The above is the most obvious thing a person in school could say. Very few people actually ENJOY school. Even kindergartners, when they're scribbling away on paper and having the time of their lives stop every once in a while, glance at their surroundings and piss their pants in protest. However, I am one of those very few people who prefer school.
I understand completely if you can no longer relate to anything I say. That's fine, I understand. But just hear me out. I do like going to class and I enjoy the atmosphere in school. I know from sitting around during the summer, that if you have nothing to do you will soon start to do weird shit. One time, after being home with three days straight and nothing to do, I color categorized the my DVDs on their shelf due the the colors on the spine of the box. Or, take for example, last Tuesday when I was done with classes at 12, and had nothing to do until 8. I spent forty-five minutes on Wikipedia and brushed up on some more bullshit information that will get me NO WHERE.
And I really enjoyed school this year. Why? Well, I'm done for the week Wednesday at 545, and I don't have to go back in until Monday at noon. That's a pretty enjoyable weekend. Not to mention I'm done with classes at noon on Tuesdays, and done with classes at 2 on Mondays. That's a whole bunch of free time to nap, catch up on my How I Met Your Mother, write silly stories as gifts to friends, you name it, I've done it.
For a while, I was loving life. And then the last month of school came around and BAM eight projects, mother fucker. The universe is basically punishing me for all the times I na-na-na-na-na-NA-ed, to all of my other friends who had full days or hard projects or my sister who sits on a train for four hours a day WITHOUT AN IPOD.
This will count as the second time I've been smited. I love how the word smited doesn't really exist, but "to smite" does exist. This leads me to believe that if you've been smited by a holier being, they don't want you to talk about it, and they've even gone ahead and not made a word so it'll be easier for you to keep your mouth shut.
The first time I was smited, I was sunbathing with friends. They were talking about how sometimes (and this is a gross, but true fact about girls, apparently) they would get pimples on their shoulders or a little bit along their chest. In all honesty, hand on a Bible, I don't get pimples. I have been blessed with skin that breaks out less than once a year on average (though when it does, it's a small smattering of pimples near my mouth and it looks like I have herpes. Trust me, it's not a herpes outbreak, I've asked.)
When my friends turned to me, and it was my turn to input my voice into this conversation I just shrugged and said, "I don't know about your gross asses, but I don't get pimples." They didn't believe me and said, you never get pimples? And I said no, I honestly didn't know you COULD get pimples anywhere but your face, because I had never in my life had one.
The next day I woke up and there was a pimple on my boob. Touche, God, touche.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Daily Picture
Found this picture a while back. For the longest time it was my profile picture on Facebook. I like this picture for a few reasons. One, this kid looks like he is having the time of his life, which is so unfortunate. I mean, usually with these pics everyone is smiling, but you can see the cold hard look of rotting soul in their eyes. This kid, however, looks like he's having some straight up fun. Another reason I love this picture is because these types of pics are one of the reasons I want kids. I'm going to wait until they start acting like little assholes, then I'm going to take them to one of these picture places, stick a Winnie the Pooh umbrella in their hand and tell them to act as though their doing the electric slide at their cousins wedding. And the next time my fucking kid so much as looks at me funny, I'm going to whip out that pic, shove it in their face and say, "This can very easily be on the third page of the newspaper by morning. Understand me?"
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
My laziness is an art form
I share a bathroom with one of my three roommates. Last month was our spring break, and afterward she had family matters to attend to, and did not return to school until this past Sunday. About two months ago it was her turn to buy toilet paper. She was displeased with my purchase of the dollar store kind (four for a dollar, son), and decided she wanted to buy the "nice stuff." The nice stuff was the like forty-eight rolls for nineteen dollars. Now, I don't know about everyone else, but I don't have nine-fifty in toilet paper money lying around, so I told her I wasn't going to be able to pay her, and she had said before we went to the store to get it, that that was perfectly fine. She said she understood why I might not be able to afford NINE-FIFTY IN TOILET PAPER! And I was grateful that she understood. Because, as I said, she said she understood. She understood so much that when she left for THREE AND A HALF WEEKS, she locked our toilet paper in her room.
