Sarcasm Consultant

Texting Grizzly

2012-05-04T00:12:00.003-04:00

Here is a recent texting conversation between my friend and I. We met at Girl Scout Camp, so instead of his real name, he's in my phone as Grizzly. Grrrrrrrrr. Deal with it.

Grizzly: So how's college?

Me: I should be studying for finals. Instead: THE INTERNET!!!

Grizzly: Story of my life. How am I supposed to study when I have so much music to keep up on?

Me: I <3 design blogs.

Grizzly: Really? To the point where it's a part time profession or hobby?

Me: Profession. Full time.

Me: Reading them should be my profession. Someone hire me. I'm obsessed.

Upon which Grizzly takes half a century to reply, so I do what I normally do when no one answers: keep talking.

Me: I consider it research. I am studying architecture. Totally counts.

An hour later...

Grizzly: Fair enough. I guess my next logical career choice would be to become a music critic then. I've nailed the pretentious part.

Me (Instantly, because I am a good texter): Haha. Get some hipster clothes and you're ready to go!!

Grizzly: I'm already over the hipster thing. They have taste in music. But my glasses aren't preventing every single person I know with slight knowledge of my musical tastes from branding me as one. It's quite the dilemma.

Me: tell me about it....

Grizzly: Ok. My phone is being a quite irritating and won't download this picture. WTF.

Me: hahah funny. It's a picture of me in my equally hipsterish glasses wearing an expression of empathy.

Grizzly: Wow. Im totally missing out on this. Whatever. Empathy though, I'd love to see what that looks like.

Me: By empathy I mean, I'm crosseyed and sticking my tongue out....

Grizzly: Of course you are.

PS. picture from here.

I Can't Multitask While Walking

2012-04-12T18:08:00.001-04:00

So I am bad at multitasking while walking. Mostly because walking is something I find rather challenging. I am simply not a talented walker. I often fall down dramatically and painfully for absolutely no reason. I think I've fractured bones at least four times. I was too lazy to ever get this x-rayed and confirmed, however, so this is simply a hypothesis.

It's not just clumsiness though. I get easily distracted when walking and tend to do stupid things. Like the other day I was walking down the stairs and someone else started walking downstairs too, but a floor above me. I glanced upwards (curiosity did not kill the cat, but it certainly shanked it in the back), and then fell down half a flight of stairs.

I walked cheerfully across the quad on a sunny day recently. I was chewing gum simultaneously. I tripped on grass and ended up with grass stains all over my white dress.

I tried talking to my friend Andrew while at his dining hall once. It happened to be St. Patrick's Day. I slipped on water (let's blame this on water ok?!) and basically shattered my knee caps when I came crashing to the ground.

Anyways, this is all a lead up to this conversation I had walking near Government Center in downtown Boston:

Andrew: These shoes cost $300.

Me: No fucking way! That is ridiculous! I've never spent more than $100 on shoes! WHY WOULD YOU SPEND $300 ON SHOES?!?!??!

Andrew: They're really nice men's shoes!

Me: YOU ARE CLINICALLY INSANE.

Andrew: They're gonna last me 10-15 years! Plus then I'll resole them and have them for another 10 years...

Me: 10 years!? Bah! That is nothing. YOU HAVE BEEN ROBBED.

Andrew: I think of the two of us, you are the crazy one.

Me: I bought this pair of boots in 6th grade for $20 and I still have them. That is significantly less than your 10 year $300 shoes!

Andrew: Yeah, but you don't wear them all the time.

Me: SO?!?! I bought them in 6th grade... how many years ago was that/

Andrew: ...

Me: I'm in like, what 14th? 15th? grade?

Andrew: and?

Me: That's like what 12 years? No... 10, No, wait. 7 years. 7 years! That is almost 10! And they were only $20. YOU HAVE BEEN ROBBED.

Man in Fancy Suit Walking Behind Us: *hysterical laughter*

Me: No! It's 8 years! That is even better! How could you possibly spend $300 on shoes?!

Man in Fancy Suit Walking Behind Us: *hysterical laughter*

Andrew: *nicer laughter*

Me: SHUT UP! I can't multitask while walking. Math is hard.

Man in Fancy Suit Walking Behind Us: *hysterical laughter* I'm sorry, sorry! *hysterical laughter* *walks past us*

Me: wow...

Andrew: You know you're an idiot when complete strangers on the street make fun of you.

Me: Well, at least I didn't spend $300 on shoes...

This then led to a debate about the number of times men v. women wear a certain pair of shoes. I won. Of course.

xx

Laundry

2012-03-29T15:14:00.001-04:00

Classic thought process: "The laundry basket is full. I should probably do laundry then. But do I want to do laundry? No. Definitely not. Do I need to do laundry? Maybe... Think about it, Laurel. Well, I'm out of pants. I should do laundry then. Nah, I really don't wanna do laundry. I don't need pants. Pants are overrated. I'll do laundry next week."

How I Embraced My Non-Existant Indian Heritage

2012-03-14T16:42:00.000-04:00

Somedays, everything is fine. You wake up, you look in the mirror, you give yourself that cocky chin nod thing, and say "How you doin'?"

