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

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.

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 together....it 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.

Is this fair?

From: Safety and Security
To: caffeinegirl
Subject: Call mom

Caffeinegirl,

Your Mother called and said that she has been unable to reach you on your cell phone. It is not an emergency but she would like you to call her at 203-253-2044.

Thank you
Officer Converse



NO! THIS IS NOT FAIR!!! Can they even DO that?

Apparently they can. And, if you aren't answering your cell phone, because you neglected to realize that the battery is dead, AND if you are currently loaning your computer to a friend because his hard drive committed suicide last night and you're a nice person like that...you don't get the email right away.

SO THEY COME LOOKING FOR YOU.

And of course when they come looking for you and FIND you, in your room of all places, doing suspicious activities like CHEMISTRY HOMEWORK, you are wearing....your Hello Kitty pajamas.

Nice.

So I was in a hurry this morning

And as I exited the room in a frantic rush to the shower, I tripped over a bottle of Febreeze. As I replaced the bottle on the shelf from which it had fallen, it occurred to me how much faster it would be if I could just Febreeze myself.

Now I didn't do it. But I was thiiiiiiiiiiiis close.

Just, like, fyi.

So I had an exam today

Which we aren't going to talk about, thank you VERY much.

But we are going to talk about what I have eaten today:

Uncrustable, grape and peanut butter, 1
Veggie sushi rolls, avacado, 8
Mini-Oreos, 4
Rice Krispie treat,
Odwalla Bar, 1
Lattes, 2
Cans Tab Energy, 1
Cans Red Bull, 4

So let's see if I can argue that this is a balanced diet. Ok.

Let's start with the Uncrustable. Hey, we have bread (type stuff) which is practically GRAINS. And grape jelly, which, if you subtract the sugar, is almost even a fruit! Plus peanut butter, which is, like protein. (Oh alright, and saturated fat. FINE.) Anyway, grains, fruit, and legumes!

Then we have the sushi, which is mostly rice, which like, 50% of the world SUSTAINS ITSELF ON! It's a staple! And some seaweed, which is kind of like a vegetable, PLUS the avacado, which is LEGITIMATELY a fruit. (Except it might be the kind of fruit that SOMEHOW, contains mono-saturated fat. ALWAYS WITH THE SATURATED FAT.) So, (more) grains, fruits, and veggies!

And onto the mini-Oreos. Ok. I am almost positive that somewhere, the cookie part contains flour. (It's a cookie, right? Which is a baked good. And baked goods contain flour! Which, I would like to remind you, is a GRAIN.) So, we have grains, and....the creme part. Screw it, I'm not even going to try. Grains and a delicious paste of sugar-lard. (And ok, I GUESS that means saturated fat. What is WITH you people? You're like, fixated.)

Which were followed closely by the Rice Krispie treat, and that has cereal, y'all people! And you know what that means?

Ow.

Don't hit me. Listen, GRAINS ARE IMPORTANT. They're at the bottom of the food pyramid, which means that you EAT A LOT OF THEM. And we are really just going to overlook the fact that said grains are being held together by a mixture of marshmallow goop and butter. (La la la! I can't HEAR you!!)

Ok, we're coming up to the Odwalla bar, and this, THIS is where I am going to win. Have you heard of Odwalla? Check it out, because that is some concentrated organic, all-natural granola-ness, people. I mean, I'll even show you the ingredients and nutrition facts! Organic rolled oats (I won't say it...grains!!!!) folic acid, Vitamin E, and...

That's it. I quit.

AND SATURATED FAT. (Peanuts. Forgot about the damn peanuts.) FINE! IT'S A NUTRITION BAR THAT HAPPENS TO CONTAIN LIPIDS. Which, BY THE WAY, are ESSENTIAL for normal cell function. ESSENTIAL.

And, wrapping it up, we have a latte, which has MILK, which is practically nectar from the freaking fountain of youth, containing not just protein BUT ALSO calcium, and some sugar, which is a carbohydrate, which happens to be what makes up gr---

I TOLD you not to hit me! And yes, the latte has caffeine, but we will be addressing that in the next section.

In which we discuss the energy drinks. I'm not even counting the Tab Energy, because it only lasts for like, five minutes. LAME! So that leaves us with the Red Bull, which, because it's diet, has nothing. Really. Not even grains! I swear.

Red Bull contains, in addition to all of the preservatives and scary things that I can't spell, B vitamins. And copious amounts of caffeine, coming in at 80mg a can. Times four. Which is not that much. Really. Ok, so it's enough to stun a horse, the stuff is terrible for me, and I will die.