I did not realize right away that I was out of toilet paper. I come spilling into my dorm room, my bag falling to the ground by the door, my ipod hanging from the earbuds in my ear, my books flying onto the couch. I trip over my bag, bang my chest into the counter, fling my ipod onto the couch next to my books and haul some serious ass into the bathroom because I was about to pee my pants. And we were out of toilet paper. I hurried to the other bathroom in the apartment where my other two roommates shared a shower and toilet. And they, too, were out of toilet paper. I finally found a half used roll under the counter and made do.
My solution was short lived, though. Going to Target and buying some toilet paper was probably the easiest option. However, I had front row parking at my dorm. I'll repeat: FRONT. ROW. PARKING. I assumed it was just a myth before that morning. I assumed the people who had front row parking got it moving day and had not moved since. I was unaware you could even park so close to the dorm that I didn't have to pack a lunch to get from my car to the door of my apartment. The hell I was leaving that parking spot for anything besides zombie apocalypse.
So, I searched for a new solution. And what was my new solution? Toilet paper theft. I would go into a bathroom stall at school and roll and roll and roll the toilet paper until there was enough to last me the day, stuff it in my purse and leave. Skeezy and kind of weird, yes, I know, I realize this, but it worked, people. It worked!
Wait, is it actually illegal to steal toilet paper? Well, then, I allegedly stole toilet paper from bathroom stalls. I heard from a friend of a friend that I did, and I can't be sure. I might have. And if I did steal toilet paper, it's probably all gone by now.
Well, this toilet paper incident inspired me to take a good hard look at my surroundings and I realized my apartment was a mess. I began to clean the kitchen. I washed the dishes, wiped down the counters, found out we have a blender, all good things. I was just about done when I found something wedged into the corner behind various appliances. Something blue and crumbly. Something moldy. Something that used to be bread. Yes, a loaf of bread that I found March 20 and that expired August 30, was sitting on my counter. This got me a little concernakiss.
I went through my cabinets to look at all of my other food. All of it was expired. And not just by a few days, but some by months. I started yanking things out of the cabinet in horror. I was actually quite scared, because all of my snacks were beyond expired. I mean, I don't even remember BUYING Wheat Thins, so that must have been a LONG time ago. I threw everything away and now I have no food in the apartment. I'm starving. My stomach is making demands that sound startlingly like, "You fucking bitch, go EAT SOMETHING!"
But still...FRONT. ROW. PARKING.
I did not realize right away that I was out of toilet paper. I come spilling into my dorm room, my bag falling to the ground by the door, my ipod hanging from the earbuds in my ear, my books flying onto the couch. I trip over my bag, bang my chest into the counter, fling my ipod onto the couch next to my books and haul some serious ass into the bathroom because I was about to pee my pants. And we were out of toilet paper. I hurried to the other bathroom in the apartment where my other two roommates shared a shower and toilet. And they, too, were out of toilet paper. I finally found a half used roll under the counter and made do.
My solution was short lived, though. Going to Target and buying some toilet paper was probably the easiest option. However, I had front row parking at my dorm. I'll repeat: FRONT. ROW. PARKING. I assumed it was just a myth before that morning. I assumed the people who had front row parking got it moving day and had not moved since. I was unaware you could even park so close to the dorm that I didn't have to pack a lunch to get from my car to the door of my apartment. The hell I was leaving that parking spot for anything besides zombie apocalypse.
So, I searched for a new solution. And what was my new solution? Toilet paper theft. I would go into a bathroom stall at school and roll and roll and roll the toilet paper until there was enough to last me the day, stuff it in my purse and leave. Skeezy and kind of weird, yes, I know, I realize this, but it worked, people. It worked!
Wait, is it actually illegal to steal toilet paper? Well, then, I allegedly stole toilet paper from bathroom stalls. I heard from a friend of a friend that I did, and I can't be sure. I might have. And if I did steal toilet paper, it's probably all gone by now.
Well, this toilet paper incident inspired me to take a good hard look at my surroundings and I realized my apartment was a mess. I began to clean the kitchen. I washed the dishes, wiped down the counters, found out we have a blender, all good things. I was just about done when I found something wedged into the corner behind various appliances. Something blue and crumbly. Something moldy. Something that used to be bread. Yes, a loaf of bread that I found March 20 and that expired August 30, was sitting on my counter. This got me a little concernakiss.