Other days, this does not happen. Some days you look in the mirror and think, "WHAT?! WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!?! THAT WAS NOT THERE LAST NIGHT!!"

For example, the other night I went to bed relatively early, looking forward to actually sleeping not that fencing season was over.

I looked in the mirror while brushing my teeth. I looked fine. Tired, but fine.

So I went to bed, expecting to wake up the following morning looking equally fine, but with more bedhead and possibly some large under eye circles.

Unfortunately this was not the case. When I woke up the next morning I stared at the mirror.

Something was not right. In fact, something was definitely very wrong. I looked closer.

There it was just sitting there in the middle of my forehead, taunting me.

What. The. Fuck. Where did you come from?!!!!!!!!!?!??!????????????????

I could tell this disgusting lurker was out to get me. I could tell it purposely came up right in the center of my forehead just to be pure evil. It intended to torture me. I knew I had two choices.

Get MAD:

Or:

Embrace my inner Indian heritage.

I am not Indian, however, and despite how great I look in this sari, I will never be Indian. So I ended up going with the former.

PS. Indian dancers image from here

You Should...

2012-02-24T01:22:00.003-05:00

... go to Tufts.

Musik

2012-02-07T18:07:00.001-05:00

I am bad at music. I cannot play an instrument, despite many attempts throughout elementary and middle school. I listen to only a few bands regularly. Most of my itunes songs have 1 or less plays. I haven't uploaded music in over a year.

But I do love to sing along. Especially in my awesome car. Unfortunately my car is currently living at my parents house. So I have to sing along to my ipod in my room by myself, which is just not nearly as cool.

Mostly though, I hate it when I'm singing along to a song and the artist gets the words wrong.

"You're toxic, I'm slipping under. Yeah."

Oh no, Britney Spears. Get it right: "Your toxic gums slipping over me."

"I set fire to the rain. Watched pour as I touched your face. Let it burn while I cry, cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name."

Um. Nope. Sorry Adele. Try: "I set fire to the rain. Watched it burn as I cried in vain, 'cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name."

The only part of a song that every artist sings along with me correctly, is the music solos. And that's only because they're silent and I'm still making weird guttural noises and pretending to be a guitar.

***UPDATE*** 2/21/12

Just realized I've been singing "Now that I'm poor in Beijing" as part of a lyric to an Interpol song. Well turns out they've got it wrong. They are not world travelers. Booooring.

They're just "poor and aging."

BOOO.

Deutsch

2012-02-06T14:39:00.001-05:00

I am currently taking three German classes. This is part of my desperate attempt to complete two majors in 3.5 years. So far it seems to be working.

I wanted to share with you a few thoughts on the delightful German language.

First of all, it really does not sound all that terrible. That stereotype comes from World War II and Hitler. Hitler was a truly interesting speaker. His spittle kept the front ten rows of listeners quite active as they attempted to dodge the flying liquid.

Real German speakers who aren't evil dictators actually sound rather lovely in my opinion.

I may be biased. After all, my Grandmother is German and I grew up around the language.

I have other reasons why German is the best language.

Everyone should take German. Why? Because it's damn easy. That's why.

1. EVERYTHING is phonetic. You can sound EVERY SINGLE WORD OUT. This is good for those of us who became voracious readers at a young age. Some people (such as me) learned how to read phonetically and then started reading more advanced books and then sounded like an idiot when they said such things as "Protest-ant" or "guest-ture" or "wreck-loose." Language is a difficult thing. I vote we abolish silent letters. Or we could all just speak German and pronounce everything the way it should be.

2. German is incredibly easy to learn how to speak if you already know English. Basically, English and German are both Germanic languages. Which means they're more similar to each other in terms of sentence pattern, words, idioms, etc, than English and French (SERIOUSLY WHO TAKES THIS LANGUAGE?!) or English and Spanish (ok, I can see why this one is helpful.) Want examples? Whenever I don't know how to say something in German, I just say it in English and put a German accent on it. 9 out of 10 times, I am correct. Control? Kontrolieren. Dance? Tanzt. Pepper? Pfeffer. Salt? Saltz. Dog? Hund. Cat? Katze. Brother? Bruder. Bank? Bank. Come? Kommen. Even if the word isn't exact, you can usually figure it out. Flowers? Blumen. Post office? Post. Fur? Pelz.

3. Another lovely thing is that you really don't need to learn many words to speak German. After you know a few handfuls, you just stuff them altogether to make new words. Example? Zusammengehörigkeitsgefühl. Literally the words together+belonging+feeling= sense/feeling of community. Lovely. This is especially nice because I am lazy and don't like to look up words. You can basically figure out the gist of what any word means by looking at the different parts.

4. Grimms' Fairy Tales. Yes. The bloodier/sexualized versions of Disney stories. Only these came first. Did you know Snow White's step-mother was tortured to death at her wedding? Yeah, she was forced to wear white hot iron shoes while she danced UNTIL SHE DIED. Rapunzel? Not such a sweet wholesome girl. Originally, the sorceress found out about the prince because he knocked Rapunzel up and her clothes stopped fitting.

