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.)

*blink blink*

HOLY FUCKING SHIT HEEEEEEELLS YEAH!

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.

BUT.

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.

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?

LET'S FIND OUT.

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.

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

SLASH

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

SLASH

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.

Samples:

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.

//Big Green KICKS YOUR ASS, CRIMSON
///Dartmoose FTW

Desparate times

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


But unfortunately, I have no choice.

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.

ASHLEE SIMPSON?

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.

* 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.

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.)

Hmmmmm...

*Gains unique understanding of Lizzie Borden's psyche*

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