Good Morning!

Hello everyone! You may notice that several recent posts have been edited or simply disappeared all together. This is a feeble attempt to project some measure of sanity. Thanks!

/revisionist history is fun

*splort*

This so perfectly encapsulates my math final.

I am so studying

From a Fark thread on Starbucks:

I am a hipster douche bag, so I enjoy overpriced snobbish coffee.

However, being a hipster, I am thus a democrat and I hate evil corporations like Starbucks.

Thus whenever I walk by one i disappear into a self-contained paradox.

I am dying studying for exams

But honestly, what's the point? PEOPLE KEEP DOING SHIT LIKE THIS.

The problem

with academia IS THAT THE PAPERS ARE WRITTEN BY ACADEMICS.

Example: "This focus on boundary conditions serves to highlight the probability that economic integration does not always lead to pacific political relations. And given that the effect is not universal, if we are to have any ability to predict whether economic ties will have a pacific effect in a particular case--like the relationship across the Taiwan Strait--it becomes imperative to have a clear understanding of the microfoundations underlying any relationship that might exist between commerce and and conflict. In other words, simply knowing that strong economic ties are present in a particular case should not convince us that the liklihood of a military confrontation is therefore reduced in that case. Rather, it would be better to be able to observe whether or not the casual processes that link economic interdependence to a reduction in military violence are operating in that case. Existing studies have identified at least three-non mutually exclusive casual mechanisms through which economic interdependence can yield a reduced probability of military conflict."

That's a very impressive paragraph, Dr. Kastner. EXCEPT FOR THE PART WHERE IT TAKES TWENTY MINUTES TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT.

This is what you said:
- Economic interdependence does not always promote peace.
- It does promote peace when three established conditions are met.
- Therefore, if you want to evaluate the effect of economic interdependence, you should focus on these specific conditions, not overall interdependence.

SO WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY IT THAT WAY? OH, BECAUSE THEN YOU DIDN'T GET TO USE THE WORD "MICROFOUNDATIONS." I AM GOING TO DRIVE TO MARYLAND TO SHOVE A COPY OF THIS PAPER UP YOUR LEFT NOSTRIL. THE END.

//I realize this blog used to be about things other than international relations/my obsession with professors thereof. I will attempt to return things to their previous state. Maybe tomorrow I'll take a nice spill headfirst down the stairs and we can go back to focusing on things like that.

Love, me

And then I decided it might not be a good idea to be posting people's real names all over the internet.

Hi internet!

Possibly even worth $400 an hour

"Is cooptation a word? Yes? No? Dammit, not again. I'll be standing up here [in front of the class], say something and think 'oh my God that's not a word.' So then I look around and if no one reacts, I just keep going. But sometimes, everyone stares back at me like 'what the hell? You just made up a word.' And I cringe, internally. And, ok, probably externally. Like that lovely speech I gave yesterday when I mixed up 'interdependence' and 'independence' approximately eleven thousand times. The English language is not fair."

Origins of the various bruises on my body

1. Knuckles, left: Towel on bar being used as foothold to facilitate top-bunk-exitage slipped off of bar, foot slipped with towel, law of gravity was upheld. Descending knuckles made abrupt contact with crown molding.

2. Hip, right: Shortly after above incident, side of body impacted the floor at high velocity.

3. Head, back of: While retrieving lost pencil, miscalculated distance between skull and underside of desk.

4. Knee, left: Slipped on ice cleverly disguised as bare sidewalk.

5. Knee, left, immediately below previous: Ice *remained* cleverly disguised as bare sidewalk on return trip. Lack of memory blamed on incident #3.

6. Dignity, the shred I have left: Damage likely permanent.

I wish

that I had come up with this.

Quote of the Day

"Caffeinegirl! We are not printing 'it's an erratically loading web page.'"

"Why not?"

"Because...I'm sane?"

"But I'm not!"

"I know, but one of us has to be!"

~The Grammar Goddess
and moi

Fuck you, IvyGate

No news today?

Oh you are so original, IvyGate. OMG Hanover = TEH BOONIES, LOL!!!TWELVE!!!!

