I've been sorely neglecting my baby . . . this blog. I know, I know. It's inexcusable, and you should report me to Blogger Protective Services. But there's been so much going on in my life! I know, I know, that's a lie. At least it was a lie until about the past week.
I picked up a weekend job, which I will probably have to quit. Why, you ask? Because I'm a big girl now. A real life, grown-up big girl.
Well, let's be honest. I will never be "grown-up." However, I DO have a big girl job now, that I will be starting on Monday. A job where I will be blogging. SWEAR TO DUMBLEDORE. Some people actually think I have worthwhile things to say, which is reassuring and little frightening. I was trolling my past updates, and I talk about how one of my favorite pasttimes is jumping into a pile of dirty clothes and how I feel bad for making fun of girls who wear jeggings.
And now here, is my pledge to all of my loyal followers, all 3 of them. 3 of them have the last name Hardesty.
[this is slightly amended from the Girl Scout pledge. Credit where credit is due.]
"On my honor, I will try, to serve the Hardestys, and Harry Potter, and to live by Blogger law."
I will TRY to update this more, since I feel like it's the bastard first-born child of my burgeoning Internet empire.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Janelle and Rachel vs. Icepocalypse
Once upon a time, two girls decided to road trip to visit their dear, dear friends from study abroad in England. They embarked on an 8 hour drive to Evansville, IN.
Good times were had by all. This is not the point of this blog post. The point is to recount the epic struggle on the way home.
Both girls imbibed a little too much the night before their departure and were in considerably low spirits. Rachel snuggled up for a catnap in the back seat while Janelle bravely agreed to navigate Agent Michael Scarn: Threat Level Midnight (a 2004 Saturn Vue, NOT 4wheel drive) for the first leg of the drive.
A semi jack-knifed on I-71 on the way to Cincinnati. The girls were stuck in an hour-long traffic jam. Not a good omen. But the roads were good, it was a balmy 54 degrees, and the sun was shining, so they were in good spirits.
Meanwhile, ominous texts/calls/Facebook posts were coming in. "Be careful, huge snowstorm in MI." "Don't die, please." "Get a hotel if it's too bad." So Janelle and Rachel were very nervous driving through Ohio, even though the roads were nothing short of glorious.
"I felt like I was going to throw up the entire time, even though nothing was happening." -Janelle
Then came Toledo.
Rachel was at the helm of Agent Michael Scarn when the Icepocalypse hit. Sheets and sheets of death water were pouring down and instantly freezing on the windshield. Scarn's shitty wipers were no match for the wrath of Mother BITCH-ure. The girls contemplated getting off of I-75 and getting a hotel room, but were too scared to try the exit ramps, which were paved with inches-thick sheets of ice that Scarn's tires and 4-cylinder engine were no match for. Additionally, the semi-trucks thought that they could do whatever they wanted and hovered so close to Scarn that there were several times in which all three entities thought they were doomed.
So the ice kept on pelting down, until it was time to navigate the hell hole that is known to the general public as I-275. Once Scarn and Rachel hit the treacherous freeway, there was no way forward. Literally. This wasn't ice anymore, it was 7 inches of uncharted snow.
"I was terrified the entire time." - Rachel
Janelle advised Rachel to exit at Telegraph so they could find a hotel room. However, the only available hotels were janky motels that had "YOU WILL BE MURDERED HERE" written all over the signs. [actually, the signs said "Air Conditioning/VCRs", so, same thing.] After stopping at one of said motels and immediately deciding that they would rather die in an icy car wreck than chopped to pieces by a mentally unstable motel owner, Janelle took the wheel of Scarn and set off north on Telegraph through Flat Rock. Using the handy GPS, she navigated very nice, very empty plowed farm roads until she made it back to I-275.
Knowing that Scarn needed velocity more than anything to make it through the now-10-inches-deep layer of snow, she gunned it through the lanes to make it to the left lane, which had been plowed. The girls and Scarn drove verrrrrrrry slowly for about 20 miles north, until the treacherous exit at 8 Mile. Once again, Scarn triumphed, making it up the exit ramp and through Rachel's un-plowed subdivision, safely delivering Janelle's comrade to her humble abode.
But Janelle's journey had just begun. [WHAT?! Yes.]
Once again bravely assuming command of Scarn, the two of them tackled the ominous route of I-275 north to I-696, which was comparatively easy. And then, I-696 decided it was going to be a little bitch.
No lanes. Just dozens of random snow tracks. Minivans thought they were off-roading vehicles and sped past Scarn and Janelle, fish-tailing and spewing snow into the windshields of other vehicles. Scarn's poor windshield wipers were stretched to their breaking point and began to unravel. Up the looming mountain of the I-75 bridge and down to the Van Dyke exit, Janelle screamed all the Glee songs she could to keep her focus while Scarn's tires spun and spat. Finally, Scarn and Janelle emerged onto the service drive, where, thankfully, there were minimal cars and very minimal snow-plowing.
Janelle called her mom from the service drive and asked for some beer.
Thankfully, Janelle and Scarn emerged onto Janelle's street. Only one set of tracks navigated the icy tundra, and stopped at the corner. Scarn and Janelle were pioneers down the dead end, going 40 miles an hour in an attempt to avoid stuckage, but probably only moving about 15 miles per hour. In a last-ditch, valiant attempt, Janelle spun Scarn into the driveway of her house . . .
. . . only to get stuck. In the driveway. Of her own house.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Why Being Single Doesn't Have to Suck
**disclaimer: I am not single, and I am happy about this. However, there are a select few things that I do miss about my swinging single life (when I was 15).
**also this is not gender-specific. more mass appeal.
Top 5 Reasons Why the Single Life is Awesome
by Janelle
5) You don't have to shave your legs
- This is, hopefully, for women only. Honestly, I don't shave my legs every day. Not even every week, sometimes. I get made fun of a lot, but I don't care. Luckily, my boyfriend isn't a dick, so it's usually more him making a joke like "Aww when are you going to braid your leg hair?" rather than "you are f*cking disgusting," but I know some guys that think leg hair is a deal breaker. So, single ladies, be thankful that you don't have someone constantly judging the natural blanket of body-heat-trapping hair that God intended you to have.
4) You have more money
- Even if you are poor as hell, it's a proven scientific fact* that you have more money when you're single than if you're in a relationship. Guys, you want to go to Taco Bell? You don't have to call your girlfriend and ask her what she wants, only to have her "Uuuummmmm . . . " on the phone for 20 minutes before finally deciding on 1 soft taco. Nope, you can pocket that $0.89 or get yourself a soft taco. Do you want to go to the Red Wings game? "One ticket, please." "One beer, please." "Another one single beer please." "One singular hot dog, please." Doesn't that sound delightful? So, live up the single life while you can.
3) You don't have to "coordinate" . . . anything.
- If someone invites you out, do you have to call your significant other to see what he/she is doing before you commit? If you're going to a party, do you have to arrange a time to go so you can pick he/she up on the way? Do you have to wait until your significant other gets off of work before you can go hours late to your brother's birthday party?
NOT IF YOU'RE SINGLE.
You can go whenever the hell you are ready to go.
Awesome.
2) Holidays
- While, admittedly, it is nice to have someone to spend any holiday with, think about all the stress being single alleviates. No financial burden from trying to "match" whatever he/she bought for you. No pressure for those of us who are DIY-challenged to make something cutesy and full of love. You can feel free to sit on your couch in sweats with your dad watching "1000 Ways to Die" eating tator tots on Christmas Day instead of going to numerous family engagements (that's a true story . . . MY true story. And I'm not single, I just have an awesome boyfriend.)