But.

NO SATURATED FAT.

Ha.

Annoying mySELF

Sometimes, I am seriously frustrating. (Yes, I KNOW you all already know that.)

But seriously? An excerpt from my notes:

"Waves are subject to constructive interference (maxima aligns with maxima, additive, BUT matter can--"

And then there's nothing else written on the page.

Well?

Matter can WHAT????

Quote of the day

"Pink? PINK camouflage? Where are you planning to hide---in a flock of flamingos?"

~My chem prof

I salute you

I am a tour guide. This means that twice a week, I haul nervous prospective students, their bored younger siblings, and their oft-agressive parents around the campus. Now, this is allegedly something I like to do. I actually had to go through a three-stage application process, despite the fact that we don't exactly get paid. Well, we get a captive audience for 75 minutes, which uses up about, oh, a fortieth of my desire to blabber for a given day. Also, we get to wear very official-like engraved name tags. I like to think that this makes me important. Or it makes me look like I frequently forget my own name.


Before I go any farther, I would like to state that 90% of the prospective students and their parents that I personally deal with are very nice people. They're generally a little wide-eyed with a kind of lost look, but I can't hold that against them. If they're on the dreaded "college tour circuit," they just saw 5 schools in the last 4 days and all of the peopel they encountered gave basically the same generically postiive presentation. "At [X] university, we really feel that there's a strong a sense of community. Basically, they are attempting to survive the hellish process that is undergraduate applications. I sympathize with them and that's why I became a tour guide in the first place

Then there's the psychos. You know them. They bought The Princeton Review's Guide to America's Top 361 Colleges when their kid was a fetus and put him in SAT classes before he got out of diapers. They fretted over pre-school admissions because THAT MATTERS. YOU HAVE TO START EARLY. Obviously, if your child is not enrolled in French enrichment, jazz tap class, sousaphone lessons, karate, lacrosse camp, and/or extreme roller derby by the time she's three...SHE WILL NEVER GET INTO COLLEGE, SHE WILL LIVE IN A BOX ON THE STREET, AND SHE WILL DIE.

(Of course, even if you do this, there's still a nice chance that she will strangle herself with the ribbons from her ballet slippers, but that's another post.)

Now, I could rant about these people for oh....two and a half years? (Just ask the Awesomely Earplugged Roommate), but I have a specific person in mind. He was actually the parent of an admitted student who was touring schools again in preparation for making a final choice. Said admitted student had a hell of a choice, because he was choosing between three Ivies.

I know this, of course, because his father told me. Loudly. I stiffled my initial urge to punch him and was able to offer a cheery "Congratulations! I hope you choose Dartmouth!"

I won't know, of course, but I am nearly sure that he will not. Not that it wouldn't be a loss of a qualified student. He was very poised. He made eye contact. He took discreet notes. He asked intelligent questions and he smiled at my pitiful jokes.

At the end of the tour, he asked me several rapid-fire questions, all concerning statistics. They centered around the pre-med program and our acceptence rates to top med schools. (It's quite good, 96%. And we don't screen).

He also asked me if the Trips that I talked about were mandatory.

Dartmouth freshemen go on Trips. Basically, you throw 12 kids into the woods with hiking boots that are giving them blisters and a frame pack that's too heavy to carry. You leave them in the care of a highly qualified group of future CEOs, I-bankers, lawyers, doctors, etc, who are currently dressed in various animal-print spandex and sequined clothing and have decided to dye their hair six flourescent colors. Nobody sleeps for five days, you eat unidentifiable food covered with yogurt, and you are required to dance to both techno music and 50s jazz standards. It's fantastic.

It is not something that is relevant on your application to med school and it obviously did not interest this student. And this is the real reason that his father deserved...something. Not an act of violence. Maybe an act of loud yelling.

YES, YOU WIN. YOU PRODUCED AN IVY LEAGUE STUDENT. HE WILL STUDY HARD AND HE WILL GO TO MEDICAL SCHOOL. A "GOOD" MEDICAL SCHOOL. HE WILL MARRY A WOMAN WITH A GOOD LAST NAME AND THEY WILL HAVE 2.5 BLONDE CHILDREN. HE WILL BE A DOCTOR, WHICH IS CAREER THAT NO ONE CAN ARGUE WITH, AND HE WILL LIVE IN A NICE SUBURBAN HOUSE WITH A MANICURED LAWN. AND HE'S VERY GOOD. COMES OFF LIKE A REAL ADULT. OBVIOUSLY SMART, BUT DOESN'T ACT STUCK UP. LIKEABLE. CLEARLY FOCUESED. CLEARLY SERIOUS.

