It Hath Snowed!

It’s snowing. Which was awesome two months ago, but then the sun came out and I was so over the snow. Then I got totally pranked.

Before I transferred here, I was at a college where the closest you ever got to snow was nasty sleet. I missed this fluffy white stuff practically as much as I missed my mommy (which was a lot). Oh, how romantic the snow is; it makes everything a little quieter, and who doesn’t want to kiss some tall, dark, and handsome in the snow? Well, not me! Kissing tall dark and handsomes in the snow is probably impossible here since the snow would just fly in your eye or a tree would dump hunks of snow down your back. And when you’re rushing to class, trying not to fall on your butt, snow gets pretty inconvenient.

It will not stop. That doesn’t mean I don’t like it – I grew up with feet of snow falling every winter – but it’s mid-March. And by mid-March there should be dry streets.

The campus is now crawling with snow coats. That’s what we’ve become: just snow coats rushing around. You can’t see faces, just little piles of the thickest clothes possible wandering about from class to class. Except, I suppose, nobody’s wandering. We’re sprinting (if you can even call it that, since we’re more waddling like gimpy, constipated, ducks).

And then there are the girls who have their cute little snow boots with the fur on the top and look like sexy little snow bunnies hopping around in the snow. It’s a little difficult to compete with that when all I care about is not getting punched in the eye by a snowflake. I’m always rushing around campus, looking all haggard, breathing heavily and grimacing. I’ll bet Julie Newmar never looked haggard in the snow. But I am, obviously, no Cat Woman.

By tomorrow it’ll probably be melting, which would be nice, except…it won’t be. It’ll get all squishy and slushy and horrible. The trees will start snowball (slush blob?) fights with pedestrians. Anyone who has ever gotten a glob of snow down the back of their coat knows how shocking and unpleasant the experience is: the snow hits and suddenly you’re wriggling around like a worm on ecstacy at a dance party.

Basically, snow is not a good look for me.

I’ve Been Thinking…

I’ve been absent for a few (three) weeks. Not that any of you noticed. I received no postcards saying that you wished I would come back, no comments on posts asking if I was dead, no knocks on my door from you (okay, thank goodness to that last one).

So here’s what I’ve done in the weeks I wasn’t writing hilarious stuff on this blog:

- Got hired by the school newspaper. (I think that deserves a celebratory dance to Pocketful of Sunshine, Emma Stone style.) And now that you’re done watching that, just think about how awesome I am. Thank you, thank you. $22 a story. I’m rollin’ in dough.

- Joined the Alpha Delta Pi sorority. Once again, my beautiful hair has served me well (I’m lying..). Also, I’m a big idiot and don’t eat. Just kidding! I promise this (and most, actually) sorority isn’t like that at all.

- Watched Easy A twice in a row. Tonight. Hence the video above. I’m catching a cold, okay? And I don’t feel like dealing with another one, so I’m resting. And watching the best movie ever.

- Fantasized a little bit about my middle-aged man crush, Stanley Tucci.

- Successfully avoided recruitment to the Campus Christian Fellowship (several times). That’s actually extremely impressive, as once I practically broke a kneecap diving behind a pillar.

- Asked myself, “Why am I so awesome?”

- Realized that my answer probably had something to do with the fact that I turned into a ninja upon seeing a Christian Fellowship member approaching me.

- Realized that I might possibly go to hell because I avoided said Christian Fellowship member.

- Wondered if there was a hell.

- Stopped wondering about religious things and craved guacamole.

Then I thought about some more stuff:

- Why do baby pageants exist? The age group 0-3 should never exist in competitions. Unless it’s a competition of which baby can lie down for the longest period of time. Or which baby gurgles the most. Or which baby’s mom can change it’s diapers most efficiently. Or which baby is best at being an actual baby and not pretending to be a grown woman.

- What exactly is the purpose of the lowest settings on a toaster? Nobody uses a toaster to simply warm their bread up. And if they do, their families and friends should be seriously worried and possibly hold an intervention. If you want to warm your bread, place it between two rocks and rub them together. The friction will warm the bread while also saving the planet. It’s science, people. I know. I’m in Geology 101.

