Monday, April 30, 2012

College: A Wrap Up. (And Also Boobies.) Part Two!

Disclaimer: Still no boobies. But wait one more week for part three and I promise a boob story!

This is the part where I wrap up the bitchy roommate story.

Since I removed the original post, here’s a recap (essentially the entire roommate post. Scroll past it if you’ve read it already).

“This is my bitchy rant blog post. I don’t think I’ll be making posts like this very often, so it will still be safe to check my blog for funny posts after this. I’m only a bitch sometimes.

Some people go to college with their friends and live with them. Other people commute, so they don’t even have to worry about the stress of living with another person. And some people are lucky enough to get a single room on campus. That way, they can live on campus without having to worry about getting along with someone.

I’m a pretty easy person to get along with. I don’t need my roommate to be my best friend. I just need her to not get in the way of my basic survival needs.

These need include breathing, eating, drinking, sleeping, being warm and watching America’s Next Top Model.

Lately, my roommate has gotten in the way of at least three of these things.

I care the least about watching America’s Next Top Model. When she got in the way of that last week, it wasn’t a big deal. As long as I see the finale tomorrow, I don’t give a fuck. I like seeing the new episodes, but it’s a only minor inconvenience to my day if I miss it.

But what has really gotten on my nerves recently is that she spontaneously decides to open the window sometimes.

It’s December.

I am not okay with this. And I told her several times at the beginning of the year that I hate the cold. The cold makes me want to kill things just to keep myself warm.

Nothing says “heat” like a murderous rage.

Anyway, no big deal, right? Who cares if she opens the window for a few minutes?

Well, I don’t care. But all night? When I have to wake up at 6am for class and take a shower? And then change my clothes and be almost completely naked with the window still open as I continue to freeze?

Not okay with me.

This gives me two options.

1.       Talk to her about it and fix things like a pussy adult.

2.       Pretend it doesn’t bother me at all and act like a huge bitch regarding everything else because it’s obvious at this point that she deliberately tries to piss me off even though I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to her.

I pick the second option.

Think I’m being immature? Let’s look at the other bitchy things she’s done…

Day 1: She got to move in before me because of some bullshit alphabetical thing the school did on move in day. She took more than half of the room. And she took the window side.

I had to move a bunch of stuff around my side of the room just to have room for my mini-fridge. She has a mini-fridge, microwave and tv. I don’t even have room for any of these.

          Perfume: She puts on a lot of perfume. I’m usually not bothered by it, because I love perfume, but it’s even becoming annoying to me. And I own more than a reasonable amount of perfume. But I’m able to put on a sensible amount. That way, people can tell that I smell good without being completely overwhelmed. I don’t think she understands this. She sprays it for almost an entire minute several times a day. It’s really unnecessary. If someone with a perfume allergy walked by her, or into our room, I’m pretty sure they would die. If your perfume can kill someone, you have too much on. Get over yourself.

          Twitter: She’s kind of obsessed with Twitter. I have an account, and I use it sometimes, but she definitely takes it too seriously. For example, she thinks it’s okay to post things about me on there. Which is why I think it’s okay to post rude things about her on my blog.

Let me take a moment to describe what happened with the Twitter situation…

We had been getting along fine. In fact, we were talking almost every night. Almost like friends. It was nice.

When we first moved in, I didn’t think I was going to be friends with my roommate. But after a few weeks, it looked like we might be starting to be friends.

But I was wrong.

One day I decided that, since she posts about Twitter so much, she wants everyone she has ever met in her entire life to follow her.

That’s how serious she seemed to take Twitter.

I had apparently been too nice to her. Because on Twitter she posted something like “My roommate won’t shut up!”

Except it was ruder than that. I was too pissed off to remember exactly what she said. But I was just trying to be friendly.

She should try that sometime.

          She watches really stupid shows: I watch tv once a week. I watch tv Wednesday nights for America’s Next Top Model and South Park.

