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.