5. German is super easy to learn because there are real rules. Not English rules where they're only used every ten times, these are consistant. Exceptions are rare, not the rule. Why? Because they were made up by Germans and Germans follow the rules. Always. That's one of the rules. For instance, the verb comes second. ALWAYS. It is the second part of the sentence.

6. Everyone who speaks German is a boss. Also guys who take German are generally hot. Or Jewish. Or both. This has been my experience in German classes at least. The girls who learn German? Hit or miss. Either they're smoking or they look like a witch on crack. Which could be appealing, if you're into that kind of thing.

7. The Germans are all about sex. All the time. Everywhere. Every movie you watch in German classes will be about sex. Every story you read will have sexual undertones. Or overtones. It is a) hysterically funny and b) super entertaining and c) makes fabulous conversations. Or should I say, Konversationen?

Here is a video of my aunt torturing my grandmother. She is rather old and helpless. She can say squirrel in both German and English, though. Apparently a lot of other Germans can't. Wanna know why? BECAUSE ENGLISH IS IMPOSSIBLE TO LEARN/SPEAK/UNDERSTAND. Especially those fucking abrevs.

Schmexy

2012-01-20T15:08:00.004-05:00

I am feeling particularly good looking today.

Yep. I'm pretty schmexy.

Hoarding

2012-01-19T20:34:00.000-05:00

If you've ever seen the show Hoarders you know that it's the most addictive thing since chocolate. You also know that watching it makes you feel significantly more secure about the massive amount of crap you cram into your home.

Now, I have no money and I live in a space that is literally 10 feet by 12 feet; this, however, won't stop me from amassing a re-donk-ulous amount of shit.

For instance, I have three pairs of scissors within arms reach and 6 chapsticks stored conveniently throughout my room.

In my defense, one pair of scissors is for cooking, another for art, and the last for everything else. The chapsticks are simply because I am really fucking lazy and refuse to change locations in order to moisturize my lips.

Another thing, I have at least twenty pairs of non-work-out pants. If not more. I wear probably 5 of them on a regular basis. This clearly makes no sense; I should donate them all right?

WRONG. I have been collecting these pants since I was a freshman in high school. The fact that most of these pants stopped fitting when I got boobs and hips, is simply besides the point. I NEED them. Several are multi-colored. This alone is a wonderful reason to keep them. Others will be perfect for when I get a boob job and become an anorexic model in Germany.

Water bottles are another thing I hold on to. This is not my fault. People tend to give water bottles out for free and how can I say "No" to free? I can't. That's how. There are four water bottles sitting on my desk next to me as I write this. One is full of water. One is very large and used for exercise; I don't know why it is here and not in my exercise bag. The dog probably put it there. I don't have a dog though. Getting one is on my to-do list. The other two function a lot like the chapsticks. I won't drink liquids if I have to move to get them. Laziness is a disease and is burning rampant through my body faster than my white blood cells can attack the virus.

These are white blood cells attacking a virus. Apparently this needs clarification.

Let's move on.

I have over thirty exercise only shirts. These were also mainly free. Or from concerts/fencing tournaments. The reason I require this many is due to the fact that laundry machines are evil and I hate them. They are all out to get me, I swear. Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you. Or however that phrase goes. Seriously, watch Homeland. That will clarify the validity of my paranoia.

Basically, anytime I do laundry I lose at least four pairs of socks, shrink one article of clothing, ruin a pair of underwear's elastic, and nothing gets properly dried. I blame the laundry machines. It is clearly entirely their fault and not my inability to sort laundry/wash things on anything, but cold (for getting out blood, duh!)/remove things from the wash that don't go into the dryer.

Also I bleed a lot and ruin clothing often. It comes from being incredibly untalented at walking. For example, I've fallen down twice today and it's not even 11am. The first fall I would like to blame on Julia. She tripped me when we played indoor soccer this morning during practice. She definitely put her foot there for me to trip over on purpose.

The second time I fell this morning was while walking up the stairs. Sometimes I get distracted by chewing gum or thinking while walking up the stairs and forget to think about where I am walking and trip. I like to think this is lucky. I fall up the stairs significantly more than down. This is a positive, because falling down the stairs is inherently more painful/destructive. For instance, last time I fell down the stairs, I fractured my arm.

This clumsiness leads me to my medicine cabinet which contains a brace or bandage for nearly every type of injury along with an incredible array of medicines, current and expired. Do I need all of this? The answer undoubtably is yes.

One thing I really don't need, however, is old magazines. Yet, I can't throw them away. I just can't. I fucking paid big bucks for those issues and I plan on keeping them for a very very long time! However, I have never looked at an issue, after reading it once, again. They just sit there in their little magazine bins on the top shelf of my desk. My argument for keeping them: what if someone is bored when they come over and want to read a magazine. However, not even I can support this argument as obviously no one is ever bored when they come to visit me. Duh.