1) FREEEEEEDOM
- I am opposite of "in a controlling/manipulative relationship", but I realize that I am the exception. Most people have to let their significant other know what they are doing at all times, where they are, who they are with, etc. Doesn't that get exhausting? and annoying? Do you really need to know if I'm sitting at home eating Doritos and playing the Sims? I'm not out grinding on male models at a dance club. Are you at a bar with your buddies? Did you have to clear that first with your obnoxious controlling significant other? Or did you text him/her and say, "hey, I'm going up to [insert bar/restaurant here] with [insert friends' names here], wanna meet us up here later?" Or, if you're single, did you just say to yourself, "I'M GOING OUT!"?
This is not a rant about how being in a relationship sucks. It doesn't. It's just some reasons why being single doesn't HAVE to suck.
**no actual science was conducted in the writing of this blog post.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Why I Love My Family (and Antarctica)
I make my parents watch Jeopardy with me whenever I'm home. Tonight, there was the category
"Way Down South in South Georgia". It was a video category showcasing penguins, reindeer, elephant seals, etc. that live on the Antarctic island of South Georgia. We watch video of a naturalist in cold weather clothing explaining all these things about Antarctica. The last question was a question about my man crush Ernest Shackleton. It is at this point that my father, who is deathly ill with the flu, says, "Where the hell is South Georgia?"
I said, "Antarctica."
He said, "Oh, damn, I thought they were talking about the United States."
He just sat there in a fevered stupor thinking that the people on Jeopardy were telling him that penguins, seals, reindeer, and Ernest Shackleton lived in south Georgia, USA.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Just Livin' Life
Wow.
I am not exaggerating when I say I am lethally, fatally, unbearably bored.
Okay, I'm exaggerating. I'm not dying. Physically. The recent "Blizzard of 2011", as WXYZ dubbed it, robbed me of a whole two days at my place of employment. I was going crazy. My mother remarked that she was glad I didn't have an axe, so I couldn't go Jack Nicholson on everyone and hack them all up.
I played in the snow for about a half hour all by myself. Sad little girl. I think my dad considered snow-suiting up and coming out to build a snowman, but decided against it since he had just snowblowed the 7+ inches of fluffy white substance from our driveway. I pretended to help by shoveling the street plow residue from the end of the driveway, but then my neighbor came out with her snowblower and offered to do it.
For the first time ever, I was sad to refrain from physical labor.
Yes, I'm that bored.
I've read 4 books in the past week. I have played an ungodly amount of Sims 3. I watch HGTV all the time (+1 Internetz for me getting my mom hooked so I don't have to fight for the good TV). I have yet to watch the Netflix movie that I've had for about 5 months, but that's in my future plans.
Just livin' life, my friends.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Janelle's Life Boot Camp: 5 Steps to Making It In the World
(cross posted. Deal with it.)
At my office, we tend to bitch about things. A lot. Most of the time, it's about technology (software, hardware, 3DHD Audio Force Fields, ball in cups, etc).
However, another theme is people. Or, more specifically (and less mean, I guess), characteristics exhibited in many people that make them really annoying. These people need Life Boot Camp. And I'm here to help, for the low low price of four payments of $29.95. (blog hits are also accepted)
Janelle's Life Boot Camp: 5 Steps to Making It In the World ***
by Janelle
1) Learn to Evaluate Social Cues
A baby must be raised by a human, unless you are Mowgli and are lucky enough to find some nice anthropomorphic wolves. So, all things considered, a human should be able to interpret basic human social cues, such as eye-rolling, an avoidance of eye contact, body language, verbal assaults, etc. that one normally encounters from infancy up through death.
Example: If you're talking to me, and I have headphones on, am surrounded by open books, am chewing on a pen lost in thoughtfulness, and am barely acknowledging your presence, odds are I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. You lose points if I have my arms crossed in a defensive manner, sigh impatiently, and give one-word answers to your queries.
The example is an extreme one, sure. But take it from me: learning to recognize these painfully obvious cues will lessen your douchebaggery.
2) Know Enough About Human Sexuality to Appreciate a "That's What She Said" Joke
I really hope, if you're reading this, and you have read our "Overheard" posts, that you do not fall into this category. You don't need to be a 7 & Van Dyke hooker to giggle when someone says something like, "I can't get it in." Immature? Yes. Hilarious? Absofrickinlutely.
Granted, there are various levels of dirty minds that can be tolerated. I don't expect a 7 year old to laugh when, as their father is fixing the sink, he says, "Damn, that's really tight." However, anyone 14 years and older, barring a physiological/psychological disorder, should be wise enough in the ways of the world to not only laugh at that -- but make it better.
Example:
Sean Connery: Craven Morehead.
Alex Trebek: WHO IS Craven Morehead?
Sean Connery: The guy who slept with your mother last night.
3) Watch Good Movies
I realize that this category is subjective. Except, it's not. I'm the judge of it. I'll evaluate your life skills when I know what kind of movies you like, and more than likely, you will fail. Also, you must like musicals.
Examples: The Blue Lagoon, Heavyweights, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1990), The Sound of Music, The Joan and Melissa Rivers Story, Grey Gardens, Beauty and the Beast, Labyrinth, Funny Girl (etc etc etc etc X infinity)
4) Know When a Joke Has Gone Too Far
Unfortunately, there are several people in my life who have yet to learn this skill. My basic rule of thumb: you can beat your wife with a stick no wider than your thumb. My basic rule of jokes: if it's gone on for longer than a minute, and no one is laughing anymore, and someone says "you've taken this way too far", the joke is dead. So bury it, mourn it, and move on.
Example:
Person 1: "And then he was like OH MY GOD MY FOOT FELL OFF!"
(Person 2 and Person 3 laugh)
. . . seconds later . . .
Person 1: "OH MY GOD MY FOOT FELL OFF!"
(Person 2 and Person 3 chuckle, then return to what they were talking about)
. . . milliseconds later . . .
Person 1: "Hey Person 2, did your foot fall off?"
(crickets)
. . . 15 seconds later . . .
Person 1: "I bet YOUR foot fell off!"
Person 2: "Not funny anymore."
Person 1: "HAHAHAHHA"
(Person 1 then goes on to post Facebook statuses about various people's feet falling off for 4 days.)
(see also: "Learn to Evaluate Social Cues")
5) Don't Be Dumb
At my office, we tend to bitch about things. A lot. Most of the time, it's about technology (software, hardware, 3DHD Audio Force Fields, ball in cups, etc).
However, another theme is people. Or, more specifically (and less mean, I guess), characteristics exhibited in many people that make them really annoying. These people need Life Boot Camp. And I'm here to help, for the low low price of four payments of $29.95. (blog hits are also accepted)
Janelle's Life Boot Camp: 5 Steps to Making It In the World ***
by Janelle
1) Learn to Evaluate Social Cues
A baby must be raised by a human, unless you are Mowgli and are lucky enough to find some nice anthropomorphic wolves. So, all things considered, a human should be able to interpret basic human social cues, such as eye-rolling, an avoidance of eye contact, body language, verbal assaults, etc. that one normally encounters from infancy up through death.
Example: If you're talking to me, and I have headphones on, am surrounded by open books, am chewing on a pen lost in thoughtfulness, and am barely acknowledging your presence, odds are I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. You lose points if I have my arms crossed in a defensive manner, sigh impatiently, and give one-word answers to your queries.
The example is an extreme one, sure. But take it from me: learning to recognize these painfully obvious cues will lessen your douchebaggery.
2) Know Enough About Human Sexuality to Appreciate a "That's What She Said" Joke
I really hope, if you're reading this, and you have read our "Overheard" posts, that you do not fall into this category. You don't need to be a 7 & Van Dyke hooker to giggle when someone says something like, "I can't get it in." Immature? Yes. Hilarious? Absofrickinlutely.
Granted, there are various levels of dirty minds that can be tolerated. I don't expect a 7 year old to laugh when, as their father is fixing the sink, he says, "Damn, that's really tight." However, anyone 14 years and older, barring a physiological/psychological disorder, should be wise enough in the ways of the world to not only laugh at that -- but make it better.
