Dear Blogger,
It's over. I'm sorry. I tried to work it out, but you're just stuck in your old ways. I need someone new, who is refreshing, ready for life and loves me for who I am. I am not so easily defined in this little box you have here. I need space. And the truth is, I'm seeing someone else. Ya, I'm sorry. He's a little smarter than you and yea, he's younger than you, but everyone loves a cougar. So I'm moving out and leaving my stuff with you. If you really love me, you'll want to stay updated on what I'm doing now. Usually, I wouldn't encourage you to stalk me, but I think we can stay friends, don't you? So look me up here
Blogger, I loved you so, but somethings aren't meant to be.
<3 Robin
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Random musings of my day as I procrastinate studying for exams
I just remembered today that doctors told me when I was a kid that I was going to be 5'9'' and a mathematical genius. When I topped out at 5'3'' in 8th grade and I barely made it through algebra 2 junior year, I knew I had been lied to.
Has anyone seen the commercial with Noah Wiley about the polar bears? It's the real life, even more depressing version of the "Inconvenient Truth" polar bear scene. Both of which almost made me cry. Damn you, polar bears.
So, I Googled myself and found this Asian guy talking about the first sweater I made for KnitScene
I also finally joined Raverly (I'm going to geek on all of you about knitting for a second) which is this website that allows people who knit to post the projects they are working on, along with their progress and pictures. So, narcissistic me looked to see if anyone was making my designs and sure enough about 15 people were. It's really cool knowing people out there are making and enjoying the stuff I designed. The sweaters I sat frantically knitting to meet deadline, the sweaters I called my mom in rage when I botched the front and back with too many dropped stitches and the sweaters that ended up costing me money to the IRS, are now being worn by people all over the country.
I am convinced that living on the third floor of University Suites is deadly. Stock and I, who share a wall on the third floor, have spent this entire semester sick. I am now ending the semester from Hell with a lovely case of tonsillitis. I've been having trouble with my vocal chords for the past two months, so when I woke up Friday morning with the part of my throat hurting that has been for awhile, I thought nothing of it. When I nearly fell asleep on the bench at Old Navy waiting for Kathryn and woke up the next morning unable to speak, I knew it was much more than my vocal chords. So I spent yesterday in bed vacillating between freezing and sweating and unable to eat. But I feel better today thanks to my trusty Z-pak. Go Arithromycin! You should click that link about tonsillitis, there is a graphic picture of what it looks like.
The ECU Prostitution Video:
It's finally finished. A lot of you have been asking about it and as soon as I can get it up online, I will. But here's a fun tale until then. Stefanie and I spent about 10 hours filming and maybe 10 hours editing for a 4 minute and 44 second film (we're clearly mediocre at Final Cut Pro). We finished a day ahead of schedule. We logged it on our tape, ready to turn it in. We watched it that night to make sure it looked good. We almost threw up when the video was just a blue screen. We had one day to make this work. I assumed that maybe we just had some settings wrong. I went to the editing lab to find out that half of my files were missing. Shit. I finally was able to get on the computer that we edited it on and luckily the files showed up there. But then it wouldn't write to tape. Then I couldn't add back in stuff that I needed to add. Then files that I needed rendered, wouldn't render. I sat there for an hour and a half staring at the screen, moments away from a mental break down, watching my G.P.A. crumble because this project is worth 25% of your grade. And then, by no means by my ability to properly use Final Cut Pro, everything worked out right there with 5 minutes before the editing lab closed. I left with a horrible headache, needing a strong drink and a new found hatred for Final Cut Pro. In all actuality, I wish it hadn't taken me until the end of my junior year to realize that I really like doing all this (even though I'm really bad at it).
Is anyone capable of drinking from a Nalgene bottle without spilling it all over themselves? I'm sure as hell not.
Has anyone seen the commercial with Noah Wiley about the polar bears? It's the real life, even more depressing version of the "Inconvenient Truth" polar bear scene. Both of which almost made me cry. Damn you, polar bears.
So, I Googled myself and found this Asian guy talking about the first sweater I made for KnitScene
I also finally joined Raverly (I'm going to geek on all of you about knitting for a second) which is this website that allows people who knit to post the projects they are working on, along with their progress and pictures. So, narcissistic me looked to see if anyone was making my designs and sure enough about 15 people were. It's really cool knowing people out there are making and enjoying the stuff I designed. The sweaters I sat frantically knitting to meet deadline, the sweaters I called my mom in rage when I botched the front and back with too many dropped stitches and the sweaters that ended up costing me money to the IRS, are now being worn by people all over the country.
I am convinced that living on the third floor of University Suites is deadly. Stock and I, who share a wall on the third floor, have spent this entire semester sick. I am now ending the semester from Hell with a lovely case of tonsillitis. I've been having trouble with my vocal chords for the past two months, so when I woke up Friday morning with the part of my throat hurting that has been for awhile, I thought nothing of it. When I nearly fell asleep on the bench at Old Navy waiting for Kathryn and woke up the next morning unable to speak, I knew it was much more than my vocal chords. So I spent yesterday in bed vacillating between freezing and sweating and unable to eat. But I feel better today thanks to my trusty Z-pak. Go Arithromycin! You should click that link about tonsillitis, there is a graphic picture of what it looks like.
The ECU Prostitution Video:
It's finally finished. A lot of you have been asking about it and as soon as I can get it up online, I will. But here's a fun tale until then. Stefanie and I spent about 10 hours filming and maybe 10 hours editing for a 4 minute and 44 second film (we're clearly mediocre at Final Cut Pro). We finished a day ahead of schedule. We logged it on our tape, ready to turn it in. We watched it that night to make sure it looked good. We almost threw up when the video was just a blue screen. We had one day to make this work. I assumed that maybe we just had some settings wrong. I went to the editing lab to find out that half of my files were missing. Shit. I finally was able to get on the computer that we edited it on and luckily the files showed up there. But then it wouldn't write to tape. Then I couldn't add back in stuff that I needed to add. Then files that I needed rendered, wouldn't render. I sat there for an hour and a half staring at the screen, moments away from a mental break down, watching my G.P.A. crumble because this project is worth 25% of your grade. And then, by no means by my ability to properly use Final Cut Pro, everything worked out right there with 5 minutes before the editing lab closed. I left with a horrible headache, needing a strong drink and a new found hatred for Final Cut Pro. In all actuality, I wish it hadn't taken me until the end of my junior year to realize that I really like doing all this (even though I'm really bad at it).
Is anyone capable of drinking from a Nalgene bottle without spilling it all over themselves? I'm sure as hell not.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Obama Goes to College
So for those of you who don't go to ECU or do and live under a rock, presidential candidate Barack Obama came and spoke at Minges Coliseum last Thursday. Clearly my lateness in blogging about this speaks highly of my ability to be a journalist.
The Obama Adventure started at 2:20 on Thursday, when Burch and I boarded the packed Minges bus in hopes of getting there early enough to be let in. Doors didn't open until four, but by 2:30 the line was already stretching down the parking lot and beginning to curve through the grass. Bowman and Merkle caught up with us ten minutes later and by then the line was snaking its way through the majority of the grassy section. After staking our places in line, Burch and I ran off to Rite Aid to stock up on Goldfish, water, beef jerky and gummy worms. We had hours of waiting ahead of us; we couldn't be famished and sitting in the sun. When we returned around 3:30, Ellis had joined us and the entire field was trampled. We were told that only 500 people were going to be let in, but there were already over a thousand people here. We all tried to guess the amount people who showed up, but none of us were very good at that jelly beans in the jar game.
The line began moving a little before four and by 4:15 we were sitting in the cramped seats of the Williams Arena. We were sandwiched between six annoying frat guys, a guy who had a striking resemblance to Louie Anderson, various Pitt County residents and some perturbed ECU students. And there we sat and sat; there was another two hour wait until anything would be happening. Ellis pretended to be doing Buddhism homework, while laughing at the ridiculous material I was putting on note cards for my merchandising final (it consisted of information on mannequins), Burch napped on Bowman's shoulder and Merkle grew increasingly aggravated as the frat boys behind us played a game called "Is this a cell phone?" for five minutes straight. The fear of not being able to get in was expunged when we realized everyone got in and then some. All in all, if I had to guess, there were probably 3,000 people there.
Finally, after our two hour wait, a big, boisterous, black woman emerged on the stage and everyone erupted in applause--for no one knew that we were in for several speeches that evening. Out of all the speeches, hers was the most memorable. The continuous mention of "Doctor BarackA Obama" certainly caused explosions of laughter and even more cheers when she finally pronounced it correctly. A line that stuck out the most for me was, "we welcome him with our hospitable hospitality." Her southern draw let the words fall out of her mouth one slow syllable at a time and the poor articulation caused her credibility to fall on deaf ears. The speakers to follow were an array men with political affiliations (my vagueness also lends itself to my ability to be a journalist), who spout out lines about turning our state "blue." Intermittently, to waste time, campaign helpers would run out throwing Obama "A change to believe in"posters to ECU students, who eagerly flung forward to grab one so they could hang it side by side with their beer posters at home.
Finally, after agonizingly boring speeches by politicians and campaign supporters that I had no interest in, Barack came out. Everyone stood and cheered, people on the floor lurched forward to be able to shake his hand and one girl cried as she waved her Obama book back and forth. Obama took the stage and out came the speech he had obviously rattled off numerous times before.
Now a few points on his speech...
I liked his proposal on allotting a 4,00o dollar stipend each year to college students to pay for college, although I'm not really one for community service. I liked that he wants to start pulling us out of Iraq. I liked that he wants to improve our infrastructure and create more jobs. I even liked his goals of improving health care, although they were lofty and I don't think they are obtainable. I didn't like the obvious use of persuasion in his speech. OK, he's here for one reason to win our votes--it's supposed to be persuasive, but his use of saying "that's why I need to be the next president of the United States," was excessive. Of course everyone cheered and applauded every time he said that, but I found it unnecessary. I found his quote of "I will stop global warming," a bit ridiculous. I'm all for reducing global warming, but you sir, can not stop it. His use of the word "they" instead of "we" when referring to working class people, really weakened his case. Using the fact that Bush will no longer be in office as a selling tool was also a weak point. Whether he is there or not, Bush won't be. Lastly, the ever persistent reference to 9/11 on any candidates point, really has to go. And is it at all possible for a presidential candidate to not use a Bruce Springsteen song as their campaign song?