Other things I hoard: books ( I REREAD THEM OK?!), make-up (why yes, I do still use that half full lip gloss I bought in 4th grade), nail polish (there are a ton of shades of red!!), sweatshirts (different colors and weight depending on what I'm wearing and the time of year... obviously).... and too many other things to count.

I can't help myself, ok? I have a disorder.

Why Having a Second Child Permanently Disables the First Born Part II: The Pregnancy/Birth

2012-01-15T03:17:00.001-05:00

My mother made the mistake of telling me she was pregnant when she was only 6 weeks along. At age four, I believed this news to be the most exciting thing since body painting was invented.

And I enjoyed body painting quite at lot.

I promptly decided that I wanted a little sister to play barbies with. I refused to believe there would be any possibility of a boy. This would not have been all that problematic, had I kept this to myself, or at the very least a few close family friends. Silence, however, has never been my strong point.

I told EVERYONE that my mother was pregnant with my new baby sister. Being that my mother was only 6 weeks along and not even showing, this news surprised nearly everyone. The grocery store clerk gave me a free lollypop when I told him. My pre-school teacher congratulated me and sent a card home to my parents. Family friends wanted to know when the baby shower would be. My mother was sent an enormous amount of pink themed gifts before she was 12 weeks pregnant.

Before you are 12 weeks pregnant it is nearly impossible to know the sex of the baby. Yet, I already told the entire world my happy news.

Therefore, when my mother went in for her 12 week ultrasound, she was relieved to discover that she idea carried a girl.

This only furthered stoked the flame of my fantasy of being omnipotent. I pointed out my ability to read the future to anyone who would listen.

As the big day approached, I began to see negative effects of my mother's pregnancy. Most importantly, I could no longer sit properly on her lap during every meal, as I had previously done. (Don't let anyone tell you having a child is not a full time commitment; I refused to eat anywhere but on my mother's lap for four fucking years.)

However, as my mother's pregnancy continued and the due date of my sister approached, my mother's lap became infinitely smaller until it disappeared entirely. From that day on, I was forced to eat independently of my mother, something I neither did silently, well mannered, nor happily.

In fact, much of the damage on our nice, Amish-made dining table can be traced to me pounding silverware on it during this transitionary period.

Once my mother finally made it into her 9th month, things did not settle down. I continued to harass her during meals and questioned everything she asked.

The day her water broke, should have been an exciting and relieving moment. Unfortunately for her, I made sure the moment was entirely unpleasant.

My mother's water broke while she was asleep. I snuck into bed with my parents that night and found this event hysterical. For the next few years, I would gleefully tell anyone who would listen about the time my mother wet the bed one night.

This would come back to bite me.

My sister was eventually born and my father took me to the hospital the following day. I remember this day to be almost as exciting as when I got a dollhouse for my 4th birthday, but not quite. Regardless, my emotions were running wild and I was pleased with myself for accurately predicting the birth of this baby girl.

At the hospital, my mother placed my new baby sister, Bronwyn, in my arms. I was excited beyond belief.

I could not contain my excitement. It bounced around my body, searching desperately for an escape.

Gleeful screams of joy and all around self congratulation could not contain the excitement of the situation.

This was my own fucking little sister after all. My new favorite doll, my new best friend, my new source of entertainment. The excitement of this situation could not be contained...

...and it eventually found it's escape.

Have a great day! Do you remember the birth of your sibling? Tell me! And follow my blog!!

New Years Resolutions

2012-01-04T04:12:00.000-05:00

These are fireworks. Just in case you were wondering; here is clarification.

1. Save Money
a. Stop buying brand name contact solution
b. Stop buying the expensive contacts that can stay in all day
c. Stop buying books on kindle. It's real money, even if I can't touch it.
d. No new clothes. EVER.
e. Don't buy new make up. If I get a zit, I just won't leave the house.
f. Don't go into to used bookstores. It's no longer browsing if I purchase 7 books.
g. Even though it looks awesome on TV, don't buy it.
h. No buying chai lattes. I don't care if I'm exhausted. Suffer.

2. Lose weight
a. Learn how to run. But not on the internet because that will just become an excuse for not running
b. Run rather than speed walking on treadmills.
c. Get over fear of ellipticals.
d. Just because the sitting bike is easy, doesn't mean it's the only thing I should do at the gym.
e. Stop eating dessert.
f. Only eat 2 squares of the good expensive chocolate for dessert.
g. Frosted Mini Wheats aren't diet food. Especially when the bowl is bigger than my face.
h. Eat salad. Even if I hate it, it's good for me.

3. Go to gym 4 times per week.
a. Sitting in the gym does not count as going to the gym.
b. Taking babies to the gym, because they like to watch basketball does not count as going to the gym.
c. Talking about the gym does not count as going to the gym.
d. Thinking about the gym does not count as going to the gym.
f. Dreaming about the gym does not count as going to the gym.

4. Make dinner plans for week on Sunday, not the night of.

5. Make 1 friend in every class.
a. Stop making fun of everyone smarter than me.
b. Learn to love slackers.

6. Stop dating assholes.
a. Being sarcastic doesn't make him funny.
b. Actually let people get within a foot of you.

7. Respond to emails professionally and in less than 2 days.
a. Stop reading emails and thinking about responding to them so much that I think I've actually responded to them and then don't realize I never responded until 3 weeks later.
b. Stop signing every email "Best, Laurel"
c. Stop being super repetitive in emails.
d. One sentence does not equal one paragraph.

