Archive for September, 2008

Minimal complaining

September 23, 2008

I really have had nothing to complain about lately, and it’s really pretty depressing.

A few days ago, a cicada decided it might be a good idea to live outside our window.

…Motherfucker.

I even saw it on the window, but decided it would go away. I could have killed it while I had the chance. But no.

I think it did eventually leave or die or something. Okay, complaint resolved. That was kinda lame.

The pee wind is back. That’s a shame as well.

But really, life has been pretty nice lately. My classes are fun, my pants finally expanded again, hula hooping is awesome, as is marching band, etc.

I got off campus for the first time on Sunday! I went with marching band to some little restaurant called Steak ‘N’ Shake. It was gross, but fantastic because anything that isn’t from the dining hall is delicious to me right now. Even though our dining hall is pretty good. Oh well.

I got in to Wind Ensemble! I’m very excited. We’re playing Children’s March. YESSSS.

It’s been a nice week. Hopefully the rest of the year is this cool.

Blind Fury

September 18, 2008

Yeah. YEAH. You want to know why?

I brought, like, four pairs of pants with me to college. I’ve been wearing my good pair of jeans for the last, I don’t know, three weeks?

(SHUT UP, IT’S NOT GROSS. THEY’RE PANTS.)

So, today, I decided it would be a good idea to wear my other pair of jeans. I put them on. La-dee-da, brush hair, brush teeth…hmm. Something seems a little off. What could it be?

OH, OF COURSE.

MY PANTS SMELLED LIKE MOTHERFUCKING FEET.

THE SAME NASTY, ROTTEN, DISGUSTING FEET SMELL THAT I BATTLED WITH ALL SUMMER LONG.

IT FOLLOWED ME TO FUCKING OHIO.

I AM SO MAD I COULD BARF. AND EVEN THAT WOULD SMELL BETTER THAN FUCKING DEAD PEOPLE MYSTERY LAUNDRY FEET.

THEY WERE FRESH OUT OF THE DRAWER, TOO. I HAVEN’T WORN THEM OR WASHED THEM SINCE I’VE GOTTEN HERE.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT.

September 13, 2008

HOLD ON, HECTOR. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY.

IT IS.

Remember that happy ending I was telling you about? Hector and two other cacti living together in harmony?

WROOONG. Everything went awry. Emily G. did all she could, but Hector must have been homesick or angry- he went wild. Two days and multiple tragedies later, he was in four pieces and headed for the dumpster.

He belongs in the dumpster. BUT NO. What did I do? I took him back, because I’m too fucking emotionally attached to him. That’s right.

So, now, he’s getting bed rest. He’s all bandaged up. Observe:

Hector resting up

Hector resting up

His arm is in a sling. A communist sling, of course.

Communist sling

Communist sling

I am not sure where I will sleep. His health is my priority in this time of crisis.

But, after he recovers…

GOD DAMN IT, I WILL FIND A HOME FOR HECTOR IF IT’S THE LAST THING I EVER DO.

Nothing, really.

September 13, 2008

This entry has no specific purpose, except to provide yet another distraction to prevent me from starting my homework.

It’s gloomy and nasty and icky and rainy and gross today. It makes me want to do nothing, except maybe sleep more. And eat. I did go to the gym this morning, though. I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE PROUD OF AN ACCOMPLISHMENT.

So, last night was full of band merriment. Some of the marching band seniors have a small village house, so we headed over there for some quality band bonding. We played some card game that was like those nerdy Pokemon card games I always played, except it was with cowboys and guns and shooting and stuff. I committed assisted suicide after about 30 minutes so that I wouldn’t have to pay attention, because it was boring.

Then, some kid did magic tricks. He seemed to be very intensely proud of the whole magic thing (card tricks are cool, not gonna lie). Another guy there expressed skepticism, and it was a very bad idea. VERY BAD. Heated arguments and various magical demonstrations ensued. Never has bonding or magic been so very awkward, tense, uncomfortable, and HILARIOUS. I heart marching band so much.

Two days ago, Emily G. and I made a cake for her birthday.

A double-layered cake, frosted with two jars of Nutella and sprinkled with crumbled up Pirouette wafer cookies (the tube kind filled with chocolate).

IT CHANGED MY LIFE FOR THE BETTER.

Nutella cake

Nutella cake

It was, by far, the most delicious 10,000-calorie thing I have ever consumed.

Just looking at it might give me diabetes.

…SOOO WORTH IT.

Needless to say, we’re both popular now. My life’s dream has finally been realized and I can now die happy.

(JUST KIDDING, that was only middle school. My REAL life’s dream is living in a bounce-house house. AND IT WILL HAPPEN.)

It’s Saturday afternoon, so naturally, I’m sitting on the computer, doing nothing. The rain is limiting.

I’m so jealous of those village-housers. I want to snuggle up in a blanket, in a comfy chair, in my tiny college-sponsored house, with a couple of my friends, and play board games on nice-looking carpet that won’t give you tetanus from skin contact with it. I’d have to import these friends from other states, though, and shipping is expensive, so I guess I should wait.

I’m at point A in life right now. I assume most people have a point B, perhaps graduate school, a career, something like that.

My point B is death. I should really look in to changing that.

p.s. Something is making our hall smell horrible. HORRIBLE. LIKE ROTTING ANIMAL. I think it’s coming from the trash can, but since last night was Friday night, I’m really too scared to look.

Happy Endings

September 10, 2008

I’m sure you’ll all be glad to know that Hector has found a home! Thanks to Facebook. It’s fantastic.