I suggest you reword your link. How about "Kickass reporter who just pulled an all-nighter manages to write 400 eloquent words about nothing"?

Yeah. Let's go with that.

See?

Bad: You pull an all-nighter

Also Bad: Your prof pulls an all-nighter

Freaking awesome: Your prof gives a two-hour lecture completely cracked out on caffeine.

I should

print this out and mail it.

Noodles with sesame sauce can burn the inside of your nose.

/Regrettably, I did not achieve the big finish and actually snarf the noodle, so my level of coolness among 7th grade boys is not guaranteed.

According to the unofficial list circulated through DHS in 2006, there were 9 faculty members who were definitively smarter than the students.

Dartmouth College currently employs about 350 tenured or tenure-track professors.

I have yet to encounter one who is not a genius of frightening proportions

/I'll just cower in the back of the classroom, thanks.

To: Los Profesores

You have two options:

1. Stop assigning your own papers.

OR

2. WRITE SHORTER PAPERS.

Thanks!


/woman! 53 pages! SERIOUSLY.
//Fine, it's at least a coherent 53 pages and you used a SchoolHouse rock song last lecture to explain something. I forgive you.
///FOR NOW.

I. FUCKING. QUIT.

iiiiii gave up swearing for lent. THAT LASTED LONG. but SERIOUSLY. SERIOUSLY SEIROUSLY SERIOUSLY.

I AM FAILING ALL OF MY CLASSES. PARTLY BECAUSE I WORK FOR THE PAPER. and i GO to the paper like a good little paper-bitch and GET a story and GO to the event, which was A BORING SPEECH, FYI and WRITE about the event and spend SIX HOURS OF MY LIFE THERE AND AS I'M LEAVING, THEY CANCEL MY STORY.

COUDLNT' YOU HAVE CANCELED IT...OH...I DON'T KNOW...BEFORE I WROTE IT?

but of course, they couldn't, because there was late breaking news that pushed me off and that's not their fault so it's NOBODY'S FAULT WHICH MEANS I HAVE NO ONE TO BEAT UP AND THAT MAKES ME ANGRY. AND THAT WAS SIX HOURS DURING WHICH I COULD HAVE STUDIED.

AND i'm so fucking tired that i can't even WRITE COHERENTLY so this isn't even going to be AMUSING or anything WRITING NEWS IS KILLING MY ABILITY TO WRITE CREATIVELY AND IT'S ALSO EATING MY SOUL KTXBAI.

BUT. i will carry on. BECAUSE THERE ARE THINGS AND THEY PISS ME OFF.

LIKE PEOPLE WHO CURVE THEIR MIDTERMS SO THAT NUMERICALLY, YOU GET AN A, BUT ACTUALLY, YOU GET A B+. THAT IS NOT FAIR. you're supposed to curve up, not down! note that is not actually my grade, i've only seen the statistics, not my actual exam, BECAUSE I LEFT BEFORE SHE COULD GIVE ME MY MIDTERM, WHICH I'M SURE SHE NOTICED, BECAUSE, DUH SHE STILL HAS THE MIDTERM.

also yes this is the oft-quoted prof, so i can't just like, blame it on her being a bitch or something, because she isn't. damn.

and while we're on the subject, I often come off like A COMPLETE FUCKING IDIOT, so i'm afraid to talk in class, so i'm always really really really nervous/incoherent LIKE TODAY, when i used a phrase that i CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER because it had approximately seven hundred adverbs in a row, and she REPEATED IT, kind of like "riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight, ok, you're a spazz." which is unfair, because she's kind of a spazz. and then i DIED. it was tragic.

I HAVE TO GET UP IN 5.5 hours, fyi, BECAUSE I HAVE DRILL SO I CAN GO TO SPAIN, WHCIH I HATE. DRILL, NOT SPAIN. I HAVEN'T BEEN TO SPAIN, ERGO I CANNOT HATE IT. YET.

there was no reason for most of that to be in caps lock.