Obama spoke for about 45 minutes and was far more eloquent then any of the speakers that preceded him. He knew what trigger words to say to really excite the crowd and knew what issues the people in attendance would want to hear. Despite some facets, I was impressed and was glad I went. At the speeches end, the five us pushed our way out of the stadium and were met with a giant smoke cloud seething up into the Greenville night air. (A 100 year old tobacco factory caught on fire.) We ran through the Pirates Place complex and through the grassy field that runs parallel to Evans to find our way home. As the thoughts of the imminent Mexican food
ran through our minds, the dangerous "lime snatch" crawled up our legs.
I am neither a Obama supporter or hater. I am a registered libertarian and if voting for Green wasn't a complete waste of a vote, I would do it. The next best bet is Democrat and so there for, when Obama tears Hilary apart in the Primaries, I will vote for him. I have no support in me for McCain though. I for one am sick of the Religious Right, conservative nut jobs. He wants to keep us in Iraq even if it takes a hundred years, he likes to play up his P.O.W. story as a selling point, he too believes in the ridiculousness of the "sanctity of marriage", he wants to spend more money on defense but thinks we're putting too much money into the arts, and he even considered having Condi as his VP. If he became president and Condi actually was his VP, I'd move to Canada.
The Obama Adventure started at 2:20 on Thursday, when Burch and I boarded the packed Minges bus in hopes of getting there early enough to be let in. Doors didn't open until four, but by 2:30 the line was already stretching down the parking lot and beginning to curve through the grass. Bowman and Merkle caught up with us ten minutes later and by then the line was snaking its way through the majority of the grassy section. After staking our places in line, Burch and I ran off to Rite Aid to stock up on Goldfish, water, beef jerky and gummy worms. We had hours of waiting ahead of us; we couldn't be famished and sitting in the sun. When we returned around 3:30, Ellis had joined us and the entire field was trampled. We were told that only 500 people were going to be let in, but there were already over a thousand people here. We all tried to guess the amount people who showed up, but none of us were very good at that jelly beans in the jar game.
The line began moving a little before four and by 4:15 we were sitting in the cramped seats of the Williams Arena. We were sandwiched between six annoying frat guys, a guy who had a striking resemblance to Louie Anderson, various Pitt County residents and some perturbed ECU students. And there we sat and sat; there was another two hour wait until anything would be happening. Ellis pretended to be doing Buddhism homework, while laughing at the ridiculous material I was putting on note cards for my merchandising final (it consisted of information on mannequins), Burch napped on Bowman's shoulder and Merkle grew increasingly aggravated as the frat boys behind us played a game called "Is this a cell phone?" for five minutes straight. The fear of not being able to get in was expunged when we realized everyone got in and then some. All in all, if I had to guess, there were probably 3,000 people there.
Finally, after our two hour wait, a big, boisterous, black woman emerged on the stage and everyone erupted in applause--for no one knew that we were in for several speeches that evening. Out of all the speeches, hers was the most memorable. The continuous mention of "Doctor BarackA Obama" certainly caused explosions of laughter and even more cheers when she finally pronounced it correctly. A line that stuck out the most for me was, "we welcome him with our hospitable hospitality." Her southern draw let the words fall out of her mouth one slow syllable at a time and the poor articulation caused her credibility to fall on deaf ears. The speakers to follow were an array men with political affiliations (my vagueness also lends itself to my ability to be a journalist), who spout out lines about turning our state "blue." Intermittently, to waste time, campaign helpers would run out throwing Obama "A change to believe in"posters to ECU students, who eagerly flung forward to grab one so they could hang it side by side with their beer posters at home.
Finally, after agonizingly boring speeches by politicians and campaign supporters that I had no interest in, Barack came out. Everyone stood and cheered, people on the floor lurched forward to be able to shake his hand and one girl cried as she waved her Obama book back and forth. Obama took the stage and out came the speech he had obviously rattled off numerous times before.
Now a few points on his speech...
I liked his proposal on allotting a 4,00o dollar stipend each year to college students to pay for college, although I'm not really one for community service. I liked that he wants to start pulling us out of Iraq. I liked that he wants to improve our infrastructure and create more jobs. I even liked his goals of improving health care, although they were lofty and I don't think they are obtainable. I didn't like the obvious use of persuasion in his speech. OK, he's here for one reason to win our votes--it's supposed to be persuasive, but his use of saying "that's why I need to be the next president of the United States," was excessive. Of course everyone cheered and applauded every time he said that, but I found it unnecessary. I found his quote of "I will stop global warming," a bit ridiculous. I'm all for reducing global warming, but you sir, can not stop it. His use of the word "they" instead of "we" when referring to working class people, really weakened his case. Using the fact that Bush will no longer be in office as a selling tool was also a weak point. Whether he is there or not, Bush won't be. Lastly, the ever persistent reference to 9/11 on any candidates point, really has to go. And is it at all possible for a presidential candidate to not use a Bruce Springsteen song as their campaign song?
Obama spoke for about 45 minutes and was far more eloquent then any of the speakers that preceded him. He knew what trigger words to say to really excite the crowd and knew what issues the people in attendance would want to hear. Despite some facets, I was impressed and was glad I went. At the speeches end, the five us pushed our way out of the stadium and were met with a giant smoke cloud seething up into the Greenville night air. (A 100 year old tobacco factory caught on fire.) We ran through the Pirates Place complex and through the grassy field that runs parallel to Evans to find our way home. As the thoughts of the imminent Mexican food
ran through our minds, the dangerous "lime snatch" crawled up our legs.
I am neither a Obama supporter or hater. I am a registered libertarian and if voting for Green wasn't a complete waste of a vote, I would do it. The next best bet is Democrat and so there for, when Obama tears Hilary apart in the Primaries, I will vote for him. I have no support in me for McCain though. I for one am sick of the Religious Right, conservative nut jobs. He wants to keep us in Iraq even if it takes a hundred years, he likes to play up his P.O.W. story as a selling point, he too believes in the ridiculousness of the "sanctity of marriage", he wants to spend more money on defense but thinks we're putting too much money into the arts, and he even considered having Condi as his VP. If he became president and Condi actually was his VP, I'd move to Canada.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Top Ten Things Junior Year Taught Me
Since this year is only one week from ending--thank god--I am going to recreate this blog post. It took me a week to write this and not because it is extremely well written or funny. I just had a really hard time thinking of things I learned, kind of sad.
1. Tequila gets you into trouble:
Burch and I both experienced a night together last semester that we coined as "the worst night of our lives," for very separate reasons, but it will haunt us for a long time and tequila was entirely to blame. Tequila makes me yell at grad students for some reason. Tequila makes me send text messages that I should not send. Tequila makes me dance when we go downtown (that's a terrible idea). Tequila makes me have pow wows in bathrooms at parties and confess things I shouldn't. Tequila has never made me do anything I'm proud of and yet, I continue to drink it on a regular basis. I love you, Jose.
2. Friends with benefits does not work:
I already knew this. And yet, I thought it would be a good idea to prove this to myself two more times. Also, don't give speeches about it. Those 120 people who heard it are going to find you on campus, on the bus or downtown. I can't tell you how many times I have been met with someone saying, "You're the girl who gave...." Yeah, that's me. I regret it, please leave me alone. How in the hell do you remember me? It was months ago, let's all just forget it ever happened. And no, that doesn't mean I want to have sex with you, but that's really cute. I guess you lose your dignity and all respect when you admit to things of that nature. Never again.
3. Living in University Suites can be titillating:
At least once a week, I hear gun shots and sirens as I'm falling asleep. It keeps things interesting, to say the least. When all the worst drivers aren't on Greenville Boulevard, they are driving in our complex. With the warm weather comes the roaches. Lots of them. They make for lovely decorative items on our linoleum floor. The neighbors you don't know will steal your pong table. The train will vibrate your bed, while the garbage men shake the giant dumpsters and the yard guys mow the grass at 7 a.m. You will hear when your neighbors and roommates have sex (we were probably already listening...I mean, what?). And lastly, if you live on the third floor, you will sweat the entire winter, while the person on the first floor freezes. In the summer it is the exact opposite. But this place is a godsend after a year at University Manor, so I'll take the roaches, sweating and bed vibrations.
4. PJ doesn't smell even after five months:
We threw a Halloween party this year and made about 18 gallons of PJ and we were left with at least six gallons afterwards. So we spent the next five days drinking the remainders and it still wasn't gone. After a total of six days of PJ, you get kind of sick of it and the fruit starts to taste really bad, so instead of dumping it out, we just put the lid back on the container we made it in and stuck it on the porch. Thanksgiving, Christmas and Valentine's Day came and went. Finally, when we had to go buy a new container to make Whamboozie for my birthday, we looked out at the porch and remembered we still had PJ from Halloween. I opened it and mold hadn't formed and it looked the same as it had the day we threw it out there. So I totally drank it and got wasted. Kidding, we threw it out, finally. But I was surprised to not be greeted with some new strand of fungus.
5. Don't attack Jewish boys in bars:
This past fall, I made a trip up to UNC to see Mattie, Justin and Badders. I decided to make it a tequila night (see side effects above) and we decided to go to Yeats. (I'm OK with Yeats. However, when we had gone there before some guy had tried to convince me that he and his friend had been on Legends of the Hidden temple. When he failed to tell me that the giant rock's name was Omeck, I knew he was lying.) I ended up drinking entirely too much tequila before we even left. When we got downtown, the first thing I did was harass two guys wearing crushed velvet jackets. Then Drew bargained his way in for us and once we got in, Morgan and I went and sat in an out cove, where much to our surprise was a guy wearing a yarmulke. Morgan looked over and said, "Look, there's a jew for you." I became estatic. I jumped up, knocked over this entire table of drinks these people were drinking and sat right next to him. I then badgered him all about his jew-ness for about 10 minutes. Every word that came out of my mouth, he inched closer and closer to the wall. He told me his name was Mordecai, but I'm calling bullshit. However, he was orthodox and I kept confusing their traditions with hasidic Jews and then profusely apologized after asking where his payes and fur trimmed hat were. He escaped shortly thereafter. When we left for the night, Ellis and I ran up Franklin Street screaming, "Fuck the Tarheels, ARGGHH" at anyone who passed by us, including 40 year old joggers. It was a great night, but I guess Jewish boys aren't looking to be attacked by shiksas who pretend to be Jewish. BAH!