DRIVEN.

So will you accept my congratulations, stick the goddamn bumper sticker on your car and MOVE ON? YOU WIN AT LIFE! YOU ARE VALIDATED. THIS IS YOUR GODDAMN PURPOSE. YOUR CHILD IS A HUGE-ASS MOTHERFUCKING SUCCESS.

Except that he's clearly had the life sucked out of him. Descriptions of crazy college hijinks bore him. Got to stay on track! Eyes on the prize. There's always tomorrow to celebrate. Such fine, fine, values you've instilled in him.

So please, send him to a different Ivy. If he got into that one that starts with an H and is in Cambridge, by all means GO THERE. He'll be very happy. They don't dye their hair green.

But please, before you leave our little college on a hill, look at some of the students here. Yes, this too is an Ivy, and yes, we all had the insane application, and many of us will go on to perhaps a better med school. And some of us are named Preston Welligsworth Thronton, THE FOURTH and also need to be punched in the face. But there are enough of us who dye our hair and dance the Salty Dog Rag.

So look at us. And look at this child that you have created. And be proud of yourself. You have created, and again I say it, a SUCCESS. He will never be distracted. And he isn't interested in WASTING HIS TIME camping in the woods. Perfection. Humor is irrelevant.

Congratulations.

YOU WIN.

But where's the scoreboard?

To: That Girl in Front of Me in Line at Collis

Burberry bag.

Burberry scarf.

Burberry rainboots.

Black raincoat with juuuuuuuust a hint of the Burberry plaid lining.


WE GET IT.

Preventative measures

So, there's this Ben & Jerry's flavor, and it's called VERMONTY PYTHON.

Seriously.

IT HAS THE CATAPULTED COW ON THE LABEL!!! And little fudge cows inside!!!! And I can't link directly to it on benjerry.com because of their sucky flash interface, but go check it out. Because seriously? In addition to all the cow-ness? IT'S COFFEE LIQUEUR FLAVORED.

With chocolate.

So, as this is obviously the perfect ice cream flavor and as our fridge obviously isn't safe, I took...appropriate measures.





Behold the power of duct tape!!!

So the good news is that no one has eaten my ice cream.

The bad news is that that includes me.

Because I can't get the duct tape off.

I really truly hate people

So it was The Sexy Redhead's birthday, which means that I was societally obligated to make brownies. Which is not an activity I really mind, honestly. It's very relaxing, actually, because it's just mindlessly following a recipe. Plus, I have very high standards of quality, so I personally taste-test the batter at every stage. The sacrifices I make for my baking.

Now, somewhat counter-intuitively, the most important piece of equipment for making the brownies is a freezer. (I'd tell you more, but it's a closely guarded secret. The mother has probably telepathically sensed me typing and is ordering an air assault at THIS VERY MOMENT) Basically, what you need to know is that at one point, there is a bowl of batter in the freezer. It remains in the freezer for....shall we say an unspecified, yet somewhat lengthy period of time

Let's recall that I live in a dorm. As the freezer compartment in our mini-fridge is the exact right size for a bag of Starbucks coffee, I put the batter in the freezer in the communal kitchen. I covered the bowl with a dish towel, secured the towel with a giant rubber band, and set an alarm to make sure I would wake up (a certain number of unspecified hours later) to take it out.

BUT.

At some point in that period of undesignated length, SOMEBODY ATE IT.

Practically half of it.

AND THEY LEFT THE DAMN SPOON THEY USED IN THE BOWL.

And I, in my usual dignified fashion, dealt with this by screaming "FUCK!" rather loudly, and leaving a bitchy note on the fridge.





Transcribed due to my flawless penmanship:

To the person or persons who ATE MY BROWNIE BATTER:

If you begin showing signs of salmonella poisoning, it's because you ATE RAW EGGS! Lesson: do not eat stuff that's not yours BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS! What if that were some really gross science experiment, hmmm? Did you think of that? No, because you were too busy EATING practically half the batter! Now I have to make more! I really kind of hate you.

~Signed,
The maker of the batter who, by the way, knows karate


(Yes, I made more. Yes, they were unquantifiably delicious. DUH.)

Overheard

"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."

"Naturally."

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.

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, Señora. Well played.

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

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*

*ring*

"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.

I'm studying for finals and this seems like such a good plan

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.