8. Stop wasting hours watching TV on illegal internet sites.
a. Don't watch an entire season of a show in one day.
b. Stop watching every episode of every TV show you hear about.
c. Only watch quality television.
d. Just because it's on watchseries.eu doesn't mean I need to watch it.
e. Read a book.

9. Oral hygiene.
a. Brush teeth in the morning after practice.
b. If I'm already in the bathroom, I cannot be too lazy to brush my teeth.
c. Floss at least once a day.
d. Get new toothbrush at least every 2 months.
e. Teeth whitening?

10. Get someone to read this shit.

Queen of the Goat Herdresses

2012-01-03T03:20:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago I became obsessed with the idea of owning goats. By a few weeks, I really mean the day after Thanksgiving. That was the day I wondered into a bookstore in Vermont and found the book Backyard Homestead: Farm Animals.

The book talked about many animals, but the only one I paid any attention to was the goats. GOATS. I decided I wanted goats. I wanted them badly.

Then I remembered I don't own property. I don't even lease property. I rent from a semi-sketch man with a goatee. The fact that my landowner has a goatee only further inspired me. I was determined to get goats. I remembered I had parents. I remembered my parents owned land in California. I remembered they lived on this land and called it home. I remembered that it covered about half an acre.

I decided my parents should get goats. I bought the book for my mother. I gave it to her for Christmas. That night, while everyone else slept, I read the entire book.

I decided my parents were getting Nigerian Dwarf goats. Soon. I searched the internet for websites on backyard goats. It was very encouraging. I decided my mom could make goat cheese and soap from the goats' milk. We needed goats. This became only clearer the more I researched.

I dreamed of goats. I discussed goats with anyone who would listen. I lectured my parents on the environmental benefits of raising animals for their dairy products. I explained to my parents about the cheese, and the milk, and the soap, and the cream. I dreamed about herding goats in the 16th century. I googled images of goats. I researched goat milk recipes. I created a binder of information about goats for my parents.

I frequently dreamed of goat herding contests. I won. I became Queen of the Goat Herdresses.

I continued to explain the benefits of goats to my parents. My parents said they would think about it.

I won't give up the dream. Do you have goats?! Tell me about your goats!!!!!! TELL ME YOU HAVE GOATS IN YOUR BACKYARD AND I CAN COME SEE THEM BY THURSDAY!!!!!

<3

New-ness

2011-12-29T05:15:00.002-05:00

New Twitter!
https://twitter.com/#!/SarcasmConsult

New Facebook page!
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sarcasm-Consultant/266397193420441

Almost a New Year!

Give me feedback. What do you want me to write about next?

"Holla"-days

2011-12-28T01:05:00.003-05:00

Hope ya'll had a good winter holiday season. I spent our three days of Christmas sick. That didn't stop me from singing karaoke though! The pain and suffering caused by my attempt to sing was not really worth it, but I solved that problem with vicodin. And all was good. Yay!

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?!

2011-12-12T14:29:00.000-05:00

Wenn dir Deutsch sprichst:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VDcWD6ZXE8&feature=g-upl

Hier ist ein Präsentationen für mein Deutsch Kurs!

But don't worry! I'll make a few posts in English for y'all!

Sometimes I'm Grouchy

2011-11-22T21:11:00.001-05:00

Every now and then I find it difficult to deal with humanity.

Usually this occurs when I have gotten less than 9 hours of sleep. Which, actually, is always. Less than 7 hours, though, and my tolerance for anything remotely bad disappears faster than alcohol from a frat party.

So the other morning I woke up at my usual ungodly hour for practice. When that was over I had a yoga class, which I take because it's conveniently in the same room.

On this particular morning I was in a grouchy mood for no particular reason. After practice was over I got out my mat and lay down. I immediately closed my eyes hoping to fall asleep for the ten minutes before everyone else in the class arrived.

I always try this. It never actually works, but I dream big.

Eventually the instructor calls the class together and asks everyone to sit. This message always seems to be announced right when I actually slip into deep sleep.

On this morning, everything seemed as usual until I opened my eyes a few minutes into sitting.

Someone sat in front of me. Uncomfortably close to me. I put my mat down way before anyone else in the class even arrived. WHY WAS THIS GIRL SO CLOSE TO ME?

I was already too tall for my mat. In several poses I end up with half my body on the floor and half on the mat. With this chick in front of me I would not be able to take the class. I would have to move myself and this mat.

SHE WAS FORCING ME TO MOVE WHEN I WAS THERE FIRST.

I began to feel the irrational anger building up inside of me.

I HATED HER.

I WAS GOING TO EAT HER!

Then I sprang to my feet and grabbed her with my velociraptor claws and bit off her head with my velociraptor jaws.

Only my lack of ability to turn into a velociraptor prevented this from occurring.