I’m So Proud

As one of my friends said, “I would say, ‘Unbelievable!’ but it’s more like, ‘Hey, welcome to the 21st century, what took you so long?’ I’m very proud to be a Washingtonian.”

I don’t know if you’ve gathered, but that was in reference to the fact that today, just in time for Valentines Day, Washington State has passed a gay marriage bill into law. The law won’t take effect for a few months, and will definitely face a lot more opposition, but I’m still proud. And excited.

I love listening to anti-gay marriage arguments. Not because I agree, obviously, but because they’re so stupid. Letting gays marry will do nothing to your own heterosexual marriage. They aren’t going to raid your home and steal your wife, they aren’t going to make you cheat on your husband, and they’re not going to rip up your marriage certificate. What is at stake? Nothing except the freedom you’ve been denying them for years. For God’s sake, get over it.

Just because you disagree with someone’s way of life, you do not have the right to tell them to change how they feel and who they are. This sentence comes with a disclaimer excluding murderers, rapists, etc. But gays are not in that category, no matter what you say. So get over yourself, because this isn’t about you. It’s about a huge group of other people who are pleading to be treated as humans. We’ve already gone through so much as a nation, discriminating against so many races and religions, so why can’t we just give it up and love each other and let these people get married?

There’s a lot of terrible stuff going on in this world; people are getting murdered, raped, beaten, starved to death every day. Amidst all these atrocities, we’re worried about two people in love getting married? We’re worried about it because they happen to be of the same sex? This issue deals with whether or not people can share their love for the rest of their lives like heterosexual people have been able to for centuries. And we’re finally coming to our senses and letting them.

So of course I’m excited and proud and wiggling for joy today. Because my state has made another huge step toward marriage equality. And finally my friends and family members will soon be able to get married to whomever they choose. I’m sad that this had to be voted on, because this shouldn’t even be an issue, but since it is, we’ve done a good thing today.

So to everyone out there, all around the world, let’s keep moving. Let’s make this universal. Let’s let love prevail.

Mr. Senator!

I don’t know if you’ve ever been in the presence of secret service men before, but they’re not exactly secret. In fact, their attire practically screams, “I am protecting someone very important and that person is really close!” About 8 years ago, I experienced this firsthand.

My family was vacationing in Washington D.C. in the spring of 2004 and were driving along the street when we saw about sixty-five million (and I totally counted) “secret” service men standing outside a row of shops. “Maybe George is getting a coffee,” my dad said, referring to our beloved president George W. Bush and the Starbucks that the secret service men were standing in the vicinity of. So we pulled over (fancy that – a parking spot in D.C.) and got out of the car just as Senator John Kerry (you know, the candidate who should’ve defeated Bush in the 2004 election) walked out of a hair salon. We all know how silver and delightful (although slightly shocking) his hair was, so imagine it newly styled and glimmering in the spring sunshine. Now imagine yourself completely dazzled and possibly hypnotized by it. Now stop imagining that, because you’re being ridiculous. John Kerry’s hair does not possess the power of hypnosis.

Any of you who know my father (so basically none of you since a few of you are from South Africa and his voice, though loud, has not reached that corner of the earth) know that he is not shy. At all. And he was a huge fan of Kerry (or, perhaps, not a fan of George Bush and therefore a huge fan of the alternative), so you will not be surprised to hear that as the senator walked toward his large, black, bulletproof car my father yelled, “MISTER SENATOR!” so many times that I’m surprised a secret service man didn’t shush him.

Before we continue, may I just say that I admire my father a little bit for being a persistent man. I don’t think I ever would’ve done that, and therefore wouldn’t be able to say that I had met John Kerry. This blog post would be about 3 sentences long and would go something like this: “I saw John Kerry one time. His hair had just been dyed. He got in his car and drove away as I stood silently, pointing.” So yay Dad!