Example:
Sean Connery: Craven Morehead.
Alex Trebek: WHO IS Craven Morehead?
Sean Connery: The guy who slept with your mother last night.
3) Watch Good Movies
I realize that this category is subjective. Except, it's not. I'm the judge of it. I'll evaluate your life skills when I know what kind of movies you like, and more than likely, you will fail. Also, you must like musicals.
Examples: The Blue Lagoon, Heavyweights, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1990), The Sound of Music, The Joan and Melissa Rivers Story, Grey Gardens, Beauty and the Beast, Labyrinth, Funny Girl (etc etc etc etc X infinity)
4) Know When a Joke Has Gone Too Far
Unfortunately, there are several people in my life who have yet to learn this skill. My basic rule of thumb: you can beat your wife with a stick no wider than your thumb. My basic rule of jokes: if it's gone on for longer than a minute, and no one is laughing anymore, and someone says "you've taken this way too far", the joke is dead. So bury it, mourn it, and move on.
Example:
Person 1: "And then he was like OH MY GOD MY FOOT FELL OFF!"
(Person 2 and Person 3 laugh)
. . . seconds later . . .
Person 1: "OH MY GOD MY FOOT FELL OFF!"
(Person 2 and Person 3 chuckle, then return to what they were talking about)
. . . milliseconds later . . .
Person 1: "Hey Person 2, did your foot fall off?"
(crickets)
. . . 15 seconds later . . .
Person 1: "I bet YOUR foot fell off!"
Person 2: "Not funny anymore."
Person 1: "HAHAHAHHA"
(Person 1 then goes on to post Facebook statuses about various people's feet falling off for 4 days.)
(see also: "Learn to Evaluate Social Cues")
5) Don't Be Dumb
If you're going to do something, do it right.
If you're going to say something, be right.
If you say something wrong, don't.
If you think you're right and I say you're wrong, I'm right, because I'll look it up and prove it.
Don't be wrong, and don't be dumb.
LIFE SKILLS, beeyotches.
Example:
Someone: "Jodie Benson did the voice of Belle in Beauty and the Beast."
Me: "No she didn't."
Someone: "Yes, she did."
Me: "Nope, it was Paige O'Hara, and the Beast was Robby Benson, and Lumiere was Jerry Orbach, Cogsworth was David Ogden Stiers, Mrs. Potts was Angela Lansbury, Chip was Bradley Pierce, it was directed by Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale, released in 1991 and nominated for a Best Picture Oscar."
Someone: "No, I know it was Jodie Benson."
Me: "She was considered, since she was the voice of Ariel in The Little Mermaid, but was deemed too 'all-American', and they wanted someone more European sounding."
Someone: "I don't think you're right."
(I pull out my "The Making of Beauty and the Beast" special edition book, as well as my "Behind the Scenes" VHS tape and my 3 copies of the movie.)
JUST DON'T DO IT.
*** Disclaimer: I have not yet made it anywhere, so I'll let you know if this works. No refunds. Sorry Roger, you tiger now.
*** Disclaimer: I have not yet made it anywhere, so I'll let you know if this works. No refunds. Sorry Roger, you tiger now.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Don't Watch The Dark Knight and Play The Sims Before You Go To Bed
I had the absolute weirdest dream I've ever had last night.
Have you ever seen Inception? Well, I swear I had a dream-within-a-dream. It started with me and a bunch of people at "school" -- it seemed like a school for the arts, and there were random people from my past and current life in it. These people changed a lot -- at one point I was walking around with my former best friend Nadia, another time I was with Alex Waner from Harlaxton, and another time I was with Scott and Tommy from work. There was a big renovation project going on at the school, so we were having a class in a big empty room with hardwood floors, and the walls were in the process of being painted gray.
Someone starts talking about how the Joker was on the loose again. Apparently we were living in Gotham City, and this wasn't completely shocking to us. It was nighttime, and our class was letting out for the day. Suddenly, someone notices that the ceiling was covered with drawings of little stick figures, each with a name written under it. Everyone in the class had their name under a stick figure. Waner gets up on the desk and pushes in the ceiling tile where his name was, and pulls down a beaker of blue liquid. Everyone does the same, except me. I'm really nervous about this, but all of the other people pull down their blue beaker of liquid and drink it. Immediately, it's evident that they've all been drugged. They start going crazy, like they're on LSD. I start yelling at everyone, saying that the Joker probably put them there, but they're all drugged. Suddenly, I'm all alone, and I'm faced with the possibility of walking home alone in Gotham City with the Joker on the loose. I know that he'll be back at some point, so I'm very creeped out, thinking that he could still be in the building. The whole building, which is being renovated, is dark, and I grab my backpack and manage to make it out unscathed, although I was certain that he was in the building following me (the building looked a lot like Harlaxton at night when you're not supposed to be in the state rooms but you are anyway because of the fire escape that's open in the basement . . . whoops.) And it was terrifying.
As soon as I make it to my apartment building, guilt sets in. All those drugged people are in that building, probably ready to be employed as the Joker's minions against their will. Also, I had forgotten my purse, with all of my ID's -- so the Joker, who would know that I hadn't taken the drugs and therefore knew that I knew what he'd done, could come to my apartment and kill me at any time. I decide I have to go back.
When I get back to the classroom, my beaker of blue liquid had been taken down from the ceiling and placed on a table in the middle of the room with a card with my name written on it. I am immensely creeped out, and then I see that he had laid out all of my cards on the table next to it, so he knew where I lived. Grabbing all of my stuff and turning around, I see him standing there.
He says, "Why did they all leave you alone?"
I say, "I don't know."
He says, "Well, go home, I'm not ready to play with you yet."
Then I wake up.
But I'm still dreaming. I'm in a luxury high-rise flat, which is apparently my house. I walk out into the amazingly bright, modern kitchen, and Scott and Tommy are eating cereal and each reading the paper at the island. I tell them my dream (I literally retold the entire thing in my dream.) (Also, we built a house on the Sims for me, Scott, and Tommy, and I played it before I went to bed.)
Scott says, "Stop doing drugs."
Tommy says, "I think the whole point of the dream was that she doesn't do drugs."
Scott says, "But dreams are just subconscious, so she probably really wants to do drugs, but doesn't want to be out of control."
Tommy says, "This isn't Inception."
Scott says, "How do you know?"
Then I woke up.
I THINK I REALLY AM ON DRUGS.
Have you ever seen Inception? Well, I swear I had a dream-within-a-dream. It started with me and a bunch of people at "school" -- it seemed like a school for the arts, and there were random people from my past and current life in it. These people changed a lot -- at one point I was walking around with my former best friend Nadia, another time I was with Alex Waner from Harlaxton, and another time I was with Scott and Tommy from work. There was a big renovation project going on at the school, so we were having a class in a big empty room with hardwood floors, and the walls were in the process of being painted gray.
Someone starts talking about how the Joker was on the loose again. Apparently we were living in Gotham City, and this wasn't completely shocking to us. It was nighttime, and our class was letting out for the day. Suddenly, someone notices that the ceiling was covered with drawings of little stick figures, each with a name written under it. Everyone in the class had their name under a stick figure. Waner gets up on the desk and pushes in the ceiling tile where his name was, and pulls down a beaker of blue liquid. Everyone does the same, except me. I'm really nervous about this, but all of the other people pull down their blue beaker of liquid and drink it. Immediately, it's evident that they've all been drugged. They start going crazy, like they're on LSD. I start yelling at everyone, saying that the Joker probably put them there, but they're all drugged. Suddenly, I'm all alone, and I'm faced with the possibility of walking home alone in Gotham City with the Joker on the loose. I know that he'll be back at some point, so I'm very creeped out, thinking that he could still be in the building. The whole building, which is being renovated, is dark, and I grab my backpack and manage to make it out unscathed, although I was certain that he was in the building following me (the building looked a lot like Harlaxton at night when you're not supposed to be in the state rooms but you are anyway because of the fire escape that's open in the basement . . . whoops.) And it was terrifying.