BUT THERE IS REASON FOR THIS TO BE IN CAPS LOCK. BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE PEOPLE who WALK OUT OF A MIDTERM, turn to you, and say "yeah, i totally rocked that test" BECAUSE THEN YOU STAB THEIR BRAINS. FUCK YOU. EVEN IF YOU TOTALLY ROCKED IT, I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING HEAR ABOUT IT TWO SECONDS AFTER I TOOK THE TEST. ALSO, YOU'RE A BITCH, and a large part of me really hopes that you did NOT indeed rock the test.

ANYWAY. i'm now contemplating whether i should make up some excuse for why i sort of slipped out of class before she could give me my midterm and then i can awkwardly blitz her being like HI I'M A COMPLETE NUTCASE, BUT YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT, BECAUSE YOU'VE MET ME FOR MORE THAN FIVE SECONDS.

I FAIL.

Not that this was open to debate

...but it should probably be repeated as many times as possible:

Tina Turner is the DEFINITION of awesome. (She's all "Yeah, I'm 68...AND YOUR POINT?")

I'm limiting myself to two links, because I could go on all day.

/I am making up for the shame of not actually knowing who Tina Turner was until Simon compared Melinda Doolittle to her on American Idol.
//*SHAME*

Catch-22

I came here to have conversations about the implications of post-Civil War Republican party policy in Food Court at ungodly hours of the night.

And I have the conversations. Which means I don't do my reading. Which means I'm going to get kicked out.

itbooops.

DAMN. IT.

Points lost due to calculus mistakes: 0

Points lost due to arithmetic mistakes: 17

Points lost due to SHEER IDIOCY that was circled and tagged with "huh?" by the professor: 11

/The "how the fuck did you get by the admissions office" was implied.

Things That Have Been Known To Bother Me, Part Eighty-Five Qunitillion and Two

1. When the snow unexpectedly turns to rain and causes large, gigantic puddles. Fun Fact: stepping in said puddles while wearing Uggs WILL CAUSE THE DYE TO LEACH ONTO YOUR SKIN. I look like the victim of some kind of horrific tanning accident.

2. PUDDLES THAT FREEZE. And are that kind of black ice that look very much like it isn't there. It appears that I am quite talented at FINDING this hidden ice, especially while running at top speed to my 7:30am class.

That said, if there was a campus record for DISTANCE one slid on the ice after falling in a graceless screaming heap of SCHWOMP, I would totally own it.

3. Professors who A) Hold class at 7:30am, B) Pride themselves on NEVER canceling class C) especially if it snowed 16 inches the night before.

4. Professors who CANCEL CLASS. This is why I have no blog content--she went off somewhere to present a paper. The NERVE of some people, being all academic and famous--I NEED QUOTES.

5. Candidates I support dropping out of the primaries, which leads to

6. Accidentally voting for Hillary Clinton.

7. Disagreeing with every candidate currently involved and deciding that the only solution is to move to Barbados, but having drastic lack of plane ticket funding.

There is always more, but #8. PEOPLE WHO THINK IT IS TOTALLY REASONABLE TO ASSIGN THE ENTIRETY OF Leviathan in ONE NIGHT are preventing me from finishing.

To satisfy the teeming masses:

an update. It's rather short.

Should I go to Spain, or not? Vote in the comments.

I'm not making this shit up

(Background: This is in office hours, not in class)

"Exactly, like in The Hunt for Red October. God, I think I blew my credibility by using that as an example in class yesterday...I suppose it could have been worse, because at least I didn't mention the most important part of the movie: hot guys. Lots of hot guys. I mean, you start with Denzel Washington, but Alex Baldwin, like, pre-crazy Alex Baldwin, that kind of tips the scale. Hmmm...wasn't Fred Thompson in that movie? Yeah, he's the Secretary of Defense, which means I could completely justify showing that in class...current political connections...right. Anyway...what was your question again?"


I attempted to keep a neutral expression on my face when the phrase "hot guys" came out of her mouth, but I'm not 100% sure I was successful.