In reality I just sulked and moved my mat a minute later.

I was still angry though.

I considering following her and attacking at a later point.

But instead I bought a day old muffin for a dollar. Miraculously, I felt much better and less violent after that!

Food inevitably calms my inner velociraptor.

10 Things I'd Rather Do than Physics

2011-11-19T12:25:00.000-05:00

1. Go skydiving. I've always wanted to do this, but then I remember I have no money and would probably be so terrified I'd forget to let out the parachute and then I'd wet myself and die.

2. Go scuba diving in a cave full of man eating sharks.

3. Be vegan for a week. This would be pure torture, because 90% of my protein intake comes from ice cream and milk.

4. Run out of underwear and not have time to do laundry for a week. I could do this. Frequent showers and lots of leggings/workout clothes

5. 1 hour of weeding. No longer though.

6. Stay up all night at a concert and then take a red eye with 2 lay-overs to New England and not sleep on the plane and then move into a new place of residence.

7. All my other homework and reading for the next month.

8. Run around the block naked.

9. Run around the block multiple times clothed. This is a big one considering the most I've run in the last four years was 3/4ths of a mile.

10. Raise a goat from kid to 4 years old and live on a farm with out speaking to any other human being until I can teach my goat basic calculus.

So this is probably why I've dropped physics.... Twice.

How I Will Make Money To Pay Off My Massive Student Loans

2011-11-15T17:54:00.001-05:00

So, I am massively in debt. Already. At a ripe young age.

You see, I felt like getting a head start on all you old farts.

Also I went to a redonkulously expensive private university on the east coast. Ooops.

Anyways, as I see it there are only a few options for me to pay off all my loans:

1. Become a stripper. I am not really sure how much strippers make, but I hope its more than babysitting. There is only one problem with this that I can see. I have no ability to dance without looking like I am wrestling a bear underwater while wearing princess themed floaties.

2. Win the lottery. This is unlikely to happen as I don't really understand the lottery. There are different kinds I think? Perhaps? Maybe?

3. Donate my eggs to people who desperately want to be pregnant. I don't really get why these people don't just adopt. I for one would gladly skip out on the whole pregnancy part of getting a baby. My mother is a labor & delivery nurse and the stories she brings home are R rated for gore and crudeness. Also I hear you poop. So... I'll pass thank you very much. BUT if you want to pay me for some eggs, sure why not. Its not like the world population is unsustainable or anything...

4. Blog. Good luck to me on that one. I'm 87.46239900002329352359999999299% sure I am the only one who finds me funny.

5. Win fencing tournaments that give out money as prizes. I think there are maybe 20 of these a year with about $100.00 prizes. That's $2,000.00 I could make. BUT I would have to win and my lack of coordination gets in the way of that when I fall flat on my face/ass during a bout.

6. Write a #1 song. I'd probably have to learn cords, or notes, or whatever those things are that you play to make music. hmmmm,,,,

7. Raise chickens and sell their eggs. I would need a backyard to do this. I don't have one. And probably some chickens to get started. Or does the egg come first?

8. Mug people. I need to get a gun. Perhaps that weird guy who lives near the T and shouts odd things at me when I walk by has one. I should go ask. Maybe tomorrow night. I am free around 9. People will just loan you guns for an hour or two right? He'll be friendlier if I knock on his door and ask to borrow a gun right?

9. Beg on the streets every afternoon. This might work if it weren't so fucking cold here. I could probably do it in Berkeley. Why does Boston have to ruin ev-er-y-thing with its inability to be habitable in the winter?!

10. I can't even think of a 10th option.

It looks highly unlikely that I will ever pay off these loans. I will probably die sad and alone, frozen to death on the Charles River bank, desperate for some California sun. Any suggestions on how to avoid this?

And Then the Dreaded Doom Sets In....

2011-11-10T17:07:00.001-05:00

So when it's time for me to take my pill and vitamins at night and I see this:

I begin to panic. IT'S COMING. The world is going to end! My freedom will be gone, my hopes and dreams destroyed.

Weird things begin to happen to me.

I'll be checking things out at the grocery store and everything will be normal.

I'll be waiting patiently for the absurdly slow high school aged checker to finish scanning my single microwaveable meal. And then:

I'll feel a twinge...

And then the twinge will turn into pain.

I try not to make any noise. No one will notice if I use face contortions as an outlet for the immense ache coming from my abdomen. I'll be totally fine in a minute. I got this. No big deal.

That's when it gets worse.

This is usually when the 17 year old checker notices something is off. He usually assumes I'm about to puke on his floor, which sends him into a panic.

However, I am just doubled over in pain. This never lasts more than a few seconds, just long enough for him to get a few words of protest out.

A moment passes and the knives ripping at my uterine lining cease their vicious slicing. I stand up and pretend everything is fine.

I usually try to pass off my episode as something else. Like being super interested in the pattern on the floor tiles:

They usually at least pretend to believe this and I pretend to be a floor tile salesman. This creates a conversation about selling floor tiles. I make up names for floor materials: sushatapp, donahwalome, greysagoochoise, etc. As soon as this subject is exhausted I run from the store.