She watches Jersey Shore and The Bad Girls Club EVERY FUCKING DAY. Among other really stupid shows that keep me up at night with angry bitches screaming at each other.

And that’s why I don’t try very hard to get along with her.

I think if I decided to be a huge bitch, she’d do the same thing and then we’d end up screaming at each other. So I’m making this blog post instead so all of you can hate her as much as I do.

We do get along sometimes. But right now I’m too angry about the window being left open to really care about being her friend.

It’s later in the day now. She just got back and opened the window again.

And this time?

She is under all of her blankets.

She opened the window. And is now using blankets.


UPDATE: Number of times she’s taken out the trash: 0.

Number of times she’s bitched about other people not taking out the trash: Approx. 7

Number of times I’ve taken out the trash: Approx. 4”

Yeah. It was a long one. But can you really blame me?

Anyway, I bet at least one person is wondering what happened with that (if you don’t already know).

Well, I left for winter break and took the majority of my things because I really had no intention of continuing to live there.

Then when I got home I saw that one of her friends (who, until that particular moment, hadn’t been that bad) had tagged me in a post calling me out about bitching about my roommate on my blog.


Roommate posted about me on Twitter. I posted about Roommate on my blog. Roommate’s friend decides to get involved and post about me on Facebook.

Why was it necessary to have a social networking fight on three social networks? HOW DOES THAT MAKE SENSE??

If my roommate was a nicer person, nothing would have happened at all. I’m not the kind of person to do nothing when someone is a huge bitch to me for no reason at all. Blogging was something; and it was enough.

Anyway, I ended up moving into another building at 9am on move in day. I got there as early as I could so I could avoid any chance of seeing her. Mostly because my mom was going to be there. I didn’t want my mom to be brought into it.

So, I moved into another building and resumed classes the next day.

Then I dropped out for several reasons, but none of them involved my former roommate.

I am disappointed that I didn’t get to have sex in her bed before I left, though. I really wanted to. I even had someone that was completely willing to do it with me.

In fact, I believe his exact words were “She deserves it”.

And she did. I completely regret not doing something to ruin her year, but maybe she at least learned to be nicer.

Just kidding! Girls like that never learn anything.

Here are some tweets I managed to find regarding me:

This is from September. After only a month of knowing her. She really didn’t waste any time.

And this one is from December, after I left for winter break.

But remember the part where you said things about me first? Of course you don’t. Because you’re a snobby bitch who clearly lacks common sense. Also, good job on saying "what" twice. That really makes you look more intelligent.

See? She would have deserved it if someone had sex in her bed. Remember, kids; if you're being bullied, the best revenge is to have sex in their bed.

Unless you're twelve. Then just tell their mom.

UPDATE: If you haven’t already, you should definitely submit some questions for my interview post. Details here.

Sunday, April 29, 2012


A couple weeks ago I was trying to think of new post ideas for my blog.

I thought “Allie Brosh and Jenny Lawson have great blogs. I wish my blog could be that awesome.”

Then I noticed that they’ve both done at least one interview post. For Allie, she did a post on Hyperbole and a Half where she asked her readers to submit questions to her, and for Jenny, she was either interviewed by a friend or by some important person.

And since all of my readers are either my friends or important to me (usually both) I’ve decided I want to do an interview post too!

If you want to submit a question, you can do so by either posting a comment or emailing me at

Or, if you know me in person, as I suspect many of you do, you can ask me in whatever way you want.

Since I’m not sure how many people are actually going to do this, I’m not putting a limit on how many questions each person can ask. Ask as many as you want!

Also, when you submit your question(s), let me know if you want me to refer to you by your real name, your screen name, or a fake name (you can also pick your fake name if you want – I recommend Shaniqua because it’s funny).

I’ll be accepting question submissions until May 31st and I’ll probably only do this if enough people participate.

So you should totally do this because I think it will be really fun.

