Lies I have told recently

MUST. KEEP. PEACE. WITH. EXTENDED. FAMILY.

It's not lying if you only leave out...details.

A sample: (Details are in italics)

I go to Young Republican meetings to steal their pizza--Young Democrats spent all their money on campaign signs.

The boys' rooms are VERY FAR from the girls' rooms--I'm lazy and three feet is far.

I have never been inside a fraternity when I was sober.

I have never tasted vodka because we mix it with Red Bull.

There's nowhere close by to buy alcohol anyway so we pay the seniors who have cars to do it for us.

Most people go to bed around midnight because they're so drunk they've passed out.

We do homework on Saturdays--because it was due on Friday and the professor is taking off points for each hour that it's late.

I'm thinking of joining a sorority because I've recently become a masochist.

I have never missed a class, in fact, I never miss them at all.

I've never met "one of those goddamned homosexuals," just the regular, non-goddamned kind, thanks.

The professors are conservative--JESUS CHRIST, ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH ACADEMIA??????

Yeah, I snapped on that one. Whoopsy.

I think I was already out of that will though, so it's all good.

So, which is worse? Going to church, or enduring the backlash for NOT going to church?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

I went, if you're curious. Which keeps the peace, but is doubly annoying, because then they're all happy because you've "outgrown your sophomoric tendencies."

*gag*

What they didn't notice was that I wore my pirate earrings. OMG skull-and-crossbones earrings IN CHURCH I am TEH REBELZ!!!!!!eleven!!

So, yeah, that was my little "protest." And yes, THANK YOU, it was "sophomoric."

But I'm only a freshman! So do you know what me being sophomoric means?

It means that I'm fucking precocious, bitch.

Quote of the Day

"I'm not anorexic! I just hate eating!"

This, people, THIS is what I deal with.

I think I'll go eat an entire wheel of cheese.

Dammit

I went to a protest/rally type thing today, which was actually on the national news. Because apparently the national news is way bored.

I set out for the rally with mixed feelings, because a lot of the "controversy" on this campus is self-manufactured and a great deal of us like to protest for the sake of protesting. I ultimately decided to go because hey, it was a protest and I'm a college student and that's What We Do. I planned that I would maintain a slightly reserved attitude of mild cynicism and above-it-all-ness.

Except then one of the speakers was Really, Truly, Indescribably Powerful, and she made me (and everyone else) cry.

And I'll be dammed but it's hard to be slightly reserved and above-it-all when you have mascera running down your face.

Sigh

So, you've picked up a drunken frat boy. Classy. I understand that now you would like to have sex with said charming gentlemen. Fabulous.

Here's a list of places where you have my permission to do so:

1. The middle of the green
2. The stacks in the library (happens more often than you'd think)
3. The dining hall
4. The roof
5. The basement
6. The laundry room
7. The woods
8. The lawn of the dean's house (bonus points)
9. Mars
10. The construction scaffolding
11. Suspended from said scaffolding by bungee cords (double points)
12. Underground
13. Underwater
14. In a tree
15. In a taxi
16. In a chartered jet
17. Your own freaking room

Here's a list of the places where I would really prefer you didn't:
1. The part of the hallway that is directly outside of my door


It's the small considerations, people, really.

And there was karma.

So, remember how yesterday in my brief moment of good karma, I was trying to be all witty and cool and said hey, this is totally going to bite me in the ass later?

Well GUESS WHAT? IT TOTALLY BIT ME IN THE ASS LATER!

I hate being right.

Today I woke up in midair. Arguably, my horrific day did not start there. Being in midair, while disarming, is not necessarily unpleasent. It does, however, signal that you are going to get real up close and personal with the floor in about half a second and THERE started the day.

Yes, I fell out of bed. Yes, I landed on my face. Yes, the left side of my forehead swelled up so that it appeared that my brain was trying to escape.

Which might actually be true, but that's another post.

Anyway, I walked into Spanish class as my bruises began to turn a lovely shade of violet, prompting my professor's justified reaction of "What happened to you?" And really, people, it's humiliating enough to have to explain that you and your coordinated self fell out of bed, but it's even better when you get to do so in a language that you speak at a toddler-equivilant level.

Now, I'll spare y'all the exhaustive list of every time I tripped or otherwise injured myself, but I would like to point out the highlights, including how the pen I was chewing on in Econ exploded, AND how when I opened the door to my room, I squished NOT ONLY my feet, but also The Awesome Roommate's feet...AND how I had to face...

...THE WATER BOTTLE OF DOOM!!!

(That works better if you imagine lightning and cool sound effects. WORK WITH ME.)