There’s another girl in my dorm who collects cacti. Facebook informed me of this. Upon inquiry, I discover that her cacti are named Henry and Herbie.

IT WAS MEANT TO BE. YAY!

So Hector is proudly residing in her dorm room. Henry, Herbie, and Hector. A cactus family. A threesome made in heaven. And by threesome I mean like a pair except three, not like sex. Cactus sex would hurt. Especially with Herbie, he’s really spiky, and I wouldn’t want to put Hector through that. Hector’s spikes are Q-Tips, he will one day be a pleasant, gentle lover for some lucky cactus chick. Unless cacti are in to sadomasochism. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, cacti; I don’t judge. Actually, I do, but not the sexual preferences of cacti. Can you tell I’ve thought about this?

p.s. I actually haven’t until now. But, in case I drop out of college and write erotica for a living, it is a legitimate fetish to consider. I should keep notes.

Speaking of notes, did you know that after death, the heavenly spirits of ancient Chinese folk were commonly devoured by celestial wolves during their ascent to heaven?

Heaven is a dangerous place.

Fifty-sixpeat

September 9, 2008

I have been listening to February Song by Josh Groban on repeat for the last day and a half. I’m on 56…wait for it…57.

Ahh, Josh.

I AM SICK OF READING. I WANT TO HULA HOOP.

p.s. Hula hooping is really fun. Especially when you get academic credits for it.

Ancient China can wait. It’s not going anywhere. The sun is out…

WHAT THE FUCK.

September 5, 2008

GOD DAMN.

Here’s the story. So, I thought Hector the robocactus was stinking up my room. So I tried everything in my power to de-stink him. Then, yesterday, I got home from class and our room STILL smelled. So, heartbroken, I put Hector in the hallway with a sign that said “I need a home!”, and turned my back on him.

Hector in the Hallway

Hector in the Hallway

BUT THE ROOM WAS STILL STINKY.

So, I set out to find the true source of the stinkiness. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around, sniffing our carpet.

And then I found the stinky spot. This large, slightly discolored spot by my closet. Ew. I got some dishwasing soap and a sponge, and scrubbed away.

Then, I realized: Wait. This is where my shower caddy has been sitting.

WAIT. THIS IS MOLD.

So, I stopped scrubbing and googled “remove carpet mold”.

And, of course, the first thing that I read is:

“WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT TOUCH MOLD WITH YOUR BARE HANDS OR INHALE.”

Of course, I read that after spending an hour scrubbing the floor with my bare hands and sniffing the carpet WITH MY FACE, LIKE, AN INCH AWAY FROM THE MOLD SPOT.

FUUUUUCK.

Supposedly, someone is coming to clean it today, because my technique did not work as effectively as it should have. But I have to pay now. Shit.

I’ve been talking to other girls in my hall, and they all leave their shower shit on the ground too. Mine seems to be the only one that has grown mold. Either I’m icky, or smells just feel drawn to me. Maybe both.

According to Google:

SYMPTOMS OF MOLD INHALATION

1. Coughing

2. Irritation

3. …

4. Convulsions

5. Death

I haven’t been experiencing death or convulsions, but I have a cough. AND I AM VERY IRRITATED. GRR.

When I start coughing up mushrooms, I’ll start worrying. Now, no.

The silver lining?

HECTOR GETS TO STAY. WOOHOO!

Alright.

September 4, 2008

College has been fun, but I’ll take a diploma now.

I’m already sick of class and it’s the second day. It’s not boring or anything, I just really hate learning.

P.S. Just kidding. My classes are actually kind of fantastic, especially Russian. My professors seem like cool people. I just have a really, REALLY annoying alarm clock that basically ensures that I start every day pissed off.

P.P.S. MARCHING BAND.

Okay, that’s all.

SIDE NOTE.

I made a large cardboard robocactus two days ago. His name is Hector. And now, our entire room smells like rabbit shit. The sour, gross kind. (Believe me, I am a connoisseur of animal poop. Observing it was my job, and it was never one to be taken lightly.)

SINCE WHEN DOES CARDBOARD DO THAT? EVEN FEBREEZE WILL NOT REMOVE THE ODOR. DAMN.

Hector is jammed in my window, proudly displayed to the North Quad, to air him out a little bit. If the smell doesn’t dissipate, I’m afraid he’ll have to be done away with. That would make me so sad; he’s like my child. If I have to get rid of him, I’ll never create with cardboard again; I don’t think my fragile heart could take another beating like that.

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY.

IS THE SMELL OF ANIMAL SHIT REALLY GOING TO FOLLOW ME AROUND FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE?

No one will ever marry me. Except maybe someone nasally-impaired. Like that man who was mauled by a bear and lost half of his face! I should call him.

Not okay.

September 1, 2008

Excuse me, Chinese Thought and Religion? Just who do you think you are?

Do you think you’re the class I just HAD to take? That my life would not go on without you?

No. No. You’re the class that I reluctantly added to boost my credit hours.

Yes, you sound interesting. Ish.

But really, do you think that makes it okay to require SIX FUCKING TEXTBOOKS?

NO. THAT’S NOT OKAY. SIX. $150. FOR ONE CLASS.

HONESTLY? I CAN STUDY ASIAN CULTURE FOR FREE BY HANGING OUT AT THE CONSERVATORY.

DON’T PUSH IT, OBERLIN.

I slept for twelve hours last night. And I will do it again tonight. Ahh.