I went through my cabinets to look at all of my other food. All of it was expired. And not just by a few days, but some by months. I started yanking things out of the cabinet in horror. I was actually quite scared, because all of my snacks were beyond expired. I mean, I don't even remember BUYING Wheat Thins, so that must have been a LONG time ago. I threw everything away and now I have no food in the apartment. I'm starving. My stomach is making demands that sound startlingly like, "You fucking bitch, go EAT SOMETHING!"
But still...FRONT. ROW. PARKING.
Just a little thought
So, the other night I was watching Vacancy (you know that hot mess with the motel and Kate Beckinsale) and Luke Wilson was running around for his life, unable to get service on his cell phone. My immediate thought? You should have gone with Verizon, bitch.
One of Life's Most Intriguing Questions
When I really thought about it, I asked the same question as they did. How can you?
Daily Celeb Birthday
March 30:
Celine Dion
(Doesn't it look like she's going, "Oooooh, guuuuuuuuuuuuurl!")
Monday, March 29, 2010
One day, two photos
What what!
And I will beat the bitch that disagrees. Oh, b-t-dubbs, for those of you who don't know, I am in love with Snape. He is my favorite Harry Potter character and always has been, even when everyone else thought he was evil. I didn't care one way or another, because, let's face it, he had a point: Harry could be a little bitch.
And I will beat the bitch that disagrees. Oh, b-t-dubbs, for those of you who don't know, I am in love with Snape. He is my favorite Harry Potter character and always has been, even when everyone else thought he was evil. I didn't care one way or another, because, let's face it, he had a point: Harry could be a little bitch.
That kind of day
So, besides the eight major projects I have due within the next three weeks and the massive stress that comes with it, I've had a pretty bitchen day. What kind of day? The kind of day when a stray butterfly lands on my shoulder. That kind of day.
Overheard AGAIN in class
So, the same girl who gave us this gem again began spouting shit in the middle of class. However, what the said today was so random and so weird that I actually had to turn around so she could see the distaste on my face for her. Because, really, there is a time and a place for declerations such as that, but in the middle of an English class? No. In the middle of a health class? Absolutely.
Again, we were in the middle of lecture and I heard her start sniffing. Then I heard her say, "It smells like rape in here."
I'll repeat for those of you in the back. IT SMELLS LIKE RAPE IN HERE. Her friend didn't respond, which is understandable. If her friend were to reply, "Oh, yeah, it does" then that meant either one of two things, neither are very good. Ugh, I don't know. Damn it, I HATE people!
Again, we were in the middle of lecture and I heard her start sniffing. Then I heard her say, "It smells like rape in here."
I'll repeat for those of you in the back. IT SMELLS LIKE RAPE IN HERE. Her friend didn't respond, which is understandable. If her friend were to reply, "Oh, yeah, it does" then that meant either one of two things, neither are very good. Ugh, I don't know. Damn it, I HATE people!
Ugh
So, curiosity finally got the best of me. I saw New Moon tonight and...I was very happy. I was happy because I saw it and it solidified my belief that this movie was created for the sole purpose of being a torture device. I sat through 3/4 of that movie and then had to turn it off because it FUCKING SUCKED. Halfway through I was more concerned with the hangnail on my right hand then what was going on. One thing I will admit? The director was very smart. Why?
Because he put Michael Sheen in the beginning of the movie, catching my interest, and then didn't put him back in again until the last few minutes that I saw. Therefore, the director ensured I would stick around long enough to see Michael Sheen again. However, the lure of Michael Sheen was not enough to make up for the SHIT the movie was made up of.
Seriously, it was like a bad Lifetime movie that WOULD. NOT. END. Seeing it in front of me just seemed to make it worse and I would go from laughing hysterically at the dialogue or the scene, and then quickly sink back into boredom. It was like watching a commercial for SAD in reverse.
Because he put Michael Sheen in the beginning of the movie, catching my interest, and then didn't put him back in again until the last few minutes that I saw. Therefore, the director ensured I would stick around long enough to see Michael Sheen again. However, the lure of Michael Sheen was not enough to make up for the SHIT the movie was made up of.
Seriously, it was like a bad Lifetime movie that WOULD. NOT. END. Seeing it in front of me just seemed to make it worse and I would go from laughing hysterically at the dialogue or the scene, and then quickly sink back into boredom. It was like watching a commercial for SAD in reverse.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Dream
Now, I will be the first to admit that my subconscious is kind of fucked up, like the girl in the back of class who chews on her hair. It likes to compile everything I've encountered either in a day, or in my entire life, put it into a blender and spit out weird little dreams for me to experience.
