag, but with a supplementary encyclopedia-length document. Which, frankly, woud suck.

And this is why Enviga is stuipd. I seem to remmebr that it was REALLY IMIPROTANT for me to establish this point when I started writing this, but now...I think the Enviga's wearing off. Oh well. I'll be fine.

Plus, I know that in my room, there's 2 doubleshots int he fridge.

Note: I didn't post this at the time of writing. Upon reviewing it, however, I decided that the typos/generall nonsense was funny. Or I was too lazy to spellcheck. Your call.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Passing melodrama

End-of-year banquet for the newspaper staff. The atomsphere is hard to pin down, impossible for a news writer to grab in a one-sentence lead. It's at a country club, fifteen minutes away, so we convene, girls picking delicately through the mud in white heels, and wait for the transportation.

The ride turns out to be a yellow school bus. We're dressed up enough for someone to call it "the ultimate ghetto prom ride," and it is a bit like prom, the news team not quite mixing with the editorial writers, and the sports reporters chilling in the back of the bus. It's almost split boy-girl--or is it men-women--mostly because the cool kids have cars and are already there.

There is pretty, manicured, and it feels like someone is going to yell at you not to touch. But there is no one to chastise, because we are the ones who paid for the facility, and there are no chaperones to dodge. There are legitimate adults, but they are alumni, long-ago reporters, and they are our guests. We invited them.

The cocktail hour stretches awkwardly into two, and those of us forced to sip Shirley Temples are bored. Martinis. Diet Sprites. Victoria's boyfriend is a senior and he slips her an Armeretto Sour.

Dinner is broken up by "remarks" and "acknowledgements," by us, to us, but John Mitchell is drunk and too loud in the back. William Barnard speaks. His biggest story in college was about a discrepancy in the budget for the Board of Trustees. He works now for the Washington Post and saw Watergate unfold live. We ask him questions. I do not.

We're impatient now, because it's after 10 and things are happening on campus. I ride the bus home sitting next to a girl, Caitlin. My age. Studies Government, one of my many majors. We discuss immigration reform and the possible right-wing bias in the Public Policy deparment. We agree that what passes for right-wing here is left of moderate in Middle America, and that Professor Milne's fixation on Hilary Clinton is indiciative of his socialist tendencies.

I change out of my white heels at home and put on a halter top and a piece of denim cloth. Someone has pot for a change, and the frat is smokier than usual. The amount of alchohol on the floor is at about a normal level, and the amount of alchohol in people's systems is obviously too high. The bar, set up on what used to be a pong table, is out of rum. I decline substitutions. An arguement breaks out over a bad serve in Beirut. Caitlin is one of the players, eyes-half closed, leaning on her parnter for support. She does not see me.

I ditch my friends, leave for the relative quiet of the dorms. I sleep in my clothes and barely wake up the next day in time to give a tour to prospective students. Their parents compliment me at the end. I am "professional."

Am I? Perhaps that's what it is, hidng the disorganization and confusion long enough to smile your way through a bullshit presentation. Pretending you know the answers.

I always assumed that the grown-ups knew the answers. As if someone had written them down in a book and everyone had read it. My copy seems to have been lost in the mail.

But my age still ends in "-teen," so I think I can get away with faking it for a little while longer.

I did not forget

It is technically Mother's Day right now. I was reminded of this on Tuesday, when The Awesome Roommate ordered an orchid plant to be delivered to her mother in Chicago.

I considered ordering flowers. I didn't.

My phone is out of battery and will be so out of battery until Monday.

Am I a bad person? Yup. Will it look like I'm just irresponsible and forgot? Probably.

But honestly, I don't care.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007


Ok, so before? I lied.

THIS is the most I have ever wanted to die.

//the horror! The horror!

Tuesday, May 08, 2007


it is perfect right now, green and sunny, but there are two hundred and sixty two nervous chemistry students who could not tell you that the temperature is eighty one degrees because the library is full of stale cold air.

this is the most beautiful place i have ever seen and the most i have ever wanted to die.

but if i close my eyes i see bond angle diagrams and electron shells and that is no way to leave, so i will survive in mortal terror to freak out in a psuedo-dramatic fashion another time.

there needs to be more coffee.

To caffeinate

Or not to caffeinate.

It could work extremely well and I could somehow pass the test.

It could work only a little and wear off just in time for me to crash during the test.


It could work extremely TOO well and I could freak out, run around screaming, and then crash dramatically before the test.

Hopefully it's the latter and I have a highly publicized spazz attack.

Monday, May 07, 2007

And prom refuses to go away

Because frats have formals.

So I can be the girl who doesn't get asked for FOUR MORE YEARS.

Aren't we supposed to be DONE WITH THIS????????

Leina, this one's for you

I just emptied my Trash--6,785 items.



So I studied for most of the day. Holed up in the lounge on the floor, suffered through the chem. Didn't understand the chem, cursed it, read it again, and generally died.

Made a break for it around 7pm. I went outside, went to the dining hall, got food, milled around in the library, walked over to office hours for chem...

in the middle of which I realized that I was wearing slippers.