6. I am never having a child:
As a nursing student, Stock spent this semester working with babies, preg women, and pre/post natal schenenigans. She of course would come back and report what she had seen that day to us. I will spare you all the gruesome details that come with child birth and pregnancy, but it is not for me. I spent countless hours gasping and holding my hand over my mouth trying not to vomit from all the horror stories of vag expansion, table shitting and mysterious goo. If schools want to prevent teen pregnancy, they just need to start giving details of it all. I want to go get my tubes tied right now. If I mistakenly get pregnant and don't "zap" it (mildly offensive? no.), I just want to be put into a coma until it is all over.
7. The flu is very fun:
Every year when people asked if I had gotten my flu shot I would say, "No, but I've never gotten the flu shot and I've never gotten the flu. So I'm good." Not this year my friends. It was a 21st birthday present for me. And let me just say after a week of more Law and Order SUV then anyone should watch and multiple packets of hot dogs, I was 8 pounds heavier and less of a person. It was hands down one of the worst weeks of my life. But I'm still not getting my flu shot, I mean, it worked the other twenty years of my life. Plus, I bet I'll be craving some hot dogs and rape cases come next February anyway.
8. Tanning beds: they're still gross:
I have refused to go to tanning beds my entire life. I didn't like the idea of baking in a box, having a lovely orange glow and the fact that my entire family has been plagued with skin cancer. I even ridiculed all of my friends who went to them. And then one day back in February I became a hypocrite. You see, I bought this red dress for my birthday. You can't be pale and wear red. It doesn't work. So I figured that since our complex offers free tanning, I would just go a few times. The first time wasn't too bad. Hell, it was almost relaxing. The next time I got over zealous and went a few minutes too long. Eh, nothing a two day break can't fix. The third time I emerged red, burned, covered in bulb lines, pissed and even more convinced that tanning beds are indeed gross. The lines and burn faded in time for my birthday, but I was greatly scarred by my moment of hypocrisy. I now turn to a five dollar bottle of Vaseline sunless tanner and it works just fine. And maybe some days I am orange, but it goes well with my hair.
9. Suddenly Single Slut Syndrome:
Contributed by Mattie, but I agree. It exists, grabs a hold, is the reason for #2 and always ends badly. We all have to do it sometime, right? (humor me?) You live, you learn (insert Alanis Morissette lyrics here) and we all came out OK. Next topic...
10. FINALLY: I enjoy ECU football games and am willing to drink beer:
I missed freshmen year football season because I was at UNC-G, but I still made it to the ECU homecoming game. However, I left at halftime. Sophomore year, I didn't go to any games. I usually went home on game day weekends. I couldn't care less if we won or lost. This year the first game we went to I was bored and sat there and complained (shro style, of course). After that game, I snuck my way into the Pirate Club Section and never looked back. When the girls wanted to leave early, I would try to find someone else who wanted to stay the rest of the game with me. ZB and I dance all across the bleachers and I even yell inappropriate things. For senior year, I'm actually going to buy a Pirate Club pass and look forward to playing the Snatch association game all over again. As for the beer...this is ground breaking. In high school, J. flare taught me how to drink with vodka and everclear. I never saw beer as a possibility; I thought it tasted disgusting. When I left for college, everyone told me I would start drinking beer. It didn't happen and I held strong to my penchant for liquor. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I finally gave in. I got sick of seeing everyone getting bottles of beer at 519 for a dollar, when I had to shell out atleast four for a measly cranberry vodka. I realize me drinking beer is kind of like, "what's the big fucking deal?" But believe me, the reactions I've already gotten from my friends, speak loudly to the fact that it is kind of a big fucking deal. Kind of like me. ;)
I wonder what I'll learn next year...
1. Tequila gets you into trouble:
Burch and I both experienced a night together last semester that we coined as "the worst night of our lives," for very separate reasons, but it will haunt us for a long time and tequila was entirely to blame. Tequila makes me yell at grad students for some reason. Tequila makes me send text messages that I should not send. Tequila makes me dance when we go downtown (that's a terrible idea). Tequila makes me have pow wows in bathrooms at parties and confess things I shouldn't. Tequila has never made me do anything I'm proud of and yet, I continue to drink it on a regular basis. I love you, Jose.
2. Friends with benefits does not work:
I already knew this. And yet, I thought it would be a good idea to prove this to myself two more times. Also, don't give speeches about it. Those 120 people who heard it are going to find you on campus, on the bus or downtown. I can't tell you how many times I have been met with someone saying, "You're the girl who gave...." Yeah, that's me. I regret it, please leave me alone. How in the hell do you remember me? It was months ago, let's all just forget it ever happened. And no, that doesn't mean I want to have sex with you, but that's really cute. I guess you lose your dignity and all respect when you admit to things of that nature. Never again.
3. Living in University Suites can be titillating:
At least once a week, I hear gun shots and sirens as I'm falling asleep. It keeps things interesting, to say the least. When all the worst drivers aren't on Greenville Boulevard, they are driving in our complex. With the warm weather comes the roaches. Lots of them. They make for lovely decorative items on our linoleum floor. The neighbors you don't know will steal your pong table. The train will vibrate your bed, while the garbage men shake the giant dumpsters and the yard guys mow the grass at 7 a.m. You will hear when your neighbors and roommates have sex (we were probably already listening...I mean, what?). And lastly, if you live on the third floor, you will sweat the entire winter, while the person on the first floor freezes. In the summer it is the exact opposite. But this place is a godsend after a year at University Manor, so I'll take the roaches, sweating and bed vibrations.
4. PJ doesn't smell even after five months:
We threw a Halloween party this year and made about 18 gallons of PJ and we were left with at least six gallons afterwards. So we spent the next five days drinking the remainders and it still wasn't gone. After a total of six days of PJ, you get kind of sick of it and the fruit starts to taste really bad, so instead of dumping it out, we just put the lid back on the container we made it in and stuck it on the porch. Thanksgiving, Christmas and Valentine's Day came and went. Finally, when we had to go buy a new container to make Whamboozie for my birthday, we looked out at the porch and remembered we still had PJ from Halloween. I opened it and mold hadn't formed and it looked the same as it had the day we threw it out there. So I totally drank it and got wasted. Kidding, we threw it out, finally. But I was surprised to not be greeted with some new strand of fungus.
5. Don't attack Jewish boys in bars:
This past fall, I made a trip up to UNC to see Mattie, Justin and Badders. I decided to make it a tequila night (see side effects above) and we decided to go to Yeats. (I'm OK with Yeats. However, when we had gone there before some guy had tried to convince me that he and his friend had been on Legends of the Hidden temple. When he failed to tell me that the giant rock's name was Omeck, I knew he was lying.) I ended up drinking entirely too much tequila before we even left. When we got downtown, the first thing I did was harass two guys wearing crushed velvet jackets. Then Drew bargained his way in for us and once we got in, Morgan and I went and sat in an out cove, where much to our surprise was a guy wearing a yarmulke. Morgan looked over and said, "Look, there's a jew for you." I became estatic. I jumped up, knocked over this entire table of drinks these people were drinking and sat right next to him. I then badgered him all about his jew-ness for about 10 minutes. Every word that came out of my mouth, he inched closer and closer to the wall. He told me his name was Mordecai, but I'm calling bullshit. However, he was orthodox and I kept confusing their traditions with hasidic Jews and then profusely apologized after asking where his payes and fur trimmed hat were. He escaped shortly thereafter. When we left for the night, Ellis and I ran up Franklin Street screaming, "Fuck the Tarheels, ARGGHH" at anyone who passed by us, including 40 year old joggers. It was a great night, but I guess Jewish boys aren't looking to be attacked by shiksas who pretend to be Jewish. BAH!
6. I am never having a child:
As a nursing student, Stock spent this semester working with babies, preg women, and pre/post natal schenenigans. She of course would come back and report what she had seen that day to us. I will spare you all the gruesome details that come with child birth and pregnancy, but it is not for me. I spent countless hours gasping and holding my hand over my mouth trying not to vomit from all the horror stories of vag expansion, table shitting and mysterious goo. If schools want to prevent teen pregnancy, they just need to start giving details of it all. I want to go get my tubes tied right now. If I mistakenly get pregnant and don't "zap" it (mildly offensive? no.), I just want to be put into a coma until it is all over.
7. The flu is very fun:
Every year when people asked if I had gotten my flu shot I would say, "No, but I've never gotten the flu shot and I've never gotten the flu. So I'm good." Not this year my friends. It was a 21st birthday present for me. And let me just say after a week of more Law and Order SUV then anyone should watch and multiple packets of hot dogs, I was 8 pounds heavier and less of a person. It was hands down one of the worst weeks of my life. But I'm still not getting my flu shot, I mean, it worked the other twenty years of my life. Plus, I bet I'll be craving some hot dogs and rape cases come next February anyway.
8. Tanning beds: they're still gross:
I have refused to go to tanning beds my entire life. I didn't like the idea of baking in a box, having a lovely orange glow and the fact that my entire family has been plagued with skin cancer. I even ridiculed all of my friends who went to them. And then one day back in February I became a hypocrite. You see, I bought this red dress for my birthday. You can't be pale and wear red. It doesn't work. So I figured that since our complex offers free tanning, I would just go a few times. The first time wasn't too bad. Hell, it was almost relaxing. The next time I got over zealous and went a few minutes too long. Eh, nothing a two day break can't fix. The third time I emerged red, burned, covered in bulb lines, pissed and even more convinced that tanning beds are indeed gross. The lines and burn faded in time for my birthday, but I was greatly scarred by my moment of hypocrisy. I now turn to a five dollar bottle of Vaseline sunless tanner and it works just fine. And maybe some days I am orange, but it goes well with my hair.
