Wednesday, March 28, 2007


"So, what did you do today?"

"Oh, nothing much. You know, went to dinner, sat around with my Ivy-league-educated friends and tried to throw yogurt-covered raisins down each other's cleavage."

"Really. Anyone make it?"

"Just The Awesome Roommate. But, you know, she plays softball."

"Of course."


Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Nature's Cruel Joke

If you are friends with a gay man, such as the aforementioned Everyone's All-Purpose Gay Boyfriends, he will introduce you to his friends. Who are, for the most part, charming, funny, well-groomed, semi-outrageous, sensitive, extremely attractive, fun-to-be-around people.

But they are also charming, funny, well-groomed, semi-outrageous, sensitive, extremely attractive, fun-to-be-around MEN who are simply NEVER going to be interested in YOU.

Stupid biology.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Prof: 1, Student: 0

I was attempting to avoid posting this as I am not particularly fond of this professor BUT. It was a perfect moment.

So she's boring. Most of us don't listen. Yes, we realize that if you divide the total tuition by the number of hours of class we are supposed to attend it works out to more than $200 an hour to tune out a highly respected, Ivy-league-tenured intellectual. We're college students. Most people sleep. I daydream. The daring few slip in an iPod earbud. As far as we can tell, she is generally under the impression that her audience is paying attention.

It's Monday and it's nine in the morning. Maybe fifty percent of the class is conscious. I'm half-listening to her lecture, and there are a few Spanish words interspersed with the doodles in my notebook. Not bad, considering that I pulled an all-nighter and she's lecturing in a language that I don't really speak.

She paces baaaaaack and forth as she's lecturing. I get sick of tracking her across the room and use my position in the last row to check out the rest of the class. That Guy Who Always Wears Pajama Pants is, fittingly, actually asleep. Gorgeous and Mysterious International Student is surreptitiously completing an Econ problem set. Hasn't Figured Out That High School Teacher's Pet Does Not Equal Professor's Pet is diligently taking color-coded notes. Guy Who Would Like to Think That He is a Legit Skater Dude has carefully snaked an iPod earbud up his sleeve. That, um, Girl, Who's, Like, You Know, Kinda From California? is also, mercifully, asleep.

And the professor is completely oblivious. I focus to try and get some idea of what she's talking about. Baaaaaaaaaaaack and forth. Baaaaaaaaack and forth. Kind of in a monotone. Soothing.

Until, on the trip baaaaaaaaack, she reaches out and smoothly YANKS on Skater Dude's earbud.

He flinches backwards, almost falling out of his chair. The clatter of the earbud as it hits the desk seems to reverberate a thousand times in the lecture hall.

And she just keeps going. Lecturing. Pacing. No comment to Skater Dude, but she allows herself a slight smile. A slight buzz spreads through the room but quickly disappates.

Well played, SeƱora. Well played.

I'll be doing my daydreaming in a different class now.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Whiny emo post

Warning: the following post is, in the great tradition of blogging, an indulgent rant. Read at your own risk. Side effects may include excessive eyeliner use, an inexplicable urge to listen to Evanescence, and the strong desire to punch the blogger in the face.

Ok, seriously? Seriously. ONE DAY I will learn not to call my parents. ONE DAY.

Apparently, that day? Not today.

I'm sick. Really fucking sick, actually, thanks for asking. Don't mind the pieces of lung. This does not, however, make me unique around here. The collective phlegm production of the campus here--let's put it this way, if you could sell it by the ton, we'd all drop out and make a fortune. Those of you who were eating, you're welcome.

So, I called my mom.

*Beep boop boop beep-boop boop beep*


"Hi Mom!"
Look, it's my "I'm sick" voice. Mommy, come make me better, poooor me who has to take final exams. Sniffle

"Areyousick?Whatareyoudoingaboutthat?Whatareyoutaking?Youaren'tsleeping areyou?Thisisn'tgoingtohelpyoustudy!Youhaveexamsinafewdays!"
Oho, so you called looking for sympathy. Think again, sister. WRONG. FUCKING. NUMBER.

Wrong fucking number indeed.

Oh well.

At least the guy who hacks up wads of snot into the sink seems to have switched to tissues.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Which was of course, followed swiftly by the lowlight of the day

So, I just crashed headlong into John Rassias.

Seriously? the first result on Google without quotes, but he's even first result for himself on Google Image Search.

Google is one thing, but Google Image Search? That's some serious importance right there, people.

I CANNOT BE IN A COLLEGE FULL OF IMPORTANT PEOPLE. I'm me. I WILL inadvetently tackle someone at least bi-weekly. Someone kill me before I do it myself and take a Nobel Laureate with me?

Highlight of the day

My aforementioned biology professor went on one of his many tangents within-a-tangent which today concerned cosmetic surgery. This is a transcript:

"Personally, I find the entire practice of cosmetic surgery to be an abomination of the once-respected medical art of reconstructive surgery. But what do I know? If you look at me, obviously not a lot about plastic surgery. But hey, who cares? LET'S CHOP OFF YOUR NOSE!!!! It didn't evolve that way for a REASON or anything! And let's use the wonderful principles of economics to make plastics a highly desireable field for aspiring medical students. They could be upholding the Hippocratic oath and saving the lives of innocent starving children, but oh no! Pamela Anderson's breasts are deflating! EMERGENCY!!!!"

I swear, sometimes I'm not actually focusing in class. I"m just watching, like it's on Comedy Central.

And when we get to the tests? That's when I changed the channel to UPN and scarred myself for life with a rerun of Chaotic.