Sunday, May 06, 2007

So, why is The Awesome Roommate so awesome?

Next year, she is unfortunately becoming The Awesome Former Roommate (stupid STUPID housing lottery), but I assure you, the "Awesome" status will be maintained.


There is here, as there was at my high school, a particular social hirearchy regarding the lacrosse team. As playing lacrosse is apparently an accomplishment on par with curing cancer, the guys who play lacrosse are at the top of the ladder. Interestingly, while the girls who play lacrosse are high up, they are NOT at the top. That particular position is taken by the oh-so-lovely group of Louis Vuitton-sporting bleached hair anorexic bitch girls.

As that moniker is slightly long, The Awesome Roommate took it upon herself to reduce it: they've now been dubbed the "Laxie Sweethearts."

So perfect, people.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Things that bother me

1. People who open the window when it's 28 degrees.

2. Lack of cookies.

3. Texas.

4. Presidents from Texas.

5. The way my comp sci prof says "access."

6. When you don't go to a gay pride event and people accuse you of not being an ally, except you're really just a person with a chemistry midterm.

7. Not playing the violin.

8. Playing the violin.

9. The absence of fucking phone jacks from our room.

10. Girls who look skinny in white leggings.

11. Toast.

12. YouTube and its ability to make you spend hundreds of hours doing nothing.

13. That my feet cracked.

14. People who run nine miles and tell you about it.

15. That I'm procrastinating so much that I am procrastinating from writing other, more meaningful blog posts. Let alone my chem homework.

16. Randy Jackson's excessive use of the word "dawg."

17. That The Awesome Roommate can SANG and doesn't give a shit that she can.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Let's go for the latter

There's nothing like a chem lab to make you really appreciate the option of suicide.

Or to make you eat a gigantic chocolate chip cookie.

And back to quote of the day

Regarding Wikipedia:

"It's got the whole 'street cred' thing going....but it's not so hot in the academic arena."

~The Other Biology Nerd

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Quote of the FREAKING YEAR

Yes, I realize it's usually quote of the day, but TRUST ME, this deserves the extra 365 multiplier. A bit of background:

I write for the college newspaper. This week, I was assigned to stake out the dining hall during the wee hours of the morning and report on the hijinks of the eeeeever so slighly intoxiated students who had a sudden urgent need for chicken nuggets. (Attributing quotes to these people is a nightmare, as most of them are a tad unsure of their last name, let alone the correct spelling.)

But I was determined, and quotes I did get. Most of them are largely incoherent waxings on the perfection of various fried foods, but the following undoubtedly takes the prize:

"Uh-huh, I'm gonna get some chicken nugget things, and--oh shit. I wasn't staring at your breasts, I swear. I was looking at your necklace."

He very earnestly attempted to convince me of the veracity of this statement for the next five minutes. He also apprently spells his name "Mihcael," but I suppose that's his prerogative.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Why I don't call more often

I just called my house because I had to get some vital information from the mother. But, oddly, it was my younger brother who picked up the phone.

"Hey, is Mom there?"

"Um...yeah...but she's kind of...busy right now. Oh shoot she's coming!"

*crash of phone being dropped*

*sounds of ABSOLUTELY TOP-LEVEL burn-your-throat raw SCREAMING in that way so distinctive of the mother in the background*

"I'll call you back," I said to the empty air.

And I hung up with a slight smile on my face because you know what?

I don't live there anymore.

The limitations of blogging

See, if you TELL people that you have a blog and then you get pissed off at them you...can't blog about it. Well, fuck.

Now, if you are actually reading this, don't worry, it's really probably not you. Because as far as I know, said person has never read La Blog, has probaby never read a blog in her life, and probably never will. BUT on the off chance that someday, I become an exciting and notorious blooger AND she somehow hears about it AND she remembers that like, five years ago, caffeinegirl told her about this fancy new "blogging thing" AND she puts three and three will be bad.

THEREFORE. I will change all the details about her but leave my vast and adoring audience with an impression that conveys the apporpriate level of annoyance/punch-in-the-teeth-deserving-ness.

Now that that's out of the way....

SERIOUSLY. SERIOUSLY, SERIOUSLY, SERIOUSLY? Seriously. I cannot take you seriously IF you are wearing NOT ONLY an Eliza B belt, BUT ALSO Eliza B flip-flops THAT MATCH THE BELT. Also? PUT YOUR DAMN COLLAR DOWN. Did I just see a Lacoste alligator?

You realize that in some countries, it is now legal to kill you, right?

And while the amount of time and effort you seem to have spent bleaching your hair seems almost...impressive? and I realize that this demonstrates your great resolve and fortitutde...some people are not meant to be blondes. They just aren't. I realize that if you don't have blonde hair, you forfeit your license to wear those clothes, but perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Because apparently, your job is to tell people HOW TO LIKE, FIND THEMSELVES, OR SOME BULLSHIT, and while you have great lines about "making your own decision" and "staying true to yourself" I simply cannot take these words to heart if they come from a person who, for whatever reason, finds it necessary to wear the uniform of those who partake in Tea Partays.

Although if you're looking to relocate, do I have the perfect southern Connecticut town for you.