This lecture is totally worth $200 an hour

Background: Prof went to MIT

"Now, to put North Korea's nuclear capability in perspective, let's examine a theoretical detonation on a major U.S. city. *Pulls up map* Who should we nuke? Ooooh! Let's nuke Harvard! Ok, so nuked. *outlines radius of destruction* Not really a big effect, huh. I mean, yeah, Harvard's gone, and some of Cambridge is gone. Boston's totally fine. Is MIT ok? *Peers at map* Yup, outside the blast zone. Whew. Oh wait...fallout. Oh, and fire. Yeah, MIT's totally on fire. Screw that."

I just ate a chocolate peanut butter brownie

I know that there are probably some really interesting feedback systems and pathways here, but really:

I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THAT.

Also, as soon as I'm done confirming the results of the experiment, I swear I will actually WRITE A POST instead a quote or a link or a tragically fwomped lolcat.

This is the single greatest idea EVER

From OverheardInNewYork:

Boss: What's your password? I want to sign in and test the new system we set up.
Office gal: 'Detonate.'
Boss: [Silence.]
Office gal: What? I like typing 'Detonate' and hitting 'Enter'! It's extremely satisfying!

60 East 42nd Street
New York, New York

I am totally changing all my passwords.

My girl

kicked your girl's ass. Hard.

Funny LJ icons I have seen lately

Hangover: The Wrath Of Grapes

My Furby Can Kick Your Furby's Ass

If homosexuality is a disease, let's all call in queer to work. Nope, can't come in today, still queer.

Neville Longbottom has had it with this motherfucking snake at motherfucking Hogwarts

Reason has been a part of organized religion ever since two nudists took dietary advice from a talking snake.

Earth: Mostly Harmless. This article is a "stub." You can help the Guide by expanding it.

/bumper stickers for the bumper-less
//is bumper-less
///dammit

SWEET PURPLE MANATEES

Why the HELL would you EMAIL SOMEONE to TELL THEM the score of a tennis match? Especially a tennis match that is being played in AUSTRALIA and has thus not AIRED ON TV YET because it took place at THREE IN THE MORNING our time?

See, if I WANTED to know the score, I would GO ONLINE AND FIND OUT. Ergo: your email is STUPID. When I check my email, I am online. If I wanted to find out the score, I would already have looked it up. If, perchance, I DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW THE SCORE, BECAUSE I HAD PLANS TO GO TO THE GYM AND WATCH THE TAPED MATCH BEING BROADCAST, (which, incidentally, are plans that I MENTIONED TO YOU, yesterday) THEN I WOULDN'T HAVE LOOKED IT UP, AND YOUR EMAIL WOULD PISS ME OFF.

A LOT. AND I WOULD ABUSE MY CAPS LOCK KEY. KIND OF LIKE THIS.

Seriously.

The purpose of a blog is to obnoxiously self-call

I'M FAMOUS. In that "a semi-popular blog linked my stories" kind of way.

*fends off paparazzi*

Dear Urban Outfitters,

Thank you SO much for emailing us that link. It was EXACTLY what we needed to see today, it being so seasonal and all. Please fuck off and die.

Love,
Caffeinegirl's frozen toes

Profs are so handy for quotes

"Plato never married, which means that he never experienced cohabitation. One of the benefits of cohabitation is that sometimes, it comes with small, miniature poodles. They can be very crafty, as they will do anything, absolutely anything to get extra treats. It’s not right. It really isn't. Anyway, yeah, Plato never had that."

From this shockingly accurate description of college majors:

"PHILOSOPHY: Basically, this involves sitting in a room and deciding there is no such thing as reality and then going to lunch. You should major in philosophy if you plan to take a lot of drugs."

Apparently, no one forwarded this to my professor. He's actually quite good, in that he totally breaks my brain and causes me to have an existential crisis after every class, but he also likes to assign 275 pages of reading in a night and hands out papers like they're going out of style.

I am, of course, supposed to be writing a paper AT THIS VERY SECOND.

/click the link and read the English one
//REPUBLIC OF IRELAND

An anonymous kindred spirit

Seen taped to the broken printer in the student center:

"This printer is broken. A part has been ordered. In the mean time, I suggest you A) head to the library to print, and b) CALM DOWN. Think of something pleasant, like a puppy, or a friendly hedgehog, or whatever."