9. Suddenly Single Slut Syndrome:
Contributed by Mattie, but I agree. It exists, grabs a hold, is the reason for #2 and always ends badly. We all have to do it sometime, right? (humor me?) You live, you learn (insert Alanis Morissette lyrics here) and we all came out OK. Next topic...
10. FINALLY: I enjoy ECU football games and am willing to drink beer:
I missed freshmen year football season because I was at UNC-G, but I still made it to the ECU homecoming game. However, I left at halftime. Sophomore year, I didn't go to any games. I usually went home on game day weekends. I couldn't care less if we won or lost. This year the first game we went to I was bored and sat there and complained (shro style, of course). After that game, I snuck my way into the Pirate Club Section and never looked back. When the girls wanted to leave early, I would try to find someone else who wanted to stay the rest of the game with me. ZB and I dance all across the bleachers and I even yell inappropriate things. For senior year, I'm actually going to buy a Pirate Club pass and look forward to playing the Snatch association game all over again. As for the beer...this is ground breaking. In high school, J. flare taught me how to drink with vodka and everclear. I never saw beer as a possibility; I thought it tasted disgusting. When I left for college, everyone told me I would start drinking beer. It didn't happen and I held strong to my penchant for liquor. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I finally gave in. I got sick of seeing everyone getting bottles of beer at 519 for a dollar, when I had to shell out atleast four for a measly cranberry vodka. I realize me drinking beer is kind of like, "what's the big fucking deal?" But believe me, the reactions I've already gotten from my friends, speak loudly to the fact that it is kind of a big fucking deal. Kind of like me. ;)
I wonder what I'll learn next year...
Monday, April 14, 2008
THAT GUY-the universally known and hated guy
I found this as I was going through some old Word documents. I wrote this last spring for my Creative Non-Fiction class. We got to write a rant as our first assignment and we had a "that guy" in that class, so it was dedicated to him. Wherever you are Todd, you were crazy and I hope you have finally figured out what a "scene" is, because you certainly caused a lot of them.
“You know, I think the meaning of this film lies within gravity itself.” What? What did you just say? Did that even make sense? No! No, it certainly did not. And why is that? Because you’re THAT GUY. Sitting there in every college class ever taken, ten rows back and slightly out of view, is the boy everyone hates.
Every class period, THAT GUY will stroll in several minutes late, dressed in a way he believes impresses the class, when in reality no one cares. Then only seconds later, when he realizes that we are discussing our recent reading assignment or written assignment, will he feel the need to contribute how he felt about it. It will be long and drawn out, chalk full of pompous remarks and most of all the ever so blatant truth that he has no idea what the assignment was about.
You see, there is a difference between a slacker who is merely bullshitting his way through class and the kid labeled as THAT GUY. THAT GUY is actually unintelligent, but unlike most unintelligent people, he thinks he is inspiring, intuitive even, and most of all far more competent than any other class mate, when he is none of those things. THAT GUY is a guy who doesn’t make good grades, but wants everyone to think he does. He’s a guy who wants people to think he is held in the highest regard and that every girl wants him, but really the only girl he ever had sex with was the fat chick in his algebra class his senior year in high school.
THAT GUY will take every opportunity to open his mouth and boast about a past achievement that he feels makes his worthy of everyone’s respect and admiration. But the fascinating truth behind the lives of all those THAT GUYS out there is that their life is pathetic, lonely and most of all wrapped in the illusion of success and acuity.
To all the THAT GUYS out there, I hate you; everyone hates you. Your persistence to appear more than you are is dismaying. More people might like you, you might be seen as a decent human being, and you might even be able to learn something, if for just a second you could shut your mouth.
“You know, I think the meaning of this film lies within gravity itself.” What? What did you just say? Did that even make sense? No! No, it certainly did not. And why is that? Because you’re THAT GUY. Sitting there in every college class ever taken, ten rows back and slightly out of view, is the boy everyone hates.
Every class period, THAT GUY will stroll in several minutes late, dressed in a way he believes impresses the class, when in reality no one cares. Then only seconds later, when he realizes that we are discussing our recent reading assignment or written assignment, will he feel the need to contribute how he felt about it. It will be long and drawn out, chalk full of pompous remarks and most of all the ever so blatant truth that he has no idea what the assignment was about.
You see, there is a difference between a slacker who is merely bullshitting his way through class and the kid labeled as THAT GUY. THAT GUY is actually unintelligent, but unlike most unintelligent people, he thinks he is inspiring, intuitive even, and most of all far more competent than any other class mate, when he is none of those things. THAT GUY is a guy who doesn’t make good grades, but wants everyone to think he does. He’s a guy who wants people to think he is held in the highest regard and that every girl wants him, but really the only girl he ever had sex with was the fat chick in his algebra class his senior year in high school.
THAT GUY will take every opportunity to open his mouth and boast about a past achievement that he feels makes his worthy of everyone’s respect and admiration. But the fascinating truth behind the lives of all those THAT GUYS out there is that their life is pathetic, lonely and most of all wrapped in the illusion of success and acuity.
To all the THAT GUYS out there, I hate you; everyone hates you. Your persistence to appear more than you are is dismaying. More people might like you, you might be seen as a decent human being, and you might even be able to learn something, if for just a second you could shut your mouth.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
All those mocha lattes, you gotta do Pilates
I was reading the East Carolinian last week, which although has greatly improved since last year, is still a very shitty university paper. There are a lot of articles that you can tell they just ran because the deadline came and nothing else worthy of being printed came about. But regardless of the impressive amount of spelling and grammatical errors, poorly checked sources, and pointless articles, I read it every Tuesday and Thursday (and not just for the Pirate Rants.)
I read it online and I'm the one always leaving lengthy comments complimenting them on their faulty logic and mediocre attempts at writing anything with journalistic value, aren't I sweet? So, why don't I write for the paper? Because I refuse to be associated with such a terrible publication. If this were The Daily Tarheel, then I would be all about it
Anyway, this has absolutely nothing to do with my rant. I was reading an article last week about girls at the gym and I got excited. I hoped it would call out all those obnoxious girls sitting on weight machines and chatting on their phones, the girls who walk slowly on the inside of the track, the girls who instead of working out are just watching the guys play basketball, or even the girls who strap themselves to the ellipticals for hours, not knowing that ellipticals won't do a thing for their waistline--but none was to be found in this article. Instead, it focused on the fact that girls are scared of the weight room and ways to go about getting them in there. It was preposterous. When I finished reading this article, I knew I had just ruined another bowl of oatmeal with mindless TEC drabble.
First and foremost, I have never heard of a girl being afraid of the weight room. Was the writer referring to the entire first floor that has free weights, weight machines, ellipticals and treadMEALS? Or just the area with free weights? Either way, there are girls in weight machine, etc., area. Granted, they are just sitting there, making sure their make up hasn't smeared from that one drop of sweat that formed while rehashing their entire weekend to their friend on the phone (as they take up a machine of course), but they are in there.
In the free weight area, yeah you don't see girls, but I don't think it is because they are afraid. The article reasoned it was because they were afraid the guys were going to look at them. No one is looking at anyone, they are all too fixated on their bulging muscles and the fact that their shirt with the ridiculously large armholes-that they cut themselves-is hanging on by a thread. At least I have never been checked out while getting my arms deiseled up with those rocking ten pounders. But that could be because by this time my hair is frizzing off the top of my head, my make up has smeared and I'm the sweaty mess that's bicep curling to Thriller. (grunting to myself about how I need to get jacked and tan, sorry that shit isn't funny anymore, at all.) I mean, I would check me out and I do--I narcissistically stare at myself in the mirror all Kevin Spacey-esque in American Beauty. Mmm.
To the point..
Hey, I'm all for you getting your fat ass into shape. If the gym was packed because people were actually working out and concerned about their health, then I wouldn't mind waiting for a machine or treadmill, but that's never the case. So I'm gonna talk about what the TEC forgot to mention.
Enter the typical girl at the REC center: Full face of make-up that clearly isn't just left from what she had on during the day, skimpy shorts w/ a ripped wife beater, and shoes that were not made to work out in. She struts in with her other moronic friends, they scan all the elliptical time sheets to see if anything is open and of course there isn't because for some reason girls love the ellipticals. (I once loved the elliptical too, because it was an easy way to avoid actually running. Then when I moved to shithole U. Manor and they had broken ellipticals, I learned running actually helps you lose weight, who knew? ) They resort to walking around the track and gossip with each other, while taking up the 3 lanes, forcing everyone else to run around them. Finally, after two solid laps (a third of a mile), they retire to the weight room, where they perch upon what I call the sex machines or leg presses and inspect their nail beds, split ends and to see if their tits look good. They leave after having lengthy discussions about Coldstone and undoubtedly rolled up there and got the "Gotta Have It" size and talked about how they really need to start going to the gym more often.
Of course, this is an over exaggeration, there are a decent amount of girls who are working out, some who probably should stop working out and eat a hamburger, but none the less, aren't wasting space. However, in the one to two hours I spend there a day, I see between 5 and 10 of these gym flies, who do nothing but provide me much entertainment and great aggravation.
Now for the guys...
I can't say much about them because besides that half of them look like they have injected too many steroids, they are indeed working out. So, I'll say what I can. I don't get the ripped shirt trend. You took your t-shirt and then ripped from the armpit to about three inches from the bottom seam on the side, so it almost functions as one of those reflector vests you can wear. It's not a shirt at this point, just something that's draped over your shoulders and stained wife beater. I don't get it. And lastly, why must you grunt? Half of the time it's the guys who don't know what they are doing and are maxing out every time, so they grunt through the pain. And I just laugh, because you're the guy who pretends like they're really bad ass and are working out hard. I would come over and tell you that maxing out is bad idea and you're destroying your muscles, but taking directions from a girl at the gym is emasculating, so I'll just snicker to myself as Jitterbug plays loudly in my ears.
Shro, out!
I dedicate this blog post to Anthony. He used to be this blog's biggest fan back in the day and now that I've started it again, it's just not the same without all of the sexually innuendo filled comments he would leave. He came up with a lot of the ideas for the old posts, ignited my bitchiness and always told me to keep writing. We all miss you :( RIP.