Anyway, nobody shushed my father, but Kerry did turn around and come greet us. The ghosts of secret service men past rolled over in their graves, and the ones present at the scene inwardly huffed. Why do famous people always do the ‘turn around and risk their safety just to shake some twit’s hand’ thing? they all thought with disdain. Because they need people to like them, John Kerry’s spirit animal, the otter, whispered to the wind.

He walked over and shook our hands and let us take pictures with him, which was cool (and those pictures later went in our Christmas cards, no big deal) although I would’ve preferred it to have happened when I didn’t have stupid hair. I would attach a photo to this blog, but this incident occurred when film was still being developed on a regular basis, and therefore don’t have a digital copy. Also, I am crap at scanning. So there. Maybe it didn’t even happen (it did).

Poor John. His hair, however spectacular (and possibly hypnotic?), was not enough to distract people from calling him a flip flopper or criticizing his self proclaimed war hero-ness, even though George Bush was a doofus and shouldn’t have been allowed to graduate college, much less spend 8 years as president. But at least I met Kerry and got to tell him, in my humble 10-year-old opinion, that I supported his candidacy. He was a nice man.

Plus, my degree of separation from President Obama = 1. Whoop!

Fingerless Gloves and Other Pointless Things

I’m all for looking awesome, but sometimes I wonder why looking awesome has recently come at the expense of wearing useless things.

The fingerless gloves have got to go. Honestly. Unless you’re homeless or happen to need them in order to properly be a mechanic or something, you should be ashamed of yourself for wearing them. You should be ashamed of yourselves for imitating homeless “fashion.” Homeless people do not wear clothes for fashion. They wear them because they’re clothes. And the fact that you have chosen to emulate their “wardrobe” is an affront to homeless people everywhere.

Stop wearing your headband across your forehead. The purpose of a headband is to keep things OFF of your forehead, not add a bedazzled strip across it. Why would anyone think that looks attractive, you ask? Answer: They’re cutting off the circulation to their brain.

Your lensless/non-prescription glasses make you look like a fool. You’re not playing Harry Potter. You’re not, even though you dreamed you would. Weren’t you the kid who made fun of the “nerds” wearing glasses? Well, you’ve apparently joined their club, but they don’t want you. I speak for all glasses-wearing nerds because…I am not one…and…um…

Jesus doesn’t care that you tattooed his fish onto your hip. In fact, he might be frowning from the right hand of God right now, because you purposefully put it there in order to look sexy. I understand that many people feel that their faith is so important to them that they want to permanently mark their body with it, but…well, actually, I don’t understand that. Because I thought that faith was meant to be spiritual, not physical, and I’m pretty sure it’s not meant to be shown off while wearing a bathing suit.

And finally, stop putting inspiring posters/plaques up in your dorm room. I don’t want to walk into a room and be immediately told to live.laugh.love. or some other nonsense. And for heaven’s sake…the God sayings have to end.

Now that I’ve proven that I’m a total grump, have a wonderful day!

If I Die…I Loved You

I’m sick. Not sick enough to be legitimately concerned for my life, but sick enough that I’ve gone completely melodramatic (not that I wasn’t before). Sick enough, anyway, to compose my eulogy. I would like it to be read by Louise Rennison while a backing track of “Body Beautiful” by Salt-n-Pepa plays softly:

Cappy. What a beautiful girl she was. More beautiful than all the rest. She had a passion for passion, a knowledge of knowledge, and a life too short to fit her. Because she was tall.

Cappy. She liked British things too much. She liked stand-up comedy and listening to books on tape. Sometimes her love of water aerobics caused her to be mistaken for an old lady, but that was to be expected, because she was pretty wrinkly.

Cappy. She had a name that rhymed with happy, and happy she was. Cappy. Sometimes people mistook her boyfriend for her brother, and that was awkward. Cappy. People tried to tell her she was too smart to work at McDonalds, but she wouldn’t listen because she loved sausage biscuits too much. Cappy. She craved Thai food in the middle of the night. Cappy. She craved every other food at every other time of the day. Cappy.