And, you can ask me serious questions if you want, but there’s a good chance you won’t get a serious answer.

Part two of “College: A Wrap Up (And Also Boobies!)” will be up on Monday.

Monday, April 23, 2012

College: A Wrap Up. (And Also Boobies.) Part One!

Disclaimer: If you’re here for a story about boobs, that’s not until the end of part three, so you should probably come back in a couple weeks.

I’m going to attempt to sum up my college experience. Some people reading this may already know most of this, so if you want to skip to part three, wait a couple weeks.

Last year I was in my senior year of high school and I was starting to get responses from the schools I had applied to.

Due to bad luck, I only got to take the SATs once, despite my intentions to do it at least two more times.

I got rejected from half of the schools I applied to. Kind of. I technically got rejected from all of them (because I’m a moron and I didn’t pick a backup school) but UConn never responded to me at all, so I’m not going to admit that they rejected me. I’d like to think I got wait-listed and then there was a small fire that destroyed any evidence of my possible acceptance.

Anyway, I cried to the school counselor and she told me that another student had applied to Rhode Island College late and got in.

So I threw together a shitty application, had my guidance counselor fax it over, and got a call a couple days later saying that I was accepted.

Looking back, I probably should have tried this with URI so I could have been with my friends, but I had the crazy idea that I could make new friends and double the amount of friends I had.


I had maybe two friends. Three at best.

I was fucking one (more on that in a bit), the other lived off campus, so I only saw him two or three times, and the other I didn’t hang out with until right before I dropped out. And then I never really heard from her again.

That part of college sucked. I’m pretty sure I have some form of social anxiety. I’m the kind of person that would hide in the bathroom with a bottle of vodka until I was drunk enough to be around new people.

I tried talking to people a couple of times, but I seemed to scared them away.

Exhibit A: (This is briefly mentioned in a previous post, but this is a recap post, so I’m including it. I think it’s a lot more in-depth, but you can skip it if you want.)

I was in Spanish one day and one of the girls in the class had talked to me a couple times. So I decided I should initiate conversation.

This came in the most unusual form ever.

I was flipping through my Spanish textbook when suddenly I saw the funniest thing in the history of Spanish textbooks.

See that? Look close. At his butt.

It’s a buttcrack. After seeing this, I promptly sent it to everyone in my contacts.

It wasn’t a shock to most of my friends. I send weird stuff like that all the time.

Anyway, the girl (Lindsay) was sitting in front of me that day. So I tapped her back and said “Turn to page 75 of the textbook. He has a buttcrack!!”

And she did. Then she said “Oh. That’s really funny. I never would have noticed that.”

I thought I had finally done it. I thought it was the perfect way to make a friend. And when you make a friend through a buttcrack, that is a friend for life.

But then she didn’t sit near me for two weeks.

I thought I had blown it. Buttcracks are usually a hit or miss, and I had missed.

And then the unthinkable happened.

She sat near me again a few weeks later and we ended up doing a worksheet together.

Part of the worksheet was putting your desired future career into Spanish.

My real answer was “Undercover lingual agent for the CIA” but I didn’t want to put that into Spanish, so I panicked and said “Uhh…Playboy?”


I was all “Maybe? Maybe not. My real answer is complicated. Honestly, I’m not taking Spanish ever again after this semester, so I don’t care if anyone thinks I want to pose in Playboy. I probably never will.”

Lindsay: “Oh…Well, my answer is complicated too. Let’s just look up your answer too.”

And then she never sat next to me again. In fact, she sat on the polar opposite side of the room. In fact, she sat on the polar opposite side of the room for the rest of the semester.

Exhibit B: Hot guy makes fun of me for using so much cream and sugar in my coffee.

Despite a gorgeous guy clearly hitting on me, I just say “Black coffee is icky.”

He laughed, and he was clearly still interested, but I had a really bad day (rain, Psychology, Italian, bitchy-evil-Satan-spawn roommate, etc.) that I JUST WALKED AWAY.