I read it online and I'm the one always leaving lengthy comments complimenting them on their faulty logic and mediocre attempts at writing anything with journalistic value, aren't I sweet? So, why don't I write for the paper? Because I refuse to be associated with such a terrible publication. If this were The Daily Tarheel, then I would be all about it
Anyway, this has absolutely nothing to do with my rant. I was reading an article last week about girls at the gym and I got excited. I hoped it would call out all those obnoxious girls sitting on weight machines and chatting on their phones, the girls who walk slowly on the inside of the track, the girls who instead of working out are just watching the guys play basketball, or even the girls who strap themselves to the ellipticals for hours, not knowing that ellipticals won't do a thing for their waistline--but none was to be found in this article. Instead, it focused on the fact that girls are scared of the weight room and ways to go about getting them in there. It was preposterous. When I finished reading this article, I knew I had just ruined another bowl of oatmeal with mindless TEC drabble.
First and foremost, I have never heard of a girl being afraid of the weight room. Was the writer referring to the entire first floor that has free weights, weight machines, ellipticals and treadMEALS? Or just the area with free weights? Either way, there are girls in weight machine, etc., area. Granted, they are just sitting there, making sure their make up hasn't smeared from that one drop of sweat that formed while rehashing their entire weekend to their friend on the phone (as they take up a machine of course), but they are in there.
In the free weight area, yeah you don't see girls, but I don't think it is because they are afraid. The article reasoned it was because they were afraid the guys were going to look at them. No one is looking at anyone, they are all too fixated on their bulging muscles and the fact that their shirt with the ridiculously large armholes-that they cut themselves-is hanging on by a thread. At least I have never been checked out while getting my arms deiseled up with those rocking ten pounders. But that could be because by this time my hair is frizzing off the top of my head, my make up has smeared and I'm the sweaty mess that's bicep curling to Thriller. (grunting to myself about how I need to get jacked and tan, sorry that shit isn't funny anymore, at all.) I mean, I would check me out and I do--I narcissistically stare at myself in the mirror all Kevin Spacey-esque in American Beauty. Mmm.
To the point..
Hey, I'm all for you getting your fat ass into shape. If the gym was packed because people were actually working out and concerned about their health, then I wouldn't mind waiting for a machine or treadmill, but that's never the case. So I'm gonna talk about what the TEC forgot to mention.
Enter the typical girl at the REC center: Full face of make-up that clearly isn't just left from what she had on during the day, skimpy shorts w/ a ripped wife beater, and shoes that were not made to work out in. She struts in with her other moronic friends, they scan all the elliptical time sheets to see if anything is open and of course there isn't because for some reason girls love the ellipticals. (I once loved the elliptical too, because it was an easy way to avoid actually running. Then when I moved to shithole U. Manor and they had broken ellipticals, I learned running actually helps you lose weight, who knew? ) They resort to walking around the track and gossip with each other, while taking up the 3 lanes, forcing everyone else to run around them. Finally, after two solid laps (a third of a mile), they retire to the weight room, where they perch upon what I call the sex machines or leg presses and inspect their nail beds, split ends and to see if their tits look good. They leave after having lengthy discussions about Coldstone and undoubtedly rolled up there and got the "Gotta Have It" size and talked about how they really need to start going to the gym more often.
Of course, this is an over exaggeration, there are a decent amount of girls who are working out, some who probably should stop working out and eat a hamburger, but none the less, aren't wasting space. However, in the one to two hours I spend there a day, I see between 5 and 10 of these gym flies, who do nothing but provide me much entertainment and great aggravation.
Now for the guys...
I can't say much about them because besides that half of them look like they have injected too many steroids, they are indeed working out. So, I'll say what I can. I don't get the ripped shirt trend. You took your t-shirt and then ripped from the armpit to about three inches from the bottom seam on the side, so it almost functions as one of those reflector vests you can wear. It's not a shirt at this point, just something that's draped over your shoulders and stained wife beater. I don't get it. And lastly, why must you grunt? Half of the time it's the guys who don't know what they are doing and are maxing out every time, so they grunt through the pain. And I just laugh, because you're the guy who pretends like they're really bad ass and are working out hard. I would come over and tell you that maxing out is bad idea and you're destroying your muscles, but taking directions from a girl at the gym is emasculating, so I'll just snicker to myself as Jitterbug plays loudly in my ears.
Shro, out!
I dedicate this blog post to Anthony. He used to be this blog's biggest fan back in the day and now that I've started it again, it's just not the same without all of the sexually innuendo filled comments he would leave. He came up with a lot of the ideas for the old posts, ignited my bitchiness and always told me to keep writing. We all miss you :( RIP.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
I'm gonna dress you up in my love, in my love.
This one is going to be extra, extra, extra bitchy...so you've been forewarned.
It's now officially April and in Greenville that means two things: The rain won't subside until May and girls all across campus will finally take off their sweatpants and attempt to dress themselves. I figured now more than ever would be a good time to post my annual bitchy fashion post.
Ladies, there are some things we need to discuss...
First off, I understand you're excited to bust out your mini skirts again (which will be discussed later), but pairing them with your Ugg boots because it isn't completely warm enough yet, isn't okay. I'm not sure if you realized, but those two represent different seasons. And I'm fairly certain that if it's warm enough to put on a mini skirt, we won't be seeing snow fall. So put them back in your closet until next fall! Same goes with wearing Uggs with dresses and shorts (especially cheerleading shorts--what the fuck, people?).
The issue of leggings...
Hi, leggings aren't pants. I'm not really interested in seeing your camel toe as I haul ass to Joyner East. Leggings in general are awful and that "trend" has long since passed, but if you still insist on wearing them, put on a dress or skirt please.
Last time I checked shirts were shirts and dresses were dresses, the two weren't interchangeable. (Well, I guess you can wear a dress as a shirt, but not vice versa.)
I get it, you're going downtown and TOTES are going to take like 10 tequila shots, hump all over some dumb frat guy, spill your drink on some bystander, scream for no reason, and just be like so totally awesome. But what are you wearing? As much as I appreciate your attempt to do something different, that tube top you stretched down over you ass is really unattractive and quite frankly giving me a show I didn't pay for. But, I'm sure that tool you're dancing with, who has now pulled your dress up to your waist, really likes it and that's what matters.
Muffin Top City!
I know, you're in denial about the weight you gained over Christmas break and never let go of, but sweetheart don't punish your pants just because you couldn't resist that extra Krispy Kreme Donut. Know your pant size and wear it! You know how I know you're pretending your skinnier than you are? Well, that giant muffin top that has formed above your jeans kind of gives it away. When you wear jeans that don't fit you, you actually look fatter and extremely disproportional. Not to mention, it's severely uncomfortable. I was there once too (too many desserts in the dinning hall Freshmen year) and the whole time you're in class you have to keep adjusting them so you can breathe. So do your waist, your pants and your overall appearance a big favor and buy the right sized pants. K, thanks.
I am confused by this one.
Bulky jewelry with bulky jewelry. Forever 21 finally opened in Raleigh and all the jewelry is $6.50, so time to stock up, but dear God don't wear them all on the same day. You can not wear huge earrings with a huge necklace. I really thought that was commonsense, but every day I see a lot of girls wearing just that. You see, it's a weight balance kind of thing. When you pair them together, you put all your weight at your neck, everything else becomes invisible and you appear top heavy. Balance it out, yo!
Mini Skirts!
Kathryn squared already disagreed with me on this, but I stand by it. Mini skirts are geared at teenagers, so if you're over the age of twenty it's time to give yours away. (Haven't you noticed they are only sold at AE, Aero, A&F & Hollister--all stores targeted at a younger demographic) But if you want to look sixteen, by all means keep wearing them and even better, don't wear underwear.
Skinny Jeans!
Unless you look like Kathryn Ellis, you should not be wearing skinny jeans--especially if you have a huge ass. You need to have long, SKINNY legs to wear them, otherwise you look like a lollipop. And the "I think I'm the bitch from Rilo Kiley" look is really working for you, you should all keep that up.
And finally to end with a little comment on hair...
Why is your hair bleached blond on the top and fake black on the bottom? Why? Where in your brain did you think that that look would be becoming on you? For riz, what the hell? I mean, hair naturally looks like that all the time, so what an obvious dye job to get. Next time you go back to your hair dresser, punch them in the face for letting them do that to your hair. Any decent hair dresser would talk you out doing something that awful. Nothing looks cooler than when you have your hair in a ponytail and running perpendicular to your head is the stark contrast of fake, fake, fake hair. So hot! I'm doing that next time I dye my hair.
I hope you enjoyed my bitching and that it makes you think twice about your wardrobe decisions! I thought writing about fashion would be a better idea than actually studying for my merchandising test and doing merchandising homework. By all means, if anyone actually reads this and you have some sort of defense for one the above topics, I would love to hear it, comment away! (no one is going to comment.)
It's now officially April and in Greenville that means two things: The rain won't subside until May and girls all across campus will finally take off their sweatpants and attempt to dress themselves. I figured now more than ever would be a good time to post my annual bitchy fashion post.
Ladies, there are some things we need to discuss...
First off, I understand you're excited to bust out your mini skirts again (which will be discussed later), but pairing them with your Ugg boots because it isn't completely warm enough yet, isn't okay. I'm not sure if you realized, but those two represent different seasons. And I'm fairly certain that if it's warm enough to put on a mini skirt, we won't be seeing snow fall. So put them back in your closet until next fall! Same goes with wearing Uggs with dresses and shorts (especially cheerleading shorts--what the fuck, people?).
The issue of leggings...
Hi, leggings aren't pants. I'm not really interested in seeing your camel toe as I haul ass to Joyner East. Leggings in general are awful and that "trend" has long since passed, but if you still insist on wearing them, put on a dress or skirt please.
Last time I checked shirts were shirts and dresses were dresses, the two weren't interchangeable. (Well, I guess you can wear a dress as a shirt, but not vice versa.)