I naievely purchased a bottle of flavored water and attempted to open it. I failed, but I have zero upper body strength. When I gave the bottle of water to The I-can-bench-press-triple-digit-numbers-Awesomely Roomate to open and SHE couldn't get it...I began to worry that the water was possessed. Then I tried to open it again and failed so spectacularly that I gave myself a blood blister.

I believe it was at that point that I attacked the water bottle with a pair of scissors.

It was shortly after that point that I learned that if a water bottle is that tightly vacuum-sealed, when you do get it open, it sprays you in the face.

I think I'm going to go lie down and cry.



This is the water after I killed the lid. The red is because it's a flavored knock off of Vitamin Water, not because it's bleeding.

Sometimes, life works out

I realize that NOT fucking things up hugely isn't a big deal for most people, but it's me, so we're going to talk about it.

Ok. As per last post, went out last night. Bad idea. Fuckers having Halloween on a Tuesday. Anyway, in fit of optimisim, set alarm for 6 A.M., with intention of waking up and doing work before class.

I'll pause so you can all catch your breath from laughing.

So. Slept through alarm. Slept through back-up alarm. Slept through The Awesome Roommate swearing her alarm clock re: softball practice at ungodly hour. Slept through emergency cell phone alarm.

Awakened, stretched luxuriously, realized it was EIGHT FIFTY SIX. Freaked the fuck out, got dressed at LUDICROUS SPEED, sprinted halfway across campus.

Obviously, I was late.

But.

MY PROF WAS LATE. Do you REALIZE the freaking ODDS of that happening? I mean, factoring in that she's been on time 45 / 46 instances times the My Luck Sucks factor of 200000...well, I can't do math anymore but the odds? FREAKISH.

Then, just because the universe had already collapsed, remember that work that I was supposed to wake up and finish? Duh, didn't.

But.

SHE FORGOT TO COLLECT THE HOMEWORK. My hed explode.

Obviously, I'm going to die in a freak swiss-cheese related accident later today, because this is just too much karma.

To The People In Charge of The Universe

How the hell are you supposed to go out and work it if you have CLASS THE NEXT MORNING?

Please!

Halloween should be on a FRIDAY. And just change, like Thanksgiving. There would be RIOTS if people had to cook turkeys on Mondays or something because of a calendar deal.

But I was so totally a pirate. Mwah.

Yo, Bob!

Allow me to introduce you to someone:



His name is Bob.



Don't be shy, let's get up close and personal.


I'd like to start off by clarifying that Bob is NOT the result of one of my "milk decomposes" revelations. Nope, he got that way ALL BY HIMSELF. Isn't he a good boy?

Because I basically live on chocolate pudding, I purchased one of...several packages from the Why Yes, We Inflate Our Prices By 200%, Thanks for Asking store. I didn't realize at the time that where I thought I had four puddings, I really had three----and Bob!

Bob was discovered later that night. The Other Biology Nerd and I were studying in my room at the perfectly acceptable hour of 3am. Naturally, at such a time, more food becomes necessary. TOBN was casually opening a pudding when she shrieked--for she had discovered Bob.

Bob could have suffered a terrible fate that day. The logical course of action, after finishing with the eeeeeeeeewwww's and I almost ate that's, would have been to throw him out.

Fortunately, he was in the esteemed company of the aforementioned two Biology Nerds, so we merely spent the next twenty minutes poking him and giggling. We then sealed him up and stuck him at the back of the refrigerator so that he could hopefully grow into something even more delightfully squishy.

The Awesome Roommate however, being more of a Humanities Nerd, is not impressed with Bob. I know. How could you not want a pudding rotting and GROWING stuff in your refrigerator?

Sheesh.

So I still rule

And milk still decomposes.

No, I don't know how this keeps happening. It's COMPLICATED.

And this is why I should change my career plans

From my highly non-scientific observations:

There is a perfect correlation between a female's ability to be a lawyer and her tendency to be a COMPLETE raging bitch.

And I want to go to law school?

Timing, people! TIMING!

Look, if I've pried myself out of bed, slogged through the rain, and hiked up four flights of stairs?

I'm no longer happy to discover that you've canceled class.

Now, if I'd known earlier and NOT ALREADY HAVE WOKEN UP? Different story.

(What, you can't plan your emergencies in advance? Sheesh.)

SHIT.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

My econ midterm grade is apparently now accessible on my student page online. I have not actually checked, but I have heard as much from other people in the class.

SHIT.

I HATE FINDING OUT STUFF ONLINE. Seriously. College admissions? Nearly killed me. (Those of you who knew me then, yeah, DUH.)

And now it's THERE. WAITING. Waiting for me to check it. AND I'M SUPPOSEED TO BE WRITING A PAPER HERE.