My pain for the moment is over, but then I remember: IT'S COMING.

ewwwww

2011-10-31T12:51:00.000-04:00

The ground has snow on it and its literally freezing outside. This is a problem. I need to move back to California. Boston is just not cutting it. Don't people here understand that its supposed to be in the 90s on Halloween?!

I love...

2011-10-18T21:24:00.000-04:00

I love other people's parents.

Especially in Boston.

Here they take out to dinner and its FREE for me.

Now, there are a lot of things I enjoy in this world, but food is definitely at the top of that list. I love food. I think about food all the time. Wanna get me to do pretty much anything? Food. Or money. Money would probably work too. But wanna know what I'd spend that money on? Food. Delicious, fresh, organic, rich, healthy, vitamin-y food.

The only problem is food is really expensive. Especially when you live in Boston but hold food to a California fresh standard and then you're a vegetarian and try to buy expensive fake meat products all the time. Then everything is problematic and really all you eat is bananas because bananas always taste the same now matter where you are in the USA and because you just discovered you liked bananas after proclaiming a deep hatred of them for the last 15 years.

So anyways, when someone's parents take you to dinner and its free and delicious and you didn't have to make it yourself in the laundry room/ kitchen two floors down everything is amazing. And there is peace in your life. Also happiness and a full stomach.

It was MIT's Parent's Weekend this past weekend. Family friends who have a son going there took me out to dinner too. It was amazing. And delicious. We went to Wagamama in Harvard Square. I ate a huge amount of something delicious with rice.

So thank you, Sam & Jenny. My life is now much happier. You did that. You transformed my life. The happy memories of free restaurant food will linger in my mind for at least a month.

mmmmmmm.... I love food.

Dog Poop

2011-09-30T23:22:00.000-04:00

I just ate a steaming bowl of dog poop. It was delicious.

Let me explain.

It's a cookie. My Oma used to make them for her kids when they were little and then they started making it and eventually taught my generation. They're chocolate, peanut butter, oatmeal cookies. And they're amazing!

Anyways, when my sister was little one of her favorite things to discuss was dog poop. I don't know why, but she would always bring it up. My dad's cologne? Smelled like dog poop according to Bronwyn.

Where was the dog? Out side making dog poop. What was for dinner? Dog poop. One day my mom made these cookies. My sister ate one and when we asked her what she thought she said, "They taste like dog poop. They look like dog poop too!"

They definitely taste nothing like dog poop. They do, however, look like dog poop. Ever since then we've called these cookies "dog poop." Its comical when other people over hear us talking about the cookies. They must think we're on crack or fear factor something.

Anyways, I made them tonight and ate a bowlful of the dough before it cooled to cookie form with a glass of milk. DELICIOUS. Normally, I'd eat it with vanilla ice cream on top, but I didn't have ice cream or any alternative (whipped cream, unwhipped cream poured from the container, yogurt), so I had to make due.

We've been making these cookies forever. They're super easy, super quick, and oooohhh sooooo yummy! They don't even require an oven! Perfect for dorms/lazy people like me.

Here's the recipe for Dog Poop:

Combine these in a pot on the stove, stir until it boils.
2 cups sugar (1 cup if you're feeling healthy, 1.5 cups if you're feeling healthy, but craving sugar)
1 stick butter
1/3 cup cocoa
1/2 cup milk

Once it boils, take it off the heat and stir in:
1 teaspoon vanilla
2/3 cup peanut butter
2.5-3 cups oatmeal
some nuts if you're feeling healthy/like nuts

Then they're done!

Do yourself a favor and scoop a bunch out into a bowl while its still hot, put a scoop of ice cream on top, and eat it with a spoon!

The rest you can spoon on to a baking sheet (cover the sheet with wax paper if you hate to wash dishes!). Each little spoonful will be a cookie once they cool and dry.

YUUUUUUMMMMMMM!!!!

Why Having a Second Child Permanently Disables the 1st Born PART 1: Bed Time

2011-09-29T13:12:00.001-04:00

I was an only child for three year and ten months. My parents happily spoiled me rotten and I got away with everything.

THEN, my mother accidentally got pregnant. Well, ish.

Let me explain. My mother has three sisters. Total that is four sisters if you include her. They are all within a year from one another except for the youngest who my Oma told me "Was an accident when Opa and I were watching Alfie." Aside from this being way too much information, it explains why they're all so close. They all talk on the phone at least once a day and moved out to California together and got married around the same time and started having babies at around the same time. Today there are 8 of us spawned from these four mothers, two kids per mom. It wasn't always this way however. Originally, two of my aunts had two kids and my mother and another aunt each had one daughter. It was perfect, blissful, amazing.

Then my Aunt Karolyn got pregnant again. My mom, being super jealous and not wanting to be left out when all of her sisters had two children, stopped using birth control. She forgot to tell my father of this grand plan to continue propagating the earth.

She got pregnant almost immediately. And that's where Bronwyn came from: jealousy. My life was ruined. Things would never be the same again. Everything changed.