I get it, you're going downtown and TOTES are going to take like 10 tequila shots, hump all over some dumb frat guy, spill your drink on some bystander, scream for no reason, and just be like so totally awesome. But what are you wearing? As much as I appreciate your attempt to do something different, that tube top you stretched down over you ass is really unattractive and quite frankly giving me a show I didn't pay for. But, I'm sure that tool you're dancing with, who has now pulled your dress up to your waist, really likes it and that's what matters.
Muffin Top City!
I know, you're in denial about the weight you gained over Christmas break and never let go of, but sweetheart don't punish your pants just because you couldn't resist that extra Krispy Kreme Donut. Know your pant size and wear it! You know how I know you're pretending your skinnier than you are? Well, that giant muffin top that has formed above your jeans kind of gives it away. When you wear jeans that don't fit you, you actually look fatter and extremely disproportional. Not to mention, it's severely uncomfortable. I was there once too (too many desserts in the dinning hall Freshmen year) and the whole time you're in class you have to keep adjusting them so you can breathe. So do your waist, your pants and your overall appearance a big favor and buy the right sized pants. K, thanks.
I am confused by this one.
Bulky jewelry with bulky jewelry. Forever 21 finally opened in Raleigh and all the jewelry is $6.50, so time to stock up, but dear God don't wear them all on the same day. You can not wear huge earrings with a huge necklace. I really thought that was commonsense, but every day I see a lot of girls wearing just that. You see, it's a weight balance kind of thing. When you pair them together, you put all your weight at your neck, everything else becomes invisible and you appear top heavy. Balance it out, yo!
Mini Skirts!
Kathryn squared already disagreed with me on this, but I stand by it. Mini skirts are geared at teenagers, so if you're over the age of twenty it's time to give yours away. (Haven't you noticed they are only sold at AE, Aero, A&F & Hollister--all stores targeted at a younger demographic) But if you want to look sixteen, by all means keep wearing them and even better, don't wear underwear.
Skinny Jeans!
Unless you look like Kathryn Ellis, you should not be wearing skinny jeans--especially if you have a huge ass. You need to have long, SKINNY legs to wear them, otherwise you look like a lollipop. And the "I think I'm the bitch from Rilo Kiley" look is really working for you, you should all keep that up.
And finally to end with a little comment on hair...
Why is your hair bleached blond on the top and fake black on the bottom? Why? Where in your brain did you think that that look would be becoming on you? For riz, what the hell? I mean, hair naturally looks like that all the time, so what an obvious dye job to get. Next time you go back to your hair dresser, punch them in the face for letting them do that to your hair. Any decent hair dresser would talk you out doing something that awful. Nothing looks cooler than when you have your hair in a ponytail and running perpendicular to your head is the stark contrast of fake, fake, fake hair. So hot! I'm doing that next time I dye my hair.
I hope you enjoyed my bitching and that it makes you think twice about your wardrobe decisions! I thought writing about fashion would be a better idea than actually studying for my merchandising test and doing merchandising homework. By all means, if anyone actually reads this and you have some sort of defense for one the above topics, I would love to hear it, comment away! (no one is going to comment.)
Monday, March 31, 2008
Bragging Rights
On this very day 2 years ago I posted a rant called "Shit man, I am sooo drunk!" The rant basically dealt with the issue of boys who count their beers (so cool) and I decided it needed to be revisited again.
My new detox diet doesn't allow for complete alcoholic binge fests anymore (my attempt to regain some level of dignity), so I have spent the past few weekends sober or atleast...mostly sober. I've noticed though that it appears that none of us have grown up. Two years ago, I bitched that guys defined their manliness through telling everyone how many beers they drank and it they are still doing it.
This past weekend Burch was approached by some guy who told her, "Man, I just had SEVEN beers and I even pre-gamed!" Burch pulled her best bitch card and spoke to him way over his head and then sufficiently humored him..."No way, that's crazy! Can you even see right now?"
One time Burch and I tagged team this guy who was bragging to us about his beer consumption. "You guys have no idea. I just had 18 beers! I've been drinking ALL night." We told him only real men count their beers and we were really impressed. He must be a real bad ass. He didn't get that we were making fun of him, but I suppose that's what happens when you're "SOOO DRUNK!"
Two years later and I still don't get it. Is there really a girl out there that is impressed by some guy who pounds down 20 cans of shitty Busch Light? (Damn Johnny, you're the best beer drinker here. You wanna go fuck?) It's not happening fellas. Wanting to glamorize your night because you spent it playing Halo with your brahs because you couldn't get any "play," shouldn't be done through bragging about those brewskies you totally crushed. If you're gonna lie or brag about asinine things, at least make it entertaining. "She totally wanted me and wouldn't stop hanging all over me. I'm gonna send her a facebook poke later, for sure. She wanted it, needed it, even." I mean...I'm still gonna stand there, nod away like I'm listening and am really impressed and then give you the "wow, that's so cool" eyebrow lift, but at least you were a little less generic. (kind of...not really). But don't you worry, your entire speech will be repeated the next morning during the Bo's Weekend Recap Vag Fest and then at least four other girls will think you're "cool" then too.
Why don't you put your big boys pants on, belt included, and realize no one cares. If you're the one who drank two beers and needs to sit down, the kid puking in the bathroom from the fifty second keg stand, the dude embarrassing himself by hitting on a "total ten" or the guy drinking O'Doul's, I DON"T CARE! I'M NOT IMPRESSED! I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE MASSIVE BALLS! I DON'T WANT TO FUCK YOU! Instead, inside is ever growing feeling of pity for you and the fact that your ego must be so bruised that you have to tell some stranger that you have a drinking problem (two hands and only one mouth! BAHHH HILARIOUS!) Can I graduate yet?
My new detox diet doesn't allow for complete alcoholic binge fests anymore (my attempt to regain some level of dignity), so I have spent the past few weekends sober or atleast...mostly sober. I've noticed though that it appears that none of us have grown up. Two years ago, I bitched that guys defined their manliness through telling everyone how many beers they drank and it they are still doing it.
This past weekend Burch was approached by some guy who told her, "Man, I just had SEVEN beers and I even pre-gamed!" Burch pulled her best bitch card and spoke to him way over his head and then sufficiently humored him..."No way, that's crazy! Can you even see right now?"
One time Burch and I tagged team this guy who was bragging to us about his beer consumption. "You guys have no idea. I just had 18 beers! I've been drinking ALL night." We told him only real men count their beers and we were really impressed. He must be a real bad ass. He didn't get that we were making fun of him, but I suppose that's what happens when you're "SOOO DRUNK!"
Two years later and I still don't get it. Is there really a girl out there that is impressed by some guy who pounds down 20 cans of shitty Busch Light? (Damn Johnny, you're the best beer drinker here. You wanna go fuck?) It's not happening fellas. Wanting to glamorize your night because you spent it playing Halo with your brahs because you couldn't get any "play," shouldn't be done through bragging about those brewskies you totally crushed. If you're gonna lie or brag about asinine things, at least make it entertaining. "She totally wanted me and wouldn't stop hanging all over me. I'm gonna send her a facebook poke later, for sure. She wanted it, needed it, even." I mean...I'm still gonna stand there, nod away like I'm listening and am really impressed and then give you the "wow, that's so cool" eyebrow lift, but at least you were a little less generic. (kind of...not really). But don't you worry, your entire speech will be repeated the next morning during the Bo's Weekend Recap Vag Fest and then at least four other girls will think you're "cool" then too.
Why don't you put your big boys pants on, belt included, and realize no one cares. If you're the one who drank two beers and needs to sit down, the kid puking in the bathroom from the fifty second keg stand, the dude embarrassing himself by hitting on a "total ten" or the guy drinking O'Doul's, I DON"T CARE! I'M NOT IMPRESSED! I DON'T THINK YOU HAVE MASSIVE BALLS! I DON'T WANT TO FUCK YOU! Instead, inside is ever growing feeling of pity for you and the fact that your ego must be so bruised that you have to tell some stranger that you have a drinking problem (two hands and only one mouth! BAHHH HILARIOUS!) Can I graduate yet?
Sunday, March 30, 2008
You're a few years overdue, I spent them waiting here for you
(This post isn’t a rant, but involves me making fun of myself a lot. If you were around for my “emo” days, you may really like it.)
This weekend I ended up at the Brewery to see some guy's band play. The guy that we had only met 2 hours prior at “Sausage Fest” asked Andrea and I to come and we only obliged after he agreed to guest listing us. In the end, they weren't too bad and are apparently playing at Barefoot this year.
In ninth and tenth grade, I spent all of my weekends at the Brewery, Duke Coffee House, Cats Cradle, Unity Church, and other small venues all in hopes of hanging out with a guy in the band I was currently trying to be a groupie for. I had the emo track jacket over the perfectly picked thrift store t-shirt, the ballet flats, the short pixie hair dyed that awful shade of red or very blond, and the attitude that I really cared about all of this music scene stuff (if my computer hadn't crashed junior year and lost all my pictures, I would post a fun picture of my lameness. However, I didn't shop at Hot Topic, so heaven forbid you confuse me with that crowd). My friends and I would roll up with our messenger bags, beaded bracelets and the best head nod we could muster while the bands played. It was all a really cute facade of some girl I thought I wanted to be and I thought the band boys would like. But thankfully, I never had any luck in that department.
Come junior year, I started hanging out with other people, dropped the wannabe emo look and quickly grabbed onto the ever-fleeting mod fad. God, I was cool. And as far as I can remember, I didn't return to any local band shows until recently.
So this was my first visit to the Brewery in over 5 years and this time it was much more empty and less smoky, but still as dirty as I remembered it. As I sat pretentiously drinking my tequila sunrise in my out-of-place cotton, belted dress, I couldn't help but remember how excited I used to get about it all. "OH EM GEE, we're gonna see (fill in the blank) tonight! Maybe we can hang out with them afterwards." We never did and instead I just looked like a twelve-year-old running around in four-inch heels trying to dodge the smoke and get some sweaty guy's attention.