As soon as I make it to my apartment building, guilt sets in. All those drugged people are in that building, probably ready to be employed as the Joker's minions against their will. Also, I had forgotten my purse, with all of my ID's -- so the Joker, who would know that I hadn't taken the drugs and therefore knew that I knew what he'd done, could come to my apartment and kill me at any time. I decide I have to go back.
When I get back to the classroom, my beaker of blue liquid had been taken down from the ceiling and placed on a table in the middle of the room with a card with my name written on it. I am immensely creeped out, and then I see that he had laid out all of my cards on the table next to it, so he knew where I lived. Grabbing all of my stuff and turning around, I see him standing there.
He says, "Why did they all leave you alone?"
I say, "I don't know."
He says, "Well, go home, I'm not ready to play with you yet."
Then I wake up.
But I'm still dreaming. I'm in a luxury high-rise flat, which is apparently my house. I walk out into the amazingly bright, modern kitchen, and Scott and Tommy are eating cereal and each reading the paper at the island. I tell them my dream (I literally retold the entire thing in my dream.) (Also, we built a house on the Sims for me, Scott, and Tommy, and I played it before I went to bed.)
Scott says, "Stop doing drugs."
Tommy says, "I think the whole point of the dream was that she doesn't do drugs."
Scott says, "But dreams are just subconscious, so she probably really wants to do drugs, but doesn't want to be out of control."
Tommy says, "This isn't Inception."
Scott says, "How do you know?"
Then I woke up.
I THINK I REALLY AM ON DRUGS.
House Hunters
I'm, of course, addicted to HGTV. I've always loved being able to get an inside look at all different kinds of houses, and imagining the potential in all the properties they show.
However, I get really pissed at these stupid people that walk into these houses and say, "Ugh, I hate the carpet." or "This third bathroom is way too small, even though the other bathrooms are awesome." Or, "These counters aren't our style."
Well, duh, it wasn't your house. If you're buying a house, you should budget for renovations. You're never going to find a house that's exactly your style unless you build it yourself. If you have $150,000 to spare on a house, you should set your budget at no more than $120,000 and put money into making it your own. What the hell do you think you're doing? This isn't the Sims, where you can use the money cheat and customize every detail with the "create a style" button. No. You are dumb.
You should walk into the house and say, "Wow, we could totally customize this house to fit our needs." Not, "Ugh, I wanted marble floors in the formal dining room that we'll never use, not this hardwood floor that's awesome and original to this 1890s Victorian."
SERIOUSLY PEOPLE, get your shit together. You annoy me. HGTV should just have a "Let's Tour Awesome Houses" show, like MTV Cribs, only not with annoying people like Snoop Dogg and Vanilla Ice showing off their sex rooms.
However, I get really pissed at these stupid people that walk into these houses and say, "Ugh, I hate the carpet." or "This third bathroom is way too small, even though the other bathrooms are awesome." Or, "These counters aren't our style."
Well, duh, it wasn't your house. If you're buying a house, you should budget for renovations. You're never going to find a house that's exactly your style unless you build it yourself. If you have $150,000 to spare on a house, you should set your budget at no more than $120,000 and put money into making it your own. What the hell do you think you're doing? This isn't the Sims, where you can use the money cheat and customize every detail with the "create a style" button. No. You are dumb.
You should walk into the house and say, "Wow, we could totally customize this house to fit our needs." Not, "Ugh, I wanted marble floors in the formal dining room that we'll never use, not this hardwood floor that's awesome and original to this 1890s Victorian."
SERIOUSLY PEOPLE, get your shit together. You annoy me. HGTV should just have a "Let's Tour Awesome Houses" show, like MTV Cribs, only not with annoying people like Snoop Dogg and Vanilla Ice showing off their sex rooms.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Diary of a College Graduate
Do you all want to know what a college graduate does?
1) I woke up at 10:30am.
2) I finally got un-lazy enough to connect my Netflix account to the Wii, which, yes, takes about 2 minutes.
3) I watched almost the entire first season of Dexter.
4) I drank 3 cups of coffee and ate nothing.
5) I worked out.
6) I watched my dad break, fix, break, and fix the vacuum cleaner.
7) I took a nap with my cat.
8) I took a shower.
9) I talked to people on Facebook while they are in their college classes.
10) I am now waiting for dinner and watching Animal Planet with my dad.
I'm just living life. Wallowing in sucktasticism. Hakuna matata.
1) I woke up at 10:30am.
2) I finally got un-lazy enough to connect my Netflix account to the Wii, which, yes, takes about 2 minutes.
3) I watched almost the entire first season of Dexter.
4) I drank 3 cups of coffee and ate nothing.
5) I worked out.
6) I watched my dad break, fix, break, and fix the vacuum cleaner.
7) I took a nap with my cat.
8) I took a shower.
9) I talked to people on Facebook while they are in their college classes.
10) I am now waiting for dinner and watching Animal Planet with my dad.
I'm just living life. Wallowing in sucktasticism. Hakuna matata.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sucktasticism
I'm very sorry, loyal readers. But I have been exploring a new creative endeavor: the Sucktasticism movement.
Sucktasticism (n.): The artistic movement in which one cannot get his or her shit together long enough to honor commitments and/or vague promises. Symptoms include watching large amount of television, dicking around on the internet, not blogging, playing The Sims, and not getting out of pajamas.
Basically, everything about you is garbage, and you sit around thinking up awesome ideas that never come to anything because you feel very lazy and don't want to do anything.
I'm trying to not completely submerge myself into Sucktasticism, but sometimes it's really hard--like when you come home every day and your parents have dinner ready. Or when you wake up at 11:30am and watch the Price is Right and then take a nap. Or when you just re-read all 7 Harry Potter books in one week.
I can give you life updates on my Sims (Mortimer Goth is boning Bella Bachelor, but she and his mom hate each other. Mortimer's dad quit his job as a CEO and became the Mayor of Sunset Valley.) That's art.
Take a voyage into Sucktasticism. But please, don't stay too long -- you might miss the season premiere of Dancing with the Stars.
Sucktasticism (n.): The artistic movement in which one cannot get his or her shit together long enough to honor commitments and/or vague promises. Symptoms include watching large amount of television, dicking around on the internet, not blogging, playing The Sims, and not getting out of pajamas.
Basically, everything about you is garbage, and you sit around thinking up awesome ideas that never come to anything because you feel very lazy and don't want to do anything.
I'm trying to not completely submerge myself into Sucktasticism, but sometimes it's really hard--like when you come home every day and your parents have dinner ready. Or when you wake up at 11:30am and watch the Price is Right and then take a nap. Or when you just re-read all 7 Harry Potter books in one week.
I can give you life updates on my Sims (Mortimer Goth is boning Bella Bachelor, but she and his mom hate each other. Mortimer's dad quit his job as a CEO and became the Mayor of Sunset Valley.) That's art.
Take a voyage into Sucktasticism. But please, don't stay too long -- you might miss the season premiere of Dancing with the Stars.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Reflections on an Undergraduate Education
Well, with the (very last minute) submission of my final undergraduate paper, I am now finished with my Bachelor of Science degree in Media Communications, with a minor in History.
Scratch that. I'll only get a minor if I managed to get a decent grade in my History class. I thought I was smart until I took that class. Way to ruin a girl's self esteem, douche.