Hi, I'm cool

Footnote #55 cites ME. And no, I didn't put it there.

SWEET.

/nerd
//currently writing for paper instead of doing homework
///oops

I quit.

Theoretical directions:

1. Read "the printer is out of paper."

2. Remove paper from storage tray next to printer.

3. Insert paper into printer.

4. Press "resume" button.

What I actually end up saying:

1. What's the error message? Yes, I actually need to know the error message. You clicked cancel without reading it? Of course. Try to print again. Yes! That! The LARGE BOX IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SCREEN. Read it out loud.

2. Alright, funnily enough, "out of paper" means...you need to put in more paper. Cryptic, I know. The extra paper is next to the printer. On the left. Your other left. NOT ALL OF IT AT ONCE. Jesus. Just take some of it.

3. Ok, now this goes into the printer. Where? Where the paper was before. Yes, I know the paper tray is empty now, but I assure you, it's right there. On the front. Yes, the thing that looks like it holds paper. Excellent! You're a regular MacGyver.

4. We just need to PRESS THE RESUME BUTTON. It's the one that says "resume." And is flashing red. Oh God that's the indicator light. Yes, I know I said it was flashing red, but technically, the little indicator light is just off to the left and the LARGE ROUND BUTTON is what you are supposed to press. Yes, all the way down. What? Fine, use your thumb. Index finger is fine too. No, it doesn't MATTER. Don't you have several advanced degrees?

5. Alright then, we should be go--no, that's fine. It's just printing a test page. Yes, I promise it will print your document right after the test page. It didn't lose it! Really! I will bet you--I will bet you a trip to TAHITI. Because when I win, I can GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.

Sheesh.

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.

/ 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.

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.

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

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?

Protocol

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.

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.

Notice

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

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

I am too fucking stupid to go to school here.

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.

*high pitched squeal*

Yes, you can actually die of cuteness.

Hardcore

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.

/itbi'dmarketitasasashampoobuttheapplicationprocesswasabitch

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.)

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.

Sweet fancy Moses on buttered toast

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

PEOPLE HAVE VISITED MY BLOG AND I DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT.

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?

Notes

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.

And...you 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
Smoothies

Dangerous Food
Peanut butter
Candy bars
Chocolate
Bread

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.

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 children....so?

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 guide....you 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.)

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.

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 my...um....erratic? 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 is...no 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!

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!

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?

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.

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?

No?

Damn.

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.

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.

g = G(Me/Re^2)

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

/be with you momentarily

DUDE

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.

itbifuckinglovethesegirls

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.

Clarifications

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 this...um....later. 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.

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.

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.

/itbifthebeerdoesntlandonthepledgesyouredoingitwrong

Advice

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?

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?

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 yourself...at 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.

*sigh*

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

I come from a long line of English majors

...one 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.

Whew

False alarm, not my parents. *exhales*

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

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 Hamilton.edu. 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: Ask.com has classified this as an "Adult website." Heh.

Most common ISP: comcast.net. 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 optonline.net 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.

WE'RE ALL AT COLLEGE NOW.

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: caffeinegirl47@gmail.com 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!

Seriously.


/splort

Sometimes the most efficient solution...

...is not actually the best solution.

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

So I ate them.

Blergh.

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?

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.

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 ?

NO. YOU OBVIOUSLY DO NOT SEE. BECAUSE YOU MAKE JEANS THAT DO THIS:

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,
Me

Texas

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 it...so 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?

We have reality shows about annoying "socialites"

They have people doing hurdles on treadmills. And it is genius.

Japan: 1
United States: 0

ANNOUNCEMENTS

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?


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

BUI

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?

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!

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.

Losing my identity

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

Except.

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?

DEAR LORD I JUST BURPED AGAIN AND IT TASTED LIKE FISH. You're welcome.

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 crashing....now.

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.

Yeah.

Civilization has ended

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

Dear The City of Stamford,

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

Unreasonably optimistically,
Me


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,
Me

There are actual things I need to post

and then there's this.

I believe we have equal parts awwwww and sad.

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.

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.

BUT.

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

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.


*exhales*


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

Life is good.