While I explained the evidenced wonders of "the book" to Andrea and waited for the band to play, four girls dressed in silk bubble dresses, four-inch heels, giant clutches, and fancy up-do's waltzed in with a familiar air of excitement surrounding them. They all giggled as the boys in the bands walked by and when one of their friends returned with a beer she had bought with her fake. Oh EM Gee, guys! I couldn't stop laughing as I heard their loud squeals echoing across the room, because that was TOTES me six years ago, except they looked a lot cuter. They tried to dance along to the songs; all encircled each other while erupting in giggle fests and looked around to see if any of the band guys were noticing. It was vomit inducing adorable. And in the end, they were there to see the same guy who had invited us, but their agenda was much more obvious.
Those years were fun though: stressed ear drums, smoky smelling clothes, ridiculous cover charges, getting picked up in mini-vans, and band pins all blanketed in the over-exaggerated lust for some guy who didn't know I existed.
And what have I learned since then: I don't date boys in bands (unless they are Steve Perry), beaded bracelets aren’t cute, my feet look funny in ballet flats (give me five-inch heels, please), short hair does not work on me, the Brewery makes shitty, over-priced drinks (who doesn’t have the right ingredients to make a cosmo?) don’t stalk or chase guys, but more importantly, don’t stalk or chase guys who don’t know you’re alive.
(On a complete side note: I lieu of reminiscing, I went and downloaded a lot of Thursday, Saves the Day, Juliana Theory, Jimmy Eat World, Death Cab, Ryan Adams, Get up Kids, One Amazin' Kid and The Smiths and it has been quite enjoyable. I forgot how much I used to like all of them. )
Friday, March 28, 2008
Adventures in ECU Healthcare Systems
Anyone who knows me, knows that I have spent about 25% of my life sick and hopped up on all sorts of antibiotics. From chronic ear infections and sinus infections as a kid to bronchitis, pneumonia, two hardcore mono episodes, 4 sinus infections a year, and all sorts of fun things now that I won't mention; I am always sick.
Considering I don't smoke anything, work out 6 days a week, rarely eat fast food or drink soda, sleep 8 hours a night, take vitamins, and am not a complete and raging alcoholic (yet), I can't really explain why I'm always sick.
Since February 12th, I have been sick. Sometimes it was painfully obvious and like right now for instance, you can't really tell. However, it is there, it's been lingering and it isn't going away. Back in February, I rolled up to the ECU Student Health Center armed with lies Stock told me to tell to make my sinus infection sound worse than it was, because there was no way I was going to be sick for my birthday. After I put on the phelgmy-iest show I could, they said I hadn't been sick long enough to get medicine and told me to take Mucinex. I retorted that if they didn't take care of this now, it would be come full blown, turn into something worse, morph into bronchitis and end with me having pneumonia and wanting to die. They assured me this wasn't the case; I knew differently and off I went Mucinex in hand and slightly perturbed.
February 17th, my birthday, I was home and had the flu set in, along with having my sinus infection graciously kicking it up a notch. I went to my doctor, who gave me drugs and said ECU should have treated it last week. A week went by, the flu subsided and the sinus infection went away. Now, I was just coughing up my lungs and completely congested, so back to the ECU Student Health Center.
I went in there told them their ineptitude to treat me properly lead to this and said I wanted cough syrup with codeine and a Z-pak. They said, "No, you're fine. Take Mucinex D." Great. So I did and it didn't go away. Instead, it became bronchitis (kind of like what I told them from the start). So that next week I went back and told them they screwed up again and now I have bronchitis. This time I heard, "Well, if you have bronchitis there is really no way we can find out (wrong!) and there is nothing we can do to treat it (wrong!). So here's some cough suppressant and more MUCINEX!" I wanted to slap that bitch across the face. You can treat bronchitis with a Z-pak! I would know considering I've had bronchitis at least 4 times.
So now 45 days later and I'm still phlegm city (I know, hot!), I finally returned to my doctor. And what do I have? A sinus infection...still. I finally got prescribed a Z-Pak and she switched all my allergy medicine. You see, if ECU had merely given me a Z-Pak when I bitched the first time, I wouldn't still be sick a month and a half later. Whenever you go in there, instead of asking important questions like, "Are you wheezing (I was...)" "Is the Mucinex helping? (it wasn't)" they ask, "are you practicing safe sex?" I really appreciate the concern for my vagina, but what does that have to do with my sinus infection?
I would think that since Greenville is only really known for its great health care facilities they would do a better job. Instead, they push mucinex and ask me about my drinking and sex habits (they're fine, drug me!). They also like to tell you that you might be pregnant because you've been coughing a lot and have a stomach ache, but I'm pretty sure you have to be getting laid to get pregnant. I mean I could be wrong, I'm just going off of what my fifth grade teacher told me.
So unless you want Mucinex, Plan-B, condoms that expire in April or to be harassed about STD's, I would stay far away from the Student Health Center.
Considering I don't smoke anything, work out 6 days a week, rarely eat fast food or drink soda, sleep 8 hours a night, take vitamins, and am not a complete and raging alcoholic (yet), I can't really explain why I'm always sick.
Since February 12th, I have been sick. Sometimes it was painfully obvious and like right now for instance, you can't really tell. However, it is there, it's been lingering and it isn't going away. Back in February, I rolled up to the ECU Student Health Center armed with lies Stock told me to tell to make my sinus infection sound worse than it was, because there was no way I was going to be sick for my birthday. After I put on the phelgmy-iest show I could, they said I hadn't been sick long enough to get medicine and told me to take Mucinex. I retorted that if they didn't take care of this now, it would be come full blown, turn into something worse, morph into bronchitis and end with me having pneumonia and wanting to die. They assured me this wasn't the case; I knew differently and off I went Mucinex in hand and slightly perturbed.
February 17th, my birthday, I was home and had the flu set in, along with having my sinus infection graciously kicking it up a notch. I went to my doctor, who gave me drugs and said ECU should have treated it last week. A week went by, the flu subsided and the sinus infection went away. Now, I was just coughing up my lungs and completely congested, so back to the ECU Student Health Center.
I went in there told them their ineptitude to treat me properly lead to this and said I wanted cough syrup with codeine and a Z-pak. They said, "No, you're fine. Take Mucinex D." Great. So I did and it didn't go away. Instead, it became bronchitis (kind of like what I told them from the start). So that next week I went back and told them they screwed up again and now I have bronchitis. This time I heard, "Well, if you have bronchitis there is really no way we can find out (wrong!) and there is nothing we can do to treat it (wrong!). So here's some cough suppressant and more MUCINEX!" I wanted to slap that bitch across the face. You can treat bronchitis with a Z-pak! I would know considering I've had bronchitis at least 4 times.
So now 45 days later and I'm still phlegm city (I know, hot!), I finally returned to my doctor. And what do I have? A sinus infection...still. I finally got prescribed a Z-Pak and she switched all my allergy medicine. You see, if ECU had merely given me a Z-Pak when I bitched the first time, I wouldn't still be sick a month and a half later. Whenever you go in there, instead of asking important questions like, "Are you wheezing (I was...)" "Is the Mucinex helping? (it wasn't)" they ask, "are you practicing safe sex?" I really appreciate the concern for my vagina, but what does that have to do with my sinus infection?
I would think that since Greenville is only really known for its great health care facilities they would do a better job. Instead, they push mucinex and ask me about my drinking and sex habits (they're fine, drug me!). They also like to tell you that you might be pregnant because you've been coughing a lot and have a stomach ache, but I'm pretty sure you have to be getting laid to get pregnant. I mean I could be wrong, I'm just going off of what my fifth grade teacher told me.
So unless you want Mucinex, Plan-B, condoms that expire in April or to be harassed about STD's, I would stay far away from the Student Health Center.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
A few questions to be asked:
Really, how many times will I fall down the stairs until I realize dropping laundry bombs on them is a bad idea?
In case you haven't been to my townhouse, I live on the sauna floor known as the third floor. I get this sweet little landing to myself, where I can look down on everyone who comes in the house and play the fun game of "Pants or No Pants." I also get my own staircase, which has been speckled in liquor, vomit and dirt stains.
Now, seeing as the washer and dryer are on the second floor, it is entirely too much to ask for me to bring my clothes all the way back up to my room. So the roommates and I have come up with a system: drop laundry bombs throughout my staircase; I find it useful. Every morning, I just sift through the piles for what I want to wear and I'm off. But some mornings, the laundry is out to get me. I have fallen down the complete set of stairs at least four times this semester. In a mad dash to catch the bus or to make oatmeal, my tired feet slip on the pair of pants hanging ever so precariously over the step, I begin to lose balance and begin a painful descent down the stairs.
Tuesday morning, I was pretty sure I broke my toe, but it's fine (everyone can relax!). One time, I really smashed my arm and over-extended it at the same time--that one was fun. The other falls have just ended in minor bruises. Every time I see the laundry, I think to myself that I should move it and then I don't until I hurt myself. So really, will I wait until I break my arm to stop throwing it on my steps or even then will I not learn?
On a complete side note: Today, I was running up the outdoor Joyner East stairs and somehow managed to trip and face plant straight into them. So, Tuesday, I fall down the stairs and Thursday I trip up them. Either, my clumsiness is just getting out of hand or stairs really aren't my thing.
What is that smell in my kitchen?
The first step you take into our townhouse greets you with an overwhelming scent of rotten trash. Welcoming, really. Even when we don't have full trash bags hanging in our kitchen, even when the sink is empty and the counters are clean, even when the beer pong table isn't in our house, it still wreaks of garbage.
So sometimes, I like to play "What's that Smell," not nearly as fun as "Pants or No Pants," but still provides some sort of entertainment. I smell the trash bag, the pantry, the fridge, the sink, and the counters and yet nothing has led me to the answer of, what's that smell? My last idea is it could quite possibly be our carpet that has been destroyed during all of our PJ parties and beer pong sessions. And when we get our carpets cleaned in the near future, the problem may be resolved. But until that time, I ask you all to play the rousing game of "What's that Smell?" because maybe you can provide some insight to the foreign stench.
Who are the homeless people in Mendenhall?
I spent an hour in Mendenhall every day my sophomore year, just wasting time in between classes. I'd fall asleep on the leather couches watching the Price is Right (in the time of Bob Barker, not Drew Carey), as Mendenhall employees watched the TV's blaring BET and danced along. I enjoyed my hour long escape that is until they came in.