But, I'm still the same person. I still love jeggings, and Snuggies, and Harry Potter. Just because I'm slightly more educated than the average 13-year-old doesn't mean that I'm better than them. I still wholeheartedly appreciate High School Musical, HogwartsLive, and Miley Cyrus smoking out of a bong.
What have I learned?
- I learned that going to college doesn't necessarily mean you will be surrounded by smart people.
- I learned that college admissions programs don't exactly tell you the whole truth.
- I learned that engineering is way too boring for me.
- I learned that I love writing stuff that I think is funny, but no one else does.
- I learned that I am way lazier than I ever thought I was.
- I learned that I am the very worst kind of procrastinator.
- I learned that I should have appreciated high school and its positive effects on my metabolism.
- I learned that I will never buy a PC as long as I live, unless Mac somehow becomes shit.
- I learned that you can meet amazing people that counteract the douchebags.
- I learned that I have amazing bullshitting capabilities.
Most importantly, I learned how to make this.
I'm currently at my graduation party, which consists of me, my sister, and her friend drinking, smoking hookah, watching Elf, and being online.
Scratch that. I'll only get a minor if I managed to get a decent grade in my History class. I thought I was smart until I took that class. Way to ruin a girl's self esteem, douche.
But, I'm still the same person. I still love jeggings, and Snuggies, and Harry Potter. Just because I'm slightly more educated than the average 13-year-old doesn't mean that I'm better than them. I still wholeheartedly appreciate High School Musical, HogwartsLive, and Miley Cyrus smoking out of a bong.
What have I learned?
- I learned that going to college doesn't necessarily mean you will be surrounded by smart people.
- I learned that college admissions programs don't exactly tell you the whole truth.
- I learned that engineering is way too boring for me.
- I learned that I love writing stuff that I think is funny, but no one else does.
- I learned that I am way lazier than I ever thought I was.
- I learned that I am the very worst kind of procrastinator.
- I learned that I should have appreciated high school and its positive effects on my metabolism.
- I learned that I will never buy a PC as long as I live, unless Mac somehow becomes shit.
- I learned that you can meet amazing people that counteract the douchebags.
- I learned that I have amazing bullshitting capabilities.
Most importantly, I learned how to make this.
I'm currently at my graduation party, which consists of me, my sister, and her friend drinking, smoking hookah, watching Elf, and being online.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Snow.
We have received some snow here in the D. And honestly . . . it's not that much. We've had much worse. So why is everyone and their mother (and grandmother, and aunt, and second cousin) complaining?
Driving in it is not fun. I know this; however, being a born-and-bred Metro Detroiter, I'm fairly used to it. If you live here, you learned to drive in the snow . . . at least I hope you did. The traffic would beg to differ, people still going 80 in 696 when it's slick with ice, passing me because I'm going 55 in the right lane. That's cool, you can do that. But if you spin out and I crash into you, I WILL CUT YOU.
I am one of those rare people that likes snow. I don't mind shoveling (as long as it's not over 8-10 inches), I like sledding, skiing, snowball fights, etc. I also love cute winter clothing like coats, scarves, hats, and so on. Sweaters? Count me in, because they minimize cleavage. Boots? I like it when my feet are toasty warm.
I like living in a climate where we get four seasons. I LOVE summer, don't get me wrong, but things like Christmas don't seem like Christmas without snow. I would much rather have the weather be cold and snowy than cold, dull, and gray.
Remember how pissed Kevin McAllister was in Home Alone 2 when his family wanted to go to Florida for Christmas? I COMPLETELY identify with that. If you don't like snow, MOVE.
Thus ends this lackluster blog post. I know I've been slacking lately, but I'm busy. So just nut up and deal with it.
Driving in it is not fun. I know this; however, being a born-and-bred Metro Detroiter, I'm fairly used to it. If you live here, you learned to drive in the snow . . . at least I hope you did. The traffic would beg to differ, people still going 80 in 696 when it's slick with ice, passing me because I'm going 55 in the right lane. That's cool, you can do that. But if you spin out and I crash into you, I WILL CUT YOU.
I am one of those rare people that likes snow. I don't mind shoveling (as long as it's not over 8-10 inches), I like sledding, skiing, snowball fights, etc. I also love cute winter clothing like coats, scarves, hats, and so on. Sweaters? Count me in, because they minimize cleavage. Boots? I like it when my feet are toasty warm.
I like living in a climate where we get four seasons. I LOVE summer, don't get me wrong, but things like Christmas don't seem like Christmas without snow. I would much rather have the weather be cold and snowy than cold, dull, and gray.
Remember how pissed Kevin McAllister was in Home Alone 2 when his family wanted to go to Florida for Christmas? I COMPLETELY identify with that. If you don't like snow, MOVE.
Thus ends this lackluster blog post. I know I've been slacking lately, but I'm busy. So just nut up and deal with it.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Procrastinitis
A sad affliction, and yet, I revel in it.
I got my acceptance e-mail from U of Birmingham in the U.K. for their History, Film and Television MA (yes, we now live in a world where the "large envelope" has been replaced with a "looks-like-spam-I-almost-missed-it" email). This is, of course, fantastic news, but there's still so much to consider. I've yet to complete my applications to Northwestern and Central Michigan, and, if all goes according to plan and I get accepted, the whole decision is basically going to come down to money. The good old weak-ass American dollar -- which, in my bank account, almost all of it is loan money which needs to be paid back. A sad state of affairs, in which important decisions possibly determining the course of my life must come down to how much debt I'm willing to rack up.
Alas, I digress.
The topic of this post is procrastination. It is true that I have no less than 5 major tasks to complete before the end of my last semester of my undergraduate degree. A group project (crafting a wiki) for Social Media, a presentation/7-10 pg research paper for the same class. A daunting 10-pg paper for my history class, which I'm sure will be atrocious since I have no idea what to write about (that, and the fact that my teacher fails any paper he can cut down by 1/3 or more.) My short film which is serving as my senior project. And a final group project for my Broadcast Studio class. Oh, and final exams.
And what am I doing?
Blogging. Reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Watching TV. Trolling Twitter. Sleeping.
This happens every single semester. It has never failed. I have reached the point in the semester when the quality of work no longer matters to me, it's the mere fact of getting it done that motivates me. I start out as a quasi-perfectionist, and my work slowly decreases in quality until the end of November, where I figuratively "throw in the towel" much too early.
I rarely complain about the time frames for assignments, because I know that my time management skills are horrific. With the exception of the history paper, none of my assignments are particularly difficult or unreasonable. I just hit this wall where productivity dips into the negative values. Even my usually rampant creative juices just evaporate.
If only there were some magic pill I could take that would suddenly burn the desire to succeed into my soul.
I know I am not alone, and that gives me hope. Hope that this disease will someday be eradicated, that we may live in a perfect world where all students get their work done in plenty of time, have no fun, and don't like to party and rot their brains with television.
If only.
I got my acceptance e-mail from U of Birmingham in the U.K. for their History, Film and Television MA (yes, we now live in a world where the "large envelope" has been replaced with a "looks-like-spam-I-almost-missed-it" email). This is, of course, fantastic news, but there's still so much to consider. I've yet to complete my applications to Northwestern and Central Michigan, and, if all goes according to plan and I get accepted, the whole decision is basically going to come down to money. The good old weak-ass American dollar -- which, in my bank account, almost all of it is loan money which needs to be paid back. A sad state of affairs, in which important decisions possibly determining the course of my life must come down to how much debt I'm willing to rack up.
Alas, I digress.
The topic of this post is procrastination. It is true that I have no less than 5 major tasks to complete before the end of my last semester of my undergraduate degree. A group project (crafting a wiki) for Social Media, a presentation/7-10 pg research paper for the same class. A daunting 10-pg paper for my history class, which I'm sure will be atrocious since I have no idea what to write about (that, and the fact that my teacher fails any paper he can cut down by 1/3 or more.) My short film which is serving as my senior project. And a final group project for my Broadcast Studio class. Oh, and final exams.