For instance, I didn't have a bed time before Bronwyn was born. I just conked out when ever the fuck I felt like it. This led to my ability to sleep on anything when I get truly exhausted.

Here I am sleeping starting at the top left and going clockwise: On a chair during a party with my cousin's dog, at someone's house, on a bed in the middle of the afternoon as my father lays beside me talking to my mom and sister in our hotel room, on my aunt's couch, at the beach with my friend Claudia, at a tournament using my mask as a pillow.

The lack of a bed time was probably due to my parents being recovering hippies at this point in their lives. They were finishing up the "Drugs are fun!" part of their lives and trying to be mature adults with a toddler to practice on.

When there was for some reason, a need for my parents to put me down to sleep (like if they had friends over and wanted to get drunk, or if a babysitter was coming so they could go over to a friends house and get drunk) it rarely went well. I would scream and cry and beg to be an adult with them.

Bronwyn and I shared a room after she was born. This means all my toys were tossed out to make room for the vast amount of baby stuff. Let me add new baby stuff. No Good Will crap for Bonny. We lived in Lafayette at this point, not Berkeley where I lived as a newborn. My parents hippie ways had been trimmed away. They were responsible suburban parents now. It also meant I had a bed time. I did not like this.

I forced my parents to lay next to me until I fell asleep. They were also required to sing my lullaby, and other lullabies until I slept. If they fell asleep in my bed with me (which I infinitely preferred to them leaving me), they were not allowed to snore (which meant they couldn't actually fall asleep).

Inevitably after an hour or two they gave up and told me to lie in the dark and count sheep. They ignored the fact that I was 4 and couldn't count over 10.

This backfired on them however. As once they left the room and I counted to ten, I would sit up and scream loudly, "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! I'm looooooooooooonelllllllllllllllly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" If this didn't a) get them to return or b) wake up Bonny I resorted to plan B. This was more treacherous, however, because I had to get out of my bed.

Getting out of bed involved leaping from the edge of the bed at least four feet away. This distance was necessary because the witch that lived under my bed could only reach out 3.5 feet from the edge. This is because that's how long her arms were. (Yes I did have a very vivid imagination.)

If I did manage to will myself out of bed and land four feet away and not break my arm, I was good. Now I had two options. I could poke Bronwyn until she cried, bringing my parents into the room immediately, but this involved sharing Bonny with my parents something I tried to avoid. The second choice was to sneak out of my room silently and crawl down the long dark and foreboding hallway to my parents room. I usually picked the latter choice unless Bronwyn was being particularly annoying that day and I was feeling especially malicious.

If I made it all the way down to my parents room without falling asleep during the sometimes half-hour long silent-sneaky-crawl-down-the-hall I had to wait until my parents turned off the lights and went to bed. Their room was still carpeted at this point in time so this was usually a fairly comfortable time for me. I would curl up where they couldn't see me in front of the blanket chest that sat at the base of their bed, and think happy four-year-old thoughts.

Several times I fell asleep here only to be found the next morning when my parents woke up. We lived in California so sleeping on the carpet, even in the dead of winter, wasn't a huge deal. Some times they found me before they turned off the lights and put me back into bed. This meant my plan had failed and I returned to screaming "DADDY!!!!! I'M LONELY!!!!!!!!!" only shriller and more annoyingly.

On the rare occasions I stayed awake long enough for them to turn the lights off and did not get caught, I WON!! I got to crawl in between them and sleep there, with the adults, till morning. I felt accomplished. I ruined my parents sex life. What?

My Lullaby

2011-09-29T12:52:00.000-04:00

Momma and Pappa and Laurel make three/
We're a happy family/
With a big red dog/
and two fat cats/
Living in the Albany flats.
Our house is gray/
the trim is blue/
we painted it/
before we had you!

There was more. I don't remember all of it. But, SEE?! I told you my parents were hippies! They can't carry a tune yet they wrote me a lullaby!

I Have NO Life

2011-09-24T18:24:00.000-04:00

I decided to edit my resume today and actively search for internships and be smart and professional. It was a bad decision.

Yesterday my ex-boyfriend mentioned that he put an "activities" section on his resume and it was long and made him look good and blah blah blah.

Well I decided that sounded al fun and dandy. So I wrote "Activities:" at the bottom of my resume. So far so good.

Then I typed: "Captain of varsity fencing team at Tufts University 2011-2012 season." Yay! I'm a sophomore and I'm a captain! That's got to look good! Leadership qualities and all!

Then I stared at my computer screen for ten minutes trying to think of things I do...

I realized I don't do anything else. I fence, go to class, go to work, eat, and sleep. THAT IS IT!

I've decided to attend a PACT meeting next Friday. I put "active in PACT" on my resume. I think I'll apply to write a column in the Daily.

Then I'll have activities!!! Then I'll be productive!

That is me being productive. Apparently I'll need to have extensive plastic surgery in the future. Anyone wanna donate an arm or two?

I made a to-do list with 25 items. I got to cross off 9 of them because I'm just that awesome! (Or because I put things I'd already done on the list...)

I will be productive!

I will be active!

I should run for the collegiate senate!