Fuck it. I'm not checking it. I'll go to her office hours tomorrow and ask for it back, and then I can further humiliate myself by crying in front of her. EXCELLENT PLAN.

Life as me

Oooooooh I'm supposed be rewriting an essay because it's due tomorrow, but naturally I'm blogging instead because productivity? Pffft.

I just got back from a meeting with one of my professors who had the unfortunate job of informing me that basically, I completely suck at writing. Lovely. He did so, of course, in an extremely polite, scholarly fashion, which made things even greater, because he's this amazingly refined academic and I'm the girl who tripped walking into his office.

I'm also the girl who....ok, this is where it gets complicated. See, I fidget. I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with all the coffee I drink, but seriously, if you could just hook the fidgeting up to a generator, we'd have even less excuse to be at war in Iraq, because we'd have no energy problem. (Ba-dum-CHHH! Come for the caffeine-induced babbeling, stay for the biting political commentary. Biting.)

So, I'm fidgeting. Usually the fidgeting involves an object, like my fingernails and my teeth, but I'm still working on that, so I was playing with a pen. A purple pen, if you'd like to picture the whole scenario in your minds. Anyway. The pen has a clicky thing on top, which is absolutely fantastic for nervous twitchers, but I'm also speaking to said prof at the time, so that's out. I thus had to be content with bending the somewhat rigid clip on the pen. Oooh look. It gets farther away...and farther away...and farther---aaaaaand it's just broken off and been catapaulted an indeterminite distance away and I don't see where it's landed. NICE.

Oh great, he probably saw that.

Erk---what if it, like, catapaulted into him? Or clipped him on the ear mid-flight.

Great.

Best-case scenario--he didn't see it happen, finds a mysterious purple piece of plastic in a distant corner of his office some weeks later.

Worst-case sceanrio--I just tagged a highly respected academic with a pen cap.

Smooth, girl. Real smooth.

You might want to rethink the order there

"Well, first they got drunk. And they had sex. Then they got drunk again. And they had more sex."

"Then they went on their first date."

Doing a slow burn

Memo to that guy on the next elliptical trainer:

Hi. I'm sure you're an incredibly fit, hardcore athlete. You must be. You have the super-expensive Nike Shox, the clothes, the iPod accessories. And wow, I must say that I was impressed by the sheer speed at which you were able to operate that elliptical. Those pedals were FLYING.

(I was particularly blown away by the way your incredible velocity caused you to fling sweat on everyone in a fifty-foot radius. That really sealed my opinion of your TREMENDOUS athletic ability.)

I also especially love how, as you stepped off your machine and wiped the sweat from your forehead in a manly fashion, you smiled condesendingly at the struggling guy next to you, and informed him that "It gets easier, bro."

How touching. The Star coming down to speak words of inspiration to a mere mortal. Maybe one day, he'll reach your level.

I would, however, have been slightly more impressed if the read-out on your machine hadn't been blinking "Current Resistence Level: 1" in large, easily read LEDs throughout your entire display of "fitness."

I'm proud to report that I did not scream "He's on Level 12, BITCH."

But I wanted too.

Because basically, despite the clothes, the iPod, the sweat, and the disgusting attitude?

You're still not a badass.

Types of drunks

Some people CANNOT HANDLE ALCOHOL. (I realize this is a revolutionary discovery. I'll wait as you alert the media.)

I suppose I could stretch just a TEENSY bit farther in my reasoning here and say that different people handle alcohol in different ways. Yes, I sound like AlcoholEdu. Relax. So. I've encountered the following personalities:

1. Sleepyhead--Takes it to heart that alcohol is a depressant. Becomes lethargic, boring, and usually heads back to the dorm to take a nap. This is me, by the way. Hold the beer, hand me a Red Bull, and we'll carry on.

2. Persons of extremely advantageous ancestry--Ask them how much they've had. They'll get it wrong, not because they're too trashed to remember. It's becasue they can't count that high.

3. Persons of extremely disadvantageous ancestry--Half a Keystone light and HEY LOOK AT THE PRETTY COLORS I CAN SEE THROUGH TIME!

4. I love you, man---Some of us have apparently confused our beer with our Ecstacy. A rather interesting character, especially if you can videotape his more revealing confessions.