And what am I doing?
Blogging. Reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Watching TV. Trolling Twitter. Sleeping.
This happens every single semester. It has never failed. I have reached the point in the semester when the quality of work no longer matters to me, it's the mere fact of getting it done that motivates me. I start out as a quasi-perfectionist, and my work slowly decreases in quality until the end of November, where I figuratively "throw in the towel" much too early.
I rarely complain about the time frames for assignments, because I know that my time management skills are horrific. With the exception of the history paper, none of my assignments are particularly difficult or unreasonable. I just hit this wall where productivity dips into the negative values. Even my usually rampant creative juices just evaporate.
If only there were some magic pill I could take that would suddenly burn the desire to succeed into my soul.
I know I am not alone, and that gives me hope. Hope that this disease will someday be eradicated, that we may live in a perfect world where all students get their work done in plenty of time, have no fun, and don't like to party and rot their brains with television.
If only.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
My Girl Is Here!
Katherine is here with me.
Life is good.
Forget school, I'm hangin' with my effing best friend.
YEAH THAT MEANS YOU HISTORY OF EUROPE TO 1500.
Life is good.
Forget school, I'm hangin' with my effing best friend.
YEAH THAT MEANS YOU HISTORY OF EUROPE TO 1500.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A Heartfelt Apology
There comes a time in everyone’s life when they must humbly beg for forgiveness. Even the best of the best make mistakes, since we are all human (regardless of whether we are wizards or Muggles.) And I realized today that I was horribly, horribly wrong, and so I must apologize to the masses.
I would like to extend a sincere and heartfelt apology to any girl I have ever made fun of for wearing jeggings.
Let me explain. Jeggings are leggings that look like jeans. I used to make fun of girls that wore them because they are tacky, overpriced tights that let junk hang out that no one wants to see. I have never been able to bring myself to wear leggings as pants, even going so far as to wear shorts over leggings (a.k.a. my “stupid Sunday outfit”). LEGGINGS DO NOT EQUAL PANTS.
However, I have been forced to reevaluate my stance. The other day at Target, I stopped for a quick look around for a shirt for the upcoming meet and greet with Starkid Productions. Finding nothing, I was on my way out of the store when I saw a rack of jeans. “$15.99 each!”
That’s a FANTASTIC price for jeans. So, on my way to the register, I grabbed two pairs, thinking that if they didn’t fit I’d just take them back.
Imagine my surprise when, this morning as I was pulling on a pair, I realized they don’t have zippers. And they are surprisingly stretchy. And though they feel and look like jeans, they are lighter than air.
I glanced at the tag, and my stomach dropped.
JEGGINGS.
How could I be so naïve? So impulsive? I wanted to sink into a ball and cry. I did just that. And you know what I felt?
Nothing.
No button digging into my stomach. No restrictions of movement. No, I felt like I wasn’t wearing pants. Because I wasn’t. I was wearing jeggings.
And then I knew there was no going back.
So, all you proud jeggings wearers, I applaud you. As long as you keep your junk tucked in, go on wearing them, because wearing leg coverings that look like pants but feel like air should be a basic human right.
I would like to extend a sincere and heartfelt apology to any girl I have ever made fun of for wearing jeggings.
Let me explain. Jeggings are leggings that look like jeans. I used to make fun of girls that wore them because they are tacky, overpriced tights that let junk hang out that no one wants to see. I have never been able to bring myself to wear leggings as pants, even going so far as to wear shorts over leggings (a.k.a. my “stupid Sunday outfit”). LEGGINGS DO NOT EQUAL PANTS.
However, I have been forced to reevaluate my stance. The other day at Target, I stopped for a quick look around for a shirt for the upcoming meet and greet with Starkid Productions. Finding nothing, I was on my way out of the store when I saw a rack of jeans. “$15.99 each!”
That’s a FANTASTIC price for jeans. So, on my way to the register, I grabbed two pairs, thinking that if they didn’t fit I’d just take them back.
Imagine my surprise when, this morning as I was pulling on a pair, I realized they don’t have zippers. And they are surprisingly stretchy. And though they feel and look like jeans, they are lighter than air.
I glanced at the tag, and my stomach dropped.
JEGGINGS.
How could I be so naïve? So impulsive? I wanted to sink into a ball and cry. I did just that. And you know what I felt?
Nothing.
No button digging into my stomach. No restrictions of movement. No, I felt like I wasn’t wearing pants. Because I wasn’t. I was wearing jeggings.
And then I knew there was no going back.
So, all you proud jeggings wearers, I applaud you. As long as you keep your junk tucked in, go on wearing them, because wearing leg coverings that look like pants but feel like air should be a basic human right.
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Sleeved Blanket
I am a proud member of the Snuggie Cult. I am not ashamed to admit that I love wrapping myself up in my fleece leopard-print sleeved blanket and having the free use of my arms to change the TV station, play on the computer, or eat massive amounts of Better Made Barbecue chips.
I don't understand why people are so against these wonderful warm envelopes of love. One of the major arguments is that "it's just like a backwards robe!" Excuse you, but my robe does not cover my entire body and tuck around every inch of me, concealing me in a warm pocket of comfort. My robe is shorter than my body so my feet stick out and this hinders the mobility that the Snuggie provides.
It is also particularly excellent for smoking hookah, something I realize that not everyone condones. However, it is quite nice, in the winter, to sit in my bedroom with the window open and Katie next to me, in her zebra-print Snuggie, ably passing the hose to and fro without fear of clumsily knocking over the apparatus and burning a hole in my crappy brown carpet. Out of respect for my home, I employ the Snuggie to keep my window open and dissipate the smoke -- my house does not smell like "The Dope Den", which is what my mother calls my bedroom (there is no marijuana involved, only tobacco, Mother Dearest just thinks she's being clever.)
And the commercials. THE COMMERCIALS! Pure marketing genius.
Seriously, GOD BLESS SNUGGIE SEASON. I'm so glad you're back.
I don't understand why people are so against these wonderful warm envelopes of love. One of the major arguments is that "it's just like a backwards robe!" Excuse you, but my robe does not cover my entire body and tuck around every inch of me, concealing me in a warm pocket of comfort. My robe is shorter than my body so my feet stick out and this hinders the mobility that the Snuggie provides.
It is also particularly excellent for smoking hookah, something I realize that not everyone condones. However, it is quite nice, in the winter, to sit in my bedroom with the window open and Katie next to me, in her zebra-print Snuggie, ably passing the hose to and fro without fear of clumsily knocking over the apparatus and burning a hole in my crappy brown carpet. Out of respect for my home, I employ the Snuggie to keep my window open and dissipate the smoke -- my house does not smell like "The Dope Den", which is what my mother calls my bedroom (there is no marijuana involved, only tobacco, Mother Dearest just thinks she's being clever.)
And the commercials. THE COMMERCIALS! Pure marketing genius.
Seriously, GOD BLESS SNUGGIE SEASON. I'm so glad you're back.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
What Do Wizard Teenagers Do?
Awhile ago, my soul mate Katie and I had a long, drawn out, (beer-induced) discussion about what the students at Hogwarts do in their spare time. This is, of course, when they are not working diligently on their wizard homework or playing Quidditch or boning in the Restricted Sex-ion. What do they do to relax? How do they get crazy? You can't tell me that sneaking out after curfew to go sit and watch Hagrid hatch dragons is the riskiest thing they do. We decided that these activities probably differ from house to house, so here is a detailed analysis of our discussion conclusions.