I hate myself sometimes. I really do.

Monday, April 16, 2012

I Suck At School

I never really took school very seriously. I remember one time in 7th or 8th grade I took a test in math and got a 4. Out of 100.

I ended up revising it to a 6.

That was the lowest score I’ve ever received (other than a zero, of course).

In my junior year of high school I had given up on my history class. I love ancient history, but when you get to any part of history where America exists, I’m bored out of my fucking mind.

I feel like America’s fight to be independent from Britain is the most recent history that doesn’t make me fall asleep.

So you can imagine how bored I was when I had to write an essay comparing Hover and Bush with FDR and Obama. Frankly, it’s a miracle I even remember their names.

So I did what I always do with stupid assignments: I bullshitted and used humor to get myself through it.

And by “get myself through it” I mean “I wrote two paragraphs and gave up”.

We did the paper in sections. There were probably six paragraphs we had to do, and therefore, six sections we were given test grades on. They were graded on completion, and I had completed 1 ½.

My grade was currently a 20. I would have been fine with that, but it was a required class, so I had to get it up to at least a 70.

Any serious student would have written a kick-ass paper filled with several paraphrased quotes from the internet. But not me. I wrote an essay that started with “The US economy was in an economic pickle…” and then started another paragraph with “Paragraph about Obama:” It was probably only two pages long.

Incredibly, I didn’t get a horrible grade on the essay. If you don’t consider a 40 a horrible grade. And even better, the teacher was accepting late assignments.

So I printed out every section of my essay individually, turned it in, and got full credit.

I ended up with a B in the class.

But that isn’t really that good of a story. And I wouldn’t bore you with it unless I planned to trump it with my best high school essay story.

In my senior year, I wanted to take bullshit classes so I could prepare to bullshit my way through college. If nothing else, I was planning my future.

I signed up for Youth and Law because my friend Savannah was in it.

I planned to just talk to her, turn in a couple papers and get an A.

What I didn’t know about were the weekly essays.

They were really the only assignments we had to complete, aside from the two tests and quizzes per semester (if that) but they were annoying and I hated them.

So I got creative with them. You could really write anything and get an A.

The essays needed only a couple components. They needed an opinion (I hate opinions. I’m neutral on almost everything. So I avoided this by picking the most random, unbelievable opinion ever in all of my essays) and they needed to relate to law in some way.

There are a lot of stories I could share about this class. Almost every class was hilarious in one way or another. But one essay that I wrote caused the teacher to erupt with laughter in the middle of an exam. He tried to contain his laughter, but no amount of willpower in the world could have stopped it.

This is the first paragraph of that essay:

“It’s a Good Day to Not Be Martin Douglas

          It is well known that being bit can be painful. In some areas, more painful than others. For instance, a guy may not enjoy having his testicles bitten off as much one may tolerate having their leg bitten by a dog. While both would be painful, it is obvious that some psycho biting off testicles would hurt significantly more. In the cafemom article ‘Woman Goes a Little Nuts, Bites Off Guy’s Nuts’, Maria, a British woman, bites off Martin Douglas’ nuts while drunk. This is not only disturbing, but also very illegal. Sure, there is no law that directly says ‘one will not bite off testicles. Act is punishable by law’, but these things are just implied. It goes along with the no violence law. Along with being illegal, gross and weird, this is also morally wrong.”

A friend had sent me the link to the article and I knew it would be wrong of me to not make it into an essay.

So the teacher saw it fit to read it to the class because he had to justify his laughter. He didn’t read beyond the first paragraph before giving me a 100. It was probably the highest grade I had gotten all year. And I was understandably proud. It went over much better than the essay I wrote about the whale that killed its trainer.

Me: “There is no whale jail! You cannot arrest a whale for murder. They get away with it all the time! This whale killed three people!”