CAPPY! She had beeeeen to the mountaintop! Granted, it was more of a hill, but this is her eulogy, so deal with it. She had beeeeen to the mountaintop and got stuck there and never came down. She was forced to live a simple life from then on, herding goats and such, married to a man named Marcus Terhunk who treated her well, but not as well as Elvis could have, but Elvis was dead and there was nothing changing about that. Unless the conspiracy theories were true, in which case Elvis totally stood Cappy up at the altar of the mountaintop and forced her to marry this Terhunk fellow and carry his strange last name with her for the rest of her days.

And then Cappy died. She died a terrible death of snottus on the brainus. Terhunk was by her side during her last hours, though in her last hours she thought he was a sheep and kept trying to get him back to the stables. That was how hard she worked herding sheep and goats and other slightly fuzzy animals. Really hard. That is how hard.

So mourn her. Mourn her from the bottom of your heart. Mourn her from the depths of your soul! Mourn her from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Mourn her from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire! Mourn her from the mighty mountains of New York! MOURN HER! Mourn her from the Wendy’s on the corner to the Edo in the foodcourt. Mourn her from the bus stop to the greyhound station.Mourn her from the beginning of this sentence to the end of it. Mourn her as she mourned the loss of her husband-to-be Elvis. Mourn her.

And that, my friends, is my eulogy. Please note that all of this is completely true, so be amazed and wish you’d known me better. Because I will die now.

Cool Girls Who Blog

I don’t know what it is, but…I don’t follow any male bloggers. Not a one. How is this possible, you ask?

Because my blog-following quota has been filled by some super cool girls who blog. And because we girls gotta stick together, I’ve decided to talk about some of these girls. Also, there are times when you need to know that other girls have weird TMI moments, too, like “I’m hungry but I kinda need to poo,” or “Just shut up and let me focus on my snot!” Not saying I’ve ever said those things…but…

A Confederacy of Spinsters: They love Stanley Tucci. Really, I don’t need to say more, but I will. They write odes to men in sweaters. They write about the awkwardness (and awesomeness) of online dating and calling your boyfriend baby. So basically, you should love them. Also, they’re super nice girls. And I bet they’re pretty, too. They won’t be spinsters for long.

Go Guilty Pleasures: Jules has been commenting on my blog for a long time, and since I am a bitch busy person, I hadn’t read her blog until this past week. But now I’m kinda addicted. She loves chipmunks, which I admire since I do too. Also, she basically is a chipmunk (in the best way), and she likes slap bracelets and (duh) guilty pleasures.

Girl on the Contrary: She’s insane. She’s cute. She’s a little obsessed with the apocalypse, but who isn’t? She makes stuff up in her head. I love her. We’ve written a post together. It’s awesome. Also, she’s southern. Y’all.

Monica’s Tangled Web: I like Monica because she’s a strong woman. I also like her because she’s been extremely supportive of me, which I appreciate since she doesn’t know me personally. I really love her. And I love her blog, especially since sometimes I don’t get discounts either, and I have a hard time with sales representatives treating me like I’m an idiot.

Writer’s Block: Ahahahahah yes I did! I included myself in this. Because if I don’t think I’m cool or my blog is noteworthy, no one will. So there. That’s philosophy. Or psychology. Or neither, really.

There are more. There are lots more. But I can’t be asked to write about them, mainly because I haven’t discovered them yet. But you guys should definitely scour the internet for more awesome blogs (written by both sexes, because we’re all about equal rights here).

I have now updated my blogroll, because I just 1) realized I haven’t in a year and 2) love the feeling of seeing my blog’s name on someone’s blog roll who I have never heard of. It gives me chills, honestly. Love it.

On a completely(ish) unrelated note, I may someday (in the distant future) make t-shirts for my blog. So. If you’re awesome, you’ll let me know what your favorite quotes and/or posts are from my blog. Ok? Ok.

Cheers to all of you for making my life merry and bright. It’s like Christmas on WordPress every day.