Last night, for example, I had another weird dream that I can't really make much sense out of. My parents and I lived in a camper and, for whatever reason, they were letting two pedophiles live with us, despite my protests of, "Um, no, he's a PEDOPHILE, and there aren't enough beds!" I was so angered by them, that I got out my phone and tried to call my friend to see if I could spend the night at her house. She didn't answer and I woke up. I woke up incredibly troubled and tried to figure out why. Then it hit me.The whole living in a camper thing didn't worry me much. The pedophiles didn't worry me much. Even the fact that my parents took the side of the sickos didn't worry me much. What did worry me? That when I called my friend in my dream she didn't answer. So, the first thing I did this morning? Call her and see if she answered. (She did.)
This also reminds me of a dream I had a while back that was so messed up, I actually wrote it down before I could forget about it. In that dream I was at the movies with my mom. People came in and held up the movie theater and started shooting people. I somehow escaped and went to the police station to try and get help. As I was sitting in the waiting room waiting for help, my phone kept ringing. I finally picked it up, and it was my best friends. They were at Epcot and they wanted me to know they were having a good time. I told them I had to go because I had just been shot at. I then woke up.
And my first thought upon waking up? "Those bitches, they dream-went to Epcot without me!" I then called them and bitched to them for a half hour and made them swear on the lives of their future children that they will never go to any theme park without me. Even if I'm dead.
Last night, for example, I had another weird dream that I can't really make much sense out of. My parents and I lived in a camper and, for whatever reason, they were letting two pedophiles live with us, despite my protests of, "Um, no, he's a PEDOPHILE, and there aren't enough beds!" I was so angered by them, that I got out my phone and tried to call my friend to see if I could spend the night at her house. She didn't answer and I woke up. I woke up incredibly troubled and tried to figure out why. Then it hit me.The whole living in a camper thing didn't worry me much. The pedophiles didn't worry me much. Even the fact that my parents took the side of the sickos didn't worry me much. What did worry me? That when I called my friend in my dream she didn't answer. So, the first thing I did this morning? Call her and see if she answered. (She did.)
This also reminds me of a dream I had a while back that was so messed up, I actually wrote it down before I could forget about it. In that dream I was at the movies with my mom. People came in and held up the movie theater and started shooting people. I somehow escaped and went to the police station to try and get help. As I was sitting in the waiting room waiting for help, my phone kept ringing. I finally picked it up, and it was my best friends. They were at Epcot and they wanted me to know they were having a good time. I told them I had to go because I had just been shot at. I then woke up.
And my first thought upon waking up? "Those bitches, they dream-went to Epcot without me!" I then called them and bitched to them for a half hour and made them swear on the lives of their future children that they will never go to any theme park without me. Even if I'm dead.
Just a thought
You know what I'm getting really sick and tired of doing? Actually explaining to people why I don't like Twilight. Since when has not liking Twilight become the 'Explaining why I have herpes' of today's society?
(P.S. I don't have herpes, but when you see some of the actual reactions I get from people, I mine as well have an oozing vagina on my forehead.)
(P.S. I don't have herpes, but when you see some of the actual reactions I get from people, I mine as well have an oozing vagina on my forehead.)
Daily Celeb Birthday
March 28:
Lady Gaga
Of all the crazy ass pictures that filled up Google images, I chose this one. Why? Because she is exactly what I picture voice inside my head. Now, I'm not saying I hear voices, I'm talking about the everyday stuff such as when we read, or when we think "Remember to buy and or steal toilet paper after class." That voice. I picture my voice, however, I picture the owner of that voice to look something like that.
Daily Picture
Normally, if a guy gave me flowers, I would smile and begrudgingly accept them. When in actuality, I never want my boyfriend/husband to EVER buy me flowers. Flowers and jewelry are on a short list of Shit I Never Want. I don't wear jewelry and I'm allergic to flowers. You want to make me happy in my lady parts? Buy me a DVD or a poster or something. A bag of M&Ms will not last as long, but I'll enjoy them more. BACON ROSES, however, is a whole different ball game. Whole different ball game of AWESOME!!
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