There were two regulars that came in every day. They sat in front of the TV's playing X-Files or Golden Girls and ate food from their anonymous plastic bags. The ragged old man didn't bother me, he usually joined me in watching the Price is Right and fell asleep before I did. However, I wanted to kill the old woman. She would schluff her slippers across the floor as she walked, rummage loudly through her plastic bag and then precede to making loud smacking noises as she ate.
I had completely forgotten about both of them until I started returning to Mendenhall for lunch and to watch that new, strange Mariah Carey video that is oddly playing every time I come in. As I silently ate my yogart parfait, I heard the familiar smacking and as I slowly looked left, I was met with the oppressive sight of the old woman eating her lunch. And thus, mine was ruined.
I am not completely certain they are homeless, but they are there every day, all day. The woman comes in different clothing, but all are torn up sweat pants and sweat shirts. I understand it is a public space, but should we really allow homeless people to squat it out in our facilities? I'm really just bothered because the food smacking noise will forever be ingrained in my brain and it makes me shutter. Anyone know who I'm talking about?
Why is it that everyone in my merchandising 2350 class has the IQ of somewhere around 85?
Okay, this is a major based on fashion; it doesn't require a lot of brain power. I can see why all the idiot girls would flock to it, but I didn't know they let people this dumb into college. This past Monday, a girl known to me as "Muffin Top," went on a five minute tangent on why she loves St. Patrick's Day.
It went a little like this: "I just...I just love St. Patrick's Day. I don't really know why; I just do. It's St. Patrick's Day--what could be better? I mean, it's like the greatest holiday in America. Well, really, the entire world. Like, I get to wear green. It is great."
As Muffin Top babbled through her idiocy, I banged my head against my desk. When our professor asks questions, no one ever answers and when she finally starts calling on people, each one repeats the same answer, one after another. I really think a lot of girls just thought, "Oh hey, daddy buys me Seven Jeans and I know how to coordinate shirts and throw it all together with my knock-off Chanel bag, so I should totally open my own boutique one day!" These girls are mostly freshmen, so maybe I'm being a little harsh, but I'm fairly certain in a few years ECU is going to spit out a lot of overly-dressed, clueless girls.
Is "Love in the Club" really that great of an idea?
Granted, I pathetically love all things Usher and when Burch told me he had a new song out, I frantically ran to my computer to download it. But the song is illogical, which most rap is, but Usher's songs usually are a little bit above the "rims and hos" standard of today's rap.
The entire premise is that Usher sees some hot girl and wants to fuck her in the club or "On the couch, on the table, on the bar, or on the floor," if you will. Now maybe I haven't been to enough clubs, but I'm fairly certain you're not allowed to get up on the bar and stuff some girl's turkey, even if you are Usher. And what does bag you like some groceries that you got from aisle three really mean?
Lastly, if you're going to fuck in a club, shouldn't you try to be pretty covert about it? Usher is suggesting getting naked and porking her all over the place. I've shamefully worked out to this song every day for the past month, but every time it comes on when I'm running, I ask myself "why can't they just go home?"
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Veneral Disease AY!
Happy Valentine’s Day, bitches!
This one is for all you girls out there:
Valentine’s Day: the day we are told to celebrate our love for each other by buying seasonally overpriced commercialized crap. It’s the day that singles are supposed to feel lonely and those in relationships get to parade their love around for all to see. But it’s also the day that also happens to be Thursday. It’s Thursday, so I’ll be going to yoga, eating dinner with all of the girls, watching Lost and getting appropriately drunk, since I don’t have Friday classes.
You see girls; it’s just a day. However, the murmurs that could be heard echoing through my classes, hallways and the Brick Yard that was littered with Valentine’s balloons, could tell you differently. I either heard your sob stories of being alone for another Valentine’s Day or how you were so excited about all this cutesy stuff you boyfriend was doing (which a football player informed me in class today is only done so they get laid and won’t get yelled at).
Apparently, today is a big deal. Did I miss it? The singles didn’t care yesterday that they were single. It’s not like some guy was going to jump out from the bushes and ask you to be his girlfriend, so was it really that big of a surprise that you wouldn’t be spending this day showered in perishable gifts? I also don’t remember requiring a guy to be happy with my life, but I guess that’s you. And to those in relationships—do you really need a specific day to celebrate the fact that you love each other? I don’t know, I find the whole thing really foolish. If only we all could decorate shoe boxes again and pass around Valentine’s cards covered in our favorite Disney Princess to everyone in our class—even to the snot nosed brat. Now that’s a day I would celebrate.
I don’t remember how much I cared about it last year, when I was taken. I know I spent a great deal of time planning our meal and a great deal of money buying it, but I don’t know how much I cared about the day itself. However, I didn’t mind the Godiva. Any excuse for chocolate is all right with me. In the past though, I’ve taken many last minute dates for the big day that led to nothing and ended as quickly as they began. And I felt no more loved than I did before the date. So why do we all feel so compelled to have someone to spend it with? If I were asked on a date this year, I would have turned them down. I couldn’t be happier to be single this time around and I can afford my own dinner.
So as you all scramble to find a date, buy your last minute presents that will be 75% off tomorrow, or sulk in your despair over lonely single life, I hope you realize it’s just a day; a day that I look forward to being able to continue my routine of yoga, Lost and my friends.
Mozal tov!
Thursday, February 07, 2008
We're going to the chapel and we're gonna get divorced
I bitch, therefore I am
The blog has returned. After several requests to revitalize the blog, I decided it was time to show the world my potential to be a bitch again. Upon re-reading old posts, I would like to go ahead and apologize for the copious amounts of grammatical mistakes and the overarching lameness that many of the posts possessed. With that being said, I can assure you these will be much more articulated, extremely politically incorrect and quite clever.
This first rant idea came from Kaitlin Stock.
_____________________________________________________________________
As an official Facebook stalker, I keep tabs on all of your relationships (yeah, yours.) I watch your relationships become open ones that inevitably end in singledom. I see the pictures you post of you drunkenly making out with some guy that suddenly becomes your new boyfriend and even faster becomes your fiancé. Oh but wait, you’re single again…for a moment, with a lame facebook status to accompany it. And then as if nothing happened, you’re engaged again. I question any engagement that shows its faults through Facebook, but more importantly that happens when you’re only twenty years old.
It seems like in the past year there has been a mad dash to getting engaged. Engaged! I don’t even want to start thinking about marriage until I’m thirty. I’m sorry, but what do you know about yourself at twenty and twenty-one, absolutely nothing my friends. I hardly know what I want for dinner or where I want to go tonight and those will be the hardest decisions I have to make today.
Premature Engagers!
It’s always the people who have been dating for about eight months that get engaged early, because they are “so in love”. You haven’t even had time to figure out all the things that bother you about the other person and considering you will probably get divorced after a year or so, I’m sure there are probably a lot.
Virgins!
The people who pledge the abstinence card tend to get married early. They’ll tell you they are getting married for other reasons, but you know it’s really because they are horny bastards and just want to have sex. Sex is not worth getting married for, EVER. Plus, you’re wedding night is really going to let you down. It’s going to be a painful two-minute pump and chump. I’m just saying, it’s cute you have morals and values, but one day you’re going to realize that it was pretty stupid to wait—especially when you realize your relationship is wrought with problems since you’re only together because you wanted to get laid.
Those affiliated with the military!
Why? Why is it always someone who is dating a guy in the Marines, Army, Navy, etc. that is getting married at nineteen or twenty? I’m sure it all goes to the fact that the husband to be is going to Iraq soon and wants someone to write home to and someone who loves them. But man, if I was going to Iraq and was a guy, I would be doing mad bitches until the day I left, then would go pork a lot of hot Iraqi women (despite the fact that Muslims don’t practice pre-martial sex). However, I can see where the guy is coming from, the girl though? Why would they go along with that? Oh hey, lets get married right before I get deployed, then you can sit around for a year or so while I’m gone and you can’t see anyone else. Great idea. Sign me up right now!
If I still had my Courtship and Marriage textbook, I could bust out some solid statistics on early marriages, but alas I don’t. I do remember though that the bottom line of all of them was that the divorce rate for young marriages is between 70-80 percent. Awesome, you can be a divorcee by 23! Hot.
The biggest problem I have with young marriages is the fact that you’re most likely poor.
When I get married, I expect a giant rock! I don’t want some discount ring from Ross Simmons. It doesn’t necessarily have to be covered in diamonds, it just needs to be fabulous and at twenty you can hardly afford the dollar menu at McDonalds. And as much fun as going into debt over a mediocre wedding would be, I don’t think it would be. Oh cute, mommy and daddy helped you pay for the ring and the wedding? Classy. I want to pay for my own wedding (I'm sure most people are going to disagree with that part) and my husband pay for my ring, so I can get what I want and not have to use plastic flowers and cheap food because we couldn’t afford better. (One of the weddings that I catered at St. Michael’s had plastic flower arrangements and uncovered plastic chairs at the tables; it was awful.) Maybe I’m just materialistic, but that doesn’t sound like a dream wedding to me; it sounds like a cop out.
My last irk goes to all those promise rings out there. First and foremost, those Irish Promise Rings (which I don’t see given a lot anymore, thank God) are ugly as shit. If I were given that as a promise ring, I would promise to never wear it. The promise rings I see more often look more like engagement rings and what I get from it is that the guy is promising to marry the girl, but isn’t proposing yet. Which translates for me as, “I don’t want you to do other guys and have to worry about you, so you’re on lockdown mode with this, without me really have to make a commitment.” By all means give me jewelry, but I don’t want promises.
Go ahead get married before you can even legally drink at your own wedding, go ahead and have boring missionary sex every night, go ahead realize you made a giant mistake and go ahead and get divorced before you can legally rent a car because it’s love and nothing can come between it; the rest of us would never understand. I rather be single and drowning in my own bills and problems than that and someone else’s. Maybe I’m jaded and bitter, but I do not envy your life for a minute.
(the only young marriage I could possibly condone is Amanda and Josh's because those freaks really are meant for each other)
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