5. Obedient--Completely trashed, but will follow you like a puppy dog. Amusing, easy to lead away from frat.

and my unfavorite:

6. HEY LOOK I'M SO DRUNK. OH MY GOD. I AM SO WASTED. I HAD LIKE SEVEN MUDSLIDES. LOOK AT ME. I'M SOOOOOOO TRASHED. I'M LIKE, TOTALLY GOING TO PUKE. NO, WAIT, I'M FINE. REALLY. I'M SO FINE. WATCH. I CAN DANCE! YEEEEAAAH! HEY GUUUUUUYS! WATCH ME. I'M DANCING! IT'S FUNNY! I'M DRUNK. WHERE ARE YOU GOING? NOOOOOO! DON'T CALL (name of campus law enforcement.) I'M SO FINE. I CAN TOTALLY HANDLE IT. OH WOW I JUST FELL DOWN. HEY, NOW I'M PUKING ON YOUR SHOES. HAHA THAT'S SO FUNNY. YEAH! LOOK AT ME BE DRUNK!

*pulls hair out*

Ok, I have a test in 5 hours. i should probably get around to...studying or something. Yeah.

Quote of the Day

"Hold on, sunflower seeds have SHELLS? No way! THAT'S WHY THEY TASTED BAD!"

I love you EB!

You guys are so cute, but I'm getting squooshed

Awww. People complained that I didn't update! (And by people, of course, I mean, MASSIVE HORDES OF CLAMORING FANS. Not, like, one of you who has no life. Hi Leina!)

So. Things I've been doing instead of blogging?

1. Devoloping new and creative ways to fall out of bed.
2. Sleeping on other people's rugs.
3. Accidentally melting plastic bowls in the microwave.
4. Accidentally-on-purpose melting plastic bowls in the microwave because hey look, swirly plastic!
5. Bitch-slapping Paris Hilton.
6. Contemplating my sudden lack of socks.
7. Making excellent use of green food coloring and blaming Dr. Seuss.
8. Negotiating Fruit-By-The-Foot property rights.
9. Popping the bubble wrap. All of it.

and

10. LEARNING SPANISH.

Eeeep.

So, this extremely kick-ass professor at my school developed this revolutionary method of teaching languages that is actually quite well known, and I think I've just handily dispatched with any secrets of where I actually attend college if you know how to use Google.

Because, like, I have thousands of readers stalking me.

Anyway, this method. Basically, they cram four years of high school spanish into one trimester, snap their fingers in your face, and demand that you answer instantaneously in a language you don't speak.

Yet.

Because you will speak it. They make sure of that. However, I no longer think of this as "learning" Spanish. I think of it as being ASSAULTED by Spanish.

Unfortuantely, right now, Spanish is winning.

Damn technology. (Damn frat boys.)

I do not like being bested by technology. (Case in point: spent half of Friday night bent over The Blonde With Hot Librarian Glasses' broken speaker while we figured out how to use nail clippers as an emergency screwdriver. And it WORKED, bitches, it worked.)

Regardless, technology does occasionally win. Example:

Blitz (it means email, it sounds cooler, go with it) is life. Blitzes may, of course, be directed to multiple people. If blitzing out to a campus-wide list, the option becomes available to suppress recipient list. Proper etiquette dictates this, as it prevents the inevitable idiot from hitting "reply all" and spamming THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY with their stupid question. Frats having parties generally want blitz out to as many people as possible, so it's far from unusual to get a message from a frat that has a suppressed recipient list.

Quick review of frat boy stereotypes: Your average frat boy is not a genius, but your average Dartmouth frat boy is pretty smart. But your average Dartmouth frat boy is not geeky, because they're all concentrated in one frat that has lame parties. That said: non geeky frat boys can become veeeerry technologically proficient if they have sufficient motivation.

Case in point: I received a blitz today from a certain frat. It announced that they were having a "Schoolgirl party." (You know, in retrospect, this sounds REALLY STUPID. But this frat had a schoolgirl party last year too, so it's plausible) The recipient list was suppressed, ergo, it went to the whole campus. My friends also received it. Nothing suspicious so far.

Now, as some of you may recall, I have a fair number of rather short, pleated skirts. (What???) Enough to supply us all, actually. So we had the skirts. We had the short white shirts. And the heels. And the hair ribbons. And, naturally, The Blonde With Hot Librarian Glasses was working the glasses. Yes, we're sluts. But that's why frats have themed parties--girls will use any reason, no matter how flimsy, to JUSTIFY dressing like a whore--ESPECIALLY if they have the reasonable expectation that MANY other females will be similarly attired.

If, however, a group of schoolgirls hits the frat and discovers that somehow, they were BASICALLY THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO RECEIVED THE BLITZ TELLING THEM TO DRESS LIKE SCHOOLGIRLS....well, there's going to be some rage. And some MAJOR staring. And some frat brothers telling you that "you ladies are welcome back anytime." And that's all that they said that I'm going to repeat.

I, after escaping, jumped back on my computer and discovered that someone has figured out how to suppress a recipient list even if the blitz is only going to a few people, thus tricking those few people into thinking that they are one of HUNDREDS of recipients when actually, they're just targets. NICE.