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.

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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.

A Typical Evening

August 30, 2008

We made a sex robot.

Not a robot for sex, but the robo-embodiment of sex.

His name is Pr0nbot 2. Observe.

Pr0nbot 2

Pr0nbot 2

Here’s a close up:

Torso

Torso

His chest is covered in vaguely sexual clippings from a Parents magazine. In case you can’t read what it says:

“Hard. Easy.”
“What does love smell like? Tickle here to find out.”
“You Chews.”
“You want it. You need it. Now get it.”
“Every wonder what yum smells like?”
“Spit it out already!”
“The perfect muffin has arrived!”
“Sharing doesn’t come naturally, but playing games does.”
“Now you’re cooking.”
“We talk about it at every opportunity…”
“Treat yourself with every bite.”
“You put natural things into what you made. So do we.”
“No more crying and no more wincing.”
“I wanna get down!”
“When you’re this sure, get a little creative.”
“Shave for a cause!”
“Limp, limp, limp.”

And my personal favorite:

“Do you long for LONG?”

I swear, we went to a party AFTER we did this. Really. And Pr0nbot 2 faithfully guarded our room against the throngs of drunk chicks roaming the halls.

Doesn’t “Twisted Side Pony” sound like some kind of perverse sex position? Yes, it does.

More Unsolved Mysteries

August 29, 2008

Something outside my dorm room makes horrible noises. Every hour of the day, with brief breaks.

The noise isn’t really that horrible, just annoying.

It sounds like some really tall man outside my window is peeing into a very short, empty toilet.

I know, it’s college, and I expect that sort of thing. Really. But it’s annoying, and he starts and stops a lot.

Unless it’s not pee; maybe it’s just the wind.

That would be so boring.

College, Day Three

August 28, 2008

I’m just wrapping up my third day at Oberlin. It’s been pretty great, so far. You know, besides the required orientation events and such. Those were shit. But other things have been fun.

I’ve met some very cool people. I’m not a social person…in fact, I’m hanging out in my dorm room right now while the rest of my hall dances awkwardly in a circle to Lollipop by ‘Lil Wayne. Missing out? No…because I have that song on my IPod. Duh.

I’m really not into the mass socializing thing. I don’t like making casual acquaintances, I like making friends. Maybe it’s a character flaw, but maybe not.

My roommate is fantastic! We listen to Damaged by Danity Kane. Which is all the cultural exposure I need, I think. It’s great.

There are small bloodstains on my curtains, but they’re negligible.

The girl’s bathroom lacks paper towels and tampon receptacles, which is somewhat less negligible, but okay.

This all feels like summer camp. Maybe when I start taking 15 credit hours next week, it’ll feel more like death camp, WWII-style.

I don’t have a lot to complain about yet. But I suspect I will tomorrow. Let’s keep in touch.

Mystery: Unsolved

August 24, 2008

I’m sure you’ll be as ecstatic as I was to discover that the redone laundry does not stink of mystery feet. It smells rather delicious now, actually.

So instead of eating the box of detergent to sublimate my anger, I ate half of a can of Nutella to celebrate.

I’ll never take clean clothes for granted ever, ever again.

Now, if only I knew why everything smelled of feet in the first place. I should call CSI. Except that they’d be all:

“Miss, we found traces of blood, pus, and semen on your walls. Do you remember finding disembodied feet in your drawers?”

Because that’s what happens on every episode of CSI that I’ve ever seen.

As if I needed to smell any worse…

August 24, 2008

For the last two months, I’ve been rooting through all my clothes and cleaning out my drawers.

And I have noticed that a lot of my clothes smell really strongly of feet. But they aren’t socks. They’re sweaters, pants, t-shirts, and shit like that. NO SOCKS.

The feet-clothes are never concentrated in one drawer. They’re everywhere. Scattered all over my room.

Swear to god, it’s been happening since June. AND IT’S DRIVING ME CRAZY, YOU GUYS.

Remember that LAMA concert I was telling you about? When I pulled my fancy black dress out of my drawer…FEET. IT SMELLED OF DISGUSTING FEET. I had to Febreeze it and roll around on my front lawn to get the smell out. GROSS. The girls agreed with me, it smelled like nasty feet. It’s not just in my head.

So, last night, I pull a nice, clean load of laundry out of the dryer. As I’m carrying it to my room, I notice that something seems unpleasant. I smell the laundry.

THE SMELL OF FEET. FUCKING FEET. ALL OVER EVERYTHING. SOUR, NASTY, SWEATY, SPORTY FEET. DSFDFSDSSDFSFD.

I’M USING CAPS LOCK NOW BECAUSE I’M REALLY, REALLY PISSED OFF. I HATE SMELLING LIKE A DEAD PERSON’S FOOT.

MY SOCKS DIDN’T EVEN SMELL LIKE FEET BEFORE I WASHED THEM. NOW THEY DO. WHAT THE FUCK, YOU GUYS. THERE WAS NO FEETY SMELL IN THAT LAUNDRY. MY UNWASHED LAUNDRY SMELLED LIKE ARMPIT. NOT FEET. THE DETERGENT SMELLS GOOD. THE WASHER SMELLS WATERY, BUT GOOD. THE DRYER SMELLS LIKE RUINED ELECTRONICS THAT I’VE FRIED IN MY PANT POCKETS OVER THE YEARS…JUST KIDDING IT SMELLS GOOD.

I’M REDOING THIS LOAD OF LAUNDRY NOW AND IF IT COMES OUT SMELLING LIKE FEET, I’M GOING TO EAT THE ENTIRE BOX OF DETERGENT AND THEN SAW OFF MY ARMS.

On top of this, there’s some horde of people playing African drums really loudly behind my house. And cheering at inappropriate times. This is unacceptable. Especially at 11:30 a.m., which might as well be 6 a.m. for me, because I’m always tired regardless of the hour.

Fuck.

The laundry is done.

And I’m scared.