1) GRYFFINDOR
Intoxicant of choice: Beer and/or Jaeger bombs
Activities: swordfights with Godric Gryffindor sword replicas, Gryffindor Beer Drinking Olympics, the Harry Potter drinking game (anytime his name is mentioned you do a Jaeger bomb)
Why: Gryffindors are brave and courageous, and liquid courage only intensifies these traits. Gryffindors would be the ones to try to Bungee jump with Extendable Ears, use centaurs as mechanical bulls, and graffiti the castle with things like BALLS DEEP in ink that won't erase. They would play parkour on the moving staircases and let all the house-elves out to run races through the corridors, all while taking bets on who will pass out in the Great Hall and get peed on by Mrs. Norris. They would also be the ones to upload all the incriminating photos to Facebook because THEY DO WHAT THEY WANT and Dumbledore was a Gryffindor so that absolves them of all fault.
2) HUFFLEPUFF
Intoxicant of choice: Marijuana
Activities: getting the munchies and raiding the kitchens, since their common room is right near it. Spacing out and staring at the fire looking for famous faces to materialize. Listening to Celestina Warbeck on the wizard wireless.
Why: If it weren't for Cedric Diggory, we would say the Hufflepuffs are saints who do nothing but sit around and knit and smile at each other. But Diggs and his crew had to be badass in some way, so we figured they would go with weed to mellow out and forget all the happy Hufflepuffiness that surrounds them on a daily basis and makes them hate life.
3) RAVENCLAW
Intoxicant of choice: Wine and/or Adderall
Activities: sitting in big chairs with glasses of port having fake intellectual conversations (i.e. "Why does wine give you such a bad hangover?"), playing trivia-based drinking games, staying up all night doing homework, having boisterous debates such as "Grindelwald vs. Voldemort: Who Was More Clever?" which devolve into fistfights
Why: Everyone knows Ravenclaws are ridiculously smart, clever, witty, intelligent people. So naturally, wine is the drink of choice. But they are still teenagers, so they binge drink with it. Their drinking games have to be high-brow, so they base them on logic. The debates get pretty intense, which is why they have learned to be excellent boxers. And when exams approach, everyone at Hogwarts knows to get in good with the prefects of Ravenclaw, who control the castle's stock of behavioral meds. How else would an entire house have a reputation of being insanely intelligent? They study all day and party all night!
4) SLYTHERIN
Intoxicant of choice: Expensive vodka and/or cocaine
Activities: Pin the Dark Mark on the Mudblood, Voldemortic rituals, drawing penises on people who pass out, Take A Shot For Every Death Eater Relative You Can Prove (family trees/heraldic evidence required), Slytherin Fight Club
Why: Slytherin parties are the wizard equivalent of high-brow Manhattan raves. Techno blaring, a VIP lounge, cocaine gift bags. They can afford it because they are wizarding royalty. There's a dress code and house-elves bring you Grey Goose cocktails in Swarovski crystal glasses. When everyone gets really shitty, the Slytherin FIght Club emerges, where people bet on how much pure blood will be spilled on the dungeon floor.
Also, this actually happens, since once upon a time I was a wizard teenager, so this is a first-hand account.
1) GRYFFINDOR
Intoxicant of choice: Beer and/or Jaeger bombs
Activities: swordfights with Godric Gryffindor sword replicas, Gryffindor Beer Drinking Olympics, the Harry Potter drinking game (anytime his name is mentioned you do a Jaeger bomb)
Why: Gryffindors are brave and courageous, and liquid courage only intensifies these traits. Gryffindors would be the ones to try to Bungee jump with Extendable Ears, use centaurs as mechanical bulls, and graffiti the castle with things like BALLS DEEP in ink that won't erase. They would play parkour on the moving staircases and let all the house-elves out to run races through the corridors, all while taking bets on who will pass out in the Great Hall and get peed on by Mrs. Norris. They would also be the ones to upload all the incriminating photos to Facebook because THEY DO WHAT THEY WANT and Dumbledore was a Gryffindor so that absolves them of all fault.
2) HUFFLEPUFF
Intoxicant of choice: Marijuana
Activities: getting the munchies and raiding the kitchens, since their common room is right near it. Spacing out and staring at the fire looking for famous faces to materialize. Listening to Celestina Warbeck on the wizard wireless.
Why: If it weren't for Cedric Diggory, we would say the Hufflepuffs are saints who do nothing but sit around and knit and smile at each other. But Diggs and his crew had to be badass in some way, so we figured they would go with weed to mellow out and forget all the happy Hufflepuffiness that surrounds them on a daily basis and makes them hate life.
3) RAVENCLAW
Intoxicant of choice: Wine and/or Adderall
Activities: sitting in big chairs with glasses of port having fake intellectual conversations (i.e. "Why does wine give you such a bad hangover?"), playing trivia-based drinking games, staying up all night doing homework, having boisterous debates such as "Grindelwald vs. Voldemort: Who Was More Clever?" which devolve into fistfights
Why: Everyone knows Ravenclaws are ridiculously smart, clever, witty, intelligent people. So naturally, wine is the drink of choice. But they are still teenagers, so they binge drink with it. Their drinking games have to be high-brow, so they base them on logic. The debates get pretty intense, which is why they have learned to be excellent boxers. And when exams approach, everyone at Hogwarts knows to get in good with the prefects of Ravenclaw, who control the castle's stock of behavioral meds. How else would an entire house have a reputation of being insanely intelligent? They study all day and party all night!
4) SLYTHERIN
Intoxicant of choice: Expensive vodka and/or cocaine
Activities: Pin the Dark Mark on the Mudblood, Voldemortic rituals, drawing penises on people who pass out, Take A Shot For Every Death Eater Relative You Can Prove (family trees/heraldic evidence required), Slytherin Fight Club
Why: Slytherin parties are the wizard equivalent of high-brow Manhattan raves. Techno blaring, a VIP lounge, cocaine gift bags. They can afford it because they are wizarding royalty. There's a dress code and house-elves bring you Grey Goose cocktails in Swarovski crystal glasses. When everyone gets really shitty, the Slytherin FIght Club emerges, where people bet on how much pure blood will be spilled on the dungeon floor.
Also, this actually happens, since once upon a time I was a wizard teenager, so this is a first-hand account.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
In Memoriam
Today, Hollywood lost a legend. Tom Bosley, a childhood hero of mine, passed away today at the ripe old age of 83.
To me, the name "Tom Bosley" will always mean two things: Mr. Cunningham and David the Gnome. I know that I have posted numerous things about David the Gnome, but I don't think anyone understands what a fantastic show that is. Damnit, I want to ride a fox named (not Taylor) Swift around the forest and preach about being kind to our earth. But alas, I am not a forest gnome voiced by Tom Bosley and I do not have my life narrated by Christopher Plummer.
Enjoy, friends. Rest in peace, Mr. Bosley, you are missed.
To me, the name "Tom Bosley" will always mean two things: Mr. Cunningham and David the Gnome. I know that I have posted numerous things about David the Gnome, but I don't think anyone understands what a fantastic show that is. Damnit, I want to ride a fox named (not Taylor) Swift around the forest and preach about being kind to our earth. But alas, I am not a forest gnome voiced by Tom Bosley and I do not have my life narrated by Christopher Plummer.
Enjoy, friends. Rest in peace, Mr. Bosley, you are missed.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Abomination Island
All of us, at one point or another, have thought, "If I could send that person away to live on a desert island in the middle of the ocean with absolutely no chance of being rescued, I WOULD DO IT." That island, though you may not know it, is called Abomination Island.
I am generally an angry person, in the superficial sense (not the "I'm-going-to-build-a-pipe-bomb-and-blow-up-a-Wal-Mart-while-wearing-a-trenchcoat" kind of angry, just the "I-can't-stand-how-stupid-people-are" kind of angry). So for this reason, my Abomination Island is not only overpopulated, but a sort of cycle. Some people are permanent residents, others have a rent-to-own contract that could be broken with proper redemption.
So without further ado, here are my Top 5 Permanent Residents of Abomination Island.