Awesome Teacher: “Umm…Aquariums seem like a whale jail to me!”

So I only got an 88 on that paper. Which, if you’re me, is still pretty damn awesome.

UPDATE: I started a fashion blog. If anyone is interested in checking it out, here’s the link.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

I Am Beyond Confused

I just checked my traffic sources on Blogger and I don’t even have words for how confused I am.

I have one result for “”, five results from Facebook, which is unsurprising because I link to it there all the time, and 54 results from “”

I don’t understand how my blog is getting traffic from that site. I’ve never even mentioned Obama on my blog until right now.

The internet is a strange place. But thanks for the page views!

I also saw that I have 3 readers from Russia and one from Germany. I find that really cool. But maybe it’s just really easy to make me happy. I also feel that I should mention that I have one reader from Taiwan, but that’s one of my friends, so I’m not sure I should brag about it. But he’s cool, so I will brag.

Also, this isn’t a real post, but I’ll maybe have a real post by Wednesday or Thursday. I also hope to have a Twitter follow button soon, but it’s broken right now and I can’t add it to my profile until it’s fixed. But I promise to get on that as soon as possible for anyone that’s interested.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Tragedy Strikes at the Chorus Banquet

In high school, a good day consisted of bright sunshine, a fire drill in an otherwise unbearable course, at least half of the freshman class being on a fieldtrip.

A bad day was everything else. Between horrible classes, drama with my friends, freshmen not knowing how to walk through a hallway, and depressing weather, my only solace was joking around with my friends during chorus. My friend Cassie and I didn’t care about chorus since we’re not exactly gifted at singing, but we cared about our senior status, and we ended up with a seat in the front anyway.

Now, if we had a chorus teacher that wasn’t biased and cared about all of her students equally, we would have possibly given her the same respect that we gave other teachers. Which, given the circumstances, was much more than the current respect we had for her.

Nevertheless, chorus was a bullshit course for us, so we were able to have fun despite the horrible teacher. One good thing about her was that she usually got pissed at underclassmen for talking through songs, but rarely said anything to Cassie and I. It may have been because we were seniors, but it’s also possible that she just didn’t notice.

One thing we found incredibly hilarious at the end of the day was her frequent use of the word “come”.

Being the mature seniors we were, we laughed whenever she said it.

When she would talk to students in her “specialty” groups, she would say things like “Who’s coming after school today?”

And students would respond with “I’m coming early.” Or “I think I have to come late. Is that okay?”

Her hilarious response was “That’s fine. I just need as many of you to come as possible.”

Even with Cassie and I laughing in the front row, it took her many more cums for her to say anything.

Of course we denied that we thought anything was funny. It would be hard to explain to a cranky elderly woman that we had been laughing about a sexual innuendo for the past few months.

Anyway, the main story here is not about the class. My story is about the tragic night of the chorus banquet.

The banquet was for all of the high school chorus. I hadn’t gone the last three years because I hated chorus, but I wanted to do everything senior year because I didn’t want to regret not doing stuff.

But I really should have stayed home that night. It was worse than I could have ever imagined.

I got there early. Only a few people had arrived, and a couple of them happened to be my friends.

They told me they had saved me a seat.

I was overjoyed. I usually avoid events like that because I’m afraid of sitting alone or with people I don’t know/like. I don’t have a legitimate diagnosis, but I’m pretty sure I have social anxiety disorder. Situations where I’m alone make me incredibly depressed and scared. Even though I wasn’t close friends with the people that saved me a seat, I was still glad someone actually thought of me.

Except then I saw who else was sitting at the table and I realized I would most likely not end up at their table.

Due to some of that lovely friend drama, one of my best friends would not sit at that table. I didn’t like a couple people that were sitting there, but I didn’t hate them either (yet). Still, I did not want to put her in the position of finding someone else to sit with. There were a limited amount of tables, and they were filling up fast. I would have hated to find another place to sit on my own if it were me. I wasn’t going to do that to her. Especially for people I didn’t really want to sit with anyway.

So, we grabbed another one of our friends and made him sit with us at a table with a few adults that were on some committee.

This began to further ruin the night, since we could no longer swear and gossip freely.

Eventually, the ceremony thing was over and we could mingle and go home.

After several tearful goodbyes, none of which were from me or Cassie, people started to leave.

I was thrilled to go home. There was a new South Park on that night and I wanted to be home by 10 so I could watch it.

Except the universe had other plans.

When I was walking to the car, I pressed the button to unlock it.

But nothing happened.

I figured maybe the small device had dead batteries. But I knew the key would still work, so I got in the car and tried to start it.

To my horror, it didn’t work.

How could my car have a dead battery? I double-checked everything before I got out of the car.

The radio was off. The heat wasn’t on. The lights were off. The wipers weren’t on. The windows were closed.

Everything had been fine. How could the car have a dead battery??

Then I remembered a weird light I had seen before I turned off the car.

I later found out that the light was telling me that the fog lights were on. But I didn’t turn them on. I didn’t even know the car had fog lights.

I didn’t bring my cell phone that night, and my best friend had already left.

I was left with one more close friend, a bunch of people I didn’t like, and one awesome adult that let me use her adorable pink phone to call my mom and AAA.

It was late at night, so you would think AAA would not be very busy.

Nope. They said they could be there in THREE HOURS.

And to make matters worse, they kept asking me questions.

“What’s the make and model of your car?”

“I don’t know. Umm…It’s an off-white PT Cruiser. Does that help?”

“Yes. Did you leave your headlights on?”

“No. I don’t think. I made sure they were off before I turned off the car. I don’t know what happened.”

“Oh. Well, we can have someone there in three hours.”

Okay, it was two questions. I didn’t know how to answer them and I wanted to cry. I did not want to wait there for three hours. And more importantly, I didn’t want to inconvenience the people that were offering to wait with me.

Luckily, one of the few people remaining had jumper cables in his car. He was the father of some freshman that I didn’t like. Proof that parents aren’t always to blame for how their kid turns out. The guy was awesome. He didn’t even judge me for not knowing anything about cars.

The one close friend that remained (out of a total of four that had been there to start with) was very supportive.

“Can I follow you home? If your car catches on fire or blows up, I want to see it!”

“Your car sucks.”

“My car is superior.”

Normally, stuff like that would make me laugh. But in my current state of mind, I kind of wanted to punch him in the face.

I didn’t, of course. Partially because my biceps are close to nonexistent, and also because he was offering to follow me home, and if my car died again, I really didn’t want to be alone.

Miraculously, I made it home just in time for the new South Park. I believe it was the “Crack Baby Athletic Association” episode.

It’s amazing what comedy can do for a horrible night.

Side note 1: I had an English teacher that had us read an article about crack babies. It was awesome.

Side note 2: This post was inspired by Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. I love her horrible day stories, so I tried to turn one of my terrible experiences into a post also. It goes without saying that she is a far better writer than I am. But I tried!

Side note 3: I didn’t leave the fog lights on. It turns out, there was a problem with the wires and they were turning on by themselves. It was kind of like there was a really mean ghost whose only purpose was to ruin my night with fog lights. Fucking asshole.

Side note 4: Here are some song lyrics that made Cassie and I laugh.

“Come with me, where chains will never bind you.”

“Come to my garden.”

“Lift me up and lead me to the garden”

“I can't really explain it, I haven't got the words

It's a feeling that you can't control

I suppose it's like forgetting, losing who you are

And at the same time something makes you whole”

“But then I feel it move me

Like a burning deep inside

Something bursting me wide open

Impossible to hide”

Side note 5: Chorus also managed to ruin senior skip day for me. The moral? There’s nothing chorus can’t ruin. Or maybe that people that can’t sing shouldn’t take chorus. But I like the first one better.