(**disclaimer: I'm leaving off obvious permanent residents like Hitler, Stalin, Jack the Ripper, Paris Hilton, etc.)
5) Kwame Kilpatrick/everyone who re-elected him
The city of Detroit is composed of a bunch of stupidheads. I can forgive electing a young, charismatic mayor the first time around. During his first term as mayor, there were rumors of wild parties at the Manoogian Mansion, a stripper (Tamara Greene) who had attended the party was murdered, Kwame fired the police chief who was supposed to investigate alleged party at the mansion, a Lieutenant sued the city and Kwame because he was transferred out of his homicide unit after he began investigating the Tamara Greene case, and on top of all of that, during his re-election campaign, the Free Press reported that Kwame had spent $210,000 of the city's money on travel, food, and entertainment. All of this in a city with the worst public schools in the nation and a big ol' barrel of POOR.
You know what? Aww, they made a mistake. They thought Kwame would bring a sense of hope and optimism to the crumbling city. When he failed to, you know, make any progress aside from renovating Downtown, one would think that the city voters would say "PEACE OUT YO" and oust him, electing Bono or Angelina Jolie.
Uh, who do you think won the 2005 election?
Long story short, he had a sext-messaging scandal, made lots of shady deals, stole money, basically sat around being super corrupt and only after he was thrown in prison did the people of Detroit actually see that they elected a fucking CRIMINAL.
4) Steven Seagal
This guy gives me the creeps. First of all, he just looks like a psycho who drives around a white van and kidnaps women like that freak from Silence of the Lambs.
Leather jacket, anyone?
But I'm (reasonably) sure he's not a woman-skinner, so we'll just ignore that and focus on the thing he is known for. Acting.
If you can call it acting. Every single movie is THE SAME. Just like Tom Cruise can only play different variations of Tom Cruise, Steven Seagal can only play Steven Seagal. His IMDB Biography makes me want to eat a pickled egg and throw it up all over my new moccasins.
"Steven Seagal is a striking and somewhat boyishly handsome looking (often with ponytail) and usually impeccably dressed action star who burst onto the martial arts film scene in 1988 in the fast-paced Warner Bros. film Above the Law (1988)."
SIIIIICK. Also, shall we play the "Steven Seagal movie title game"? All you do is put "Steven Seagal is" before the titles of his movies. Here goes:
Steven Seagal is . . . ABOVE THE LAW.
Steven Seagal is . . . HARD TO KILL.
Steven Seagal is . . . MARKED FOR DEATH.
Steven Seagal is . . . OUT FOR JUSTICE.
Steven Seagal is . . . UNDER SIEGE.
Steven Seagal is . . . ON DEADLY GROUND.
(He went through a period of enlightenment where someone decided to get a little more creative, but then he went back to -- )
Steven Seagal is . . . HALF PAST DEAD.
Steven Seagal is . . . OUT FOR A KILL.
Steven Seagal is . . . OUT OF REACH.
Steven Seagal is . . . PISTOL WHIPPED.
Steven Seagal is . . . DRIVEN TO KILL.
Steven Seagal is . . . A DANGEROUS MAN.
Steven Seagal is . . . BORN TO RAISE HELL.
I will be eternally ashamed that he hails from Lansing, MI. More reason to hate Lansing.
3) Simon Cowell
One reason and one reason only: he always has hard nipples. GUYS NEED TO WEAR UNDERSHIRTS.
2) Heidi Montag-Pratt
I would highlight Spencer as well, but I look like a giant man-hater right now, so I will limit it to his beastly Barbie wife. I think that in order to get the full effect of Her Hideousness, we will post some Heidi quotes, or, as I like to call them, stupid.
On Children:"I want, like, four. Maybe I'll adopt 10. I want to have my own orphanage like Mother Teresa."
On starting rumors about Lauren Conrad:"God knows the truth in all of this, and at the end of the day, that is the only thing that matters. Jesus was persecuted, and I'm going to get persecuted, ya know?"
On religion:"I have been the most religious person since I was 2 years old. I always felt this crazy connection to God."
On long shots:"I plan to win an Oscar. I’m very ambitious."
On her boob job:"I think I was just thrilled. I think honestly, it was like Extreme Makeover."
SERIOUSLY, I THOUGHT THERE WERE CRITERIA YOU HAD TO MEET IN ORDER TO BE FAMOUS. Like, having talent. Or being good-looking. Or murdering someone famous.
1) Kanye West
ANYONE who has the balls to deem THEMSELVES "the voice of a generation" is permanently #1 on my Abomination Island. His music is okay. I would not say he's a genius. He would, though. And what he did to Taylor Swift at the VMAs?
"Yo Taylor, I'm really happy for you, and ima let you finish, but Beyonce had one of the best videos of ALL TIME!! Of ALL TIME!"
EWWWWWWW!
Admittedly, I am not the biggest Swift fan, since I feel like most of her music is her whining about how the guys she likes doesn't like her, and since she's not a cheerleader and wears T shirts and sneakers they should like her more because she "gets them", but HOLY RUDENESS. I do know all the words to "Golddigger" because of Glee, but I turn off the radio when he comes on. And my co-workers thought it was hilarious to put a picture of him up in my cube with sticky notes all over it saying JANELLE LOVES KANYE. That's how intense my hatred of him is.
KANYE, I AM THE VOICE OF THIS GENERATION, AND WE HATE YOU.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
My Graduate School Application Essay
Hi important people at college,
Basically, I am a badass. And this means one thing: you should let me into your school to study whatever the hell I want.
Elementary School
I was SUPER COOL in elementary school. I was so smart that I got 100% on every spelling test in five years, except for the one time I misspelled an extra credit word. Incidentally, the word was "Bellview", the name of my school, which I passed on a sign every day for six years. I was popular by association, since I was kind of a bitch, but my best friend was the most popular and well-liked girl in school. I went through a phase where I wouldn't wear jeans, and then there was the infamous Lee Pipes stage.
Middle School
Not so much bad-assery here. Skinny, awkward, unibrow-toting freakishly smart girl. The popular girls with really shitty houses but really awesome clothes used me for my homework skills, and they basically stomped all over me and my innocent generosity. My favorite story: at my 13th birthday party, I walked outside and one of these trolls was making out with my "boyfriend". I dominated them in rec-league fastpitch softball, though, since they all smoked cigarettes. For all the extremely crappy experiences there, though, I was the ultimate winner, as we shall see when I get to high school.
High School
I waxed the unibrow, hit the books, joined the band and rocked the varsity softball team. Vice President of the National Honor Society? check. Captain of varsity softball? huzzah. Marching band section leader of the alto saxophones? Fo sho. Oh, and did I mention I was on Homecoming Court and graduated #1 in my class with a 4.22 grade point? Suck it, middle school bitches, you're all mothers now, and I'm partying. Well, I guess you are still partying, but I'm not responsible for another human life, and therefore my partying is socially acceptable.
College
I didn't quite own college as much as I owned high school. I did get a full scholarship, though, which was the bomb. I was an engineering major for awhile before I said, "boooor-ing", and switched to majoring in TV, which is infinitely more fun, and also probably the easiest major at my school. I joined a sorority where I do a ton of community service and philanthropy work, became an RA, got a job on campus, studied abroad in England, traveled Europe, and had the time of my life, all while complaining when I really had nothing to complain about.
Also, my family is awesome. I have fantastic friends. I love pretending to be bitter and cynical, because it's a better outlet for humor. I like to write, and make funny movies, and be on the internet.
So, graduate school admissions people, pick me. Choose me. Love me. If you give me the chance, I can rule the school and possibly the world. I just need a Pinky to my Brain, so do you think you could start taking applications for my assistant? Thanks so much.
Good night, and good luck.
MUCH LOVEZ <3>
Janelle
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