Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Tutorial Tuesday: How to Be Poor

I don't know where my money goes.  All I buy is food and gas, yet somehow my friends that go to Urban Outfitters every week and afford sorority dues and letters every semester end up with more money than I do.  And I even have a job.

But while I do get more than enough assistance from my parents, I hate asking for money and consider my poor person's lifestyle preparation for the approaching apocalypse so I make it work.

First of all, you need to learn how to steal stuff.  I don't mean actually steal stuff -- unless it's my heart and you're a cute boy -- but more like take advantage of things that aren't necessarily advertised as free but you wouldn't get in trouble for doing.  This means taking the apples that sit out at the dining hall, or taking a Tupperware to the dining hall to fill up (it's like take out, kind of...).  Take the bread at restaurants, all they do is throw it out.  The trick is feeling entitled and looking like you know what you're doing, which is something that as a middle-class college kid in America I have no trouble accomplishing.

Secondly, eat a lot of peanut butter.  When spread on the apples you stole earlier this becomes a nutritious meal with high caloric content (thus more energy) on the cheap.

Thirdly, learn to mooch off others.  To do this you have to get people to like you, which as far as I can tell is done by pretending to care what they say and laughing at their jokes.  Also, having rich friends aids in this process because they're more likely to invite you to weekends at their lake houses and dinners that their parents finance.  Getting a rich boyfriend is even better, because then it's not so much you mooching as it is his responsibility to buy you everything you want, which for me is a lot of milkshakes and front row concert tickets.

Rich friends are crucial.

Now you may think because you're poor you have to miss out on a bunch of stuff.  No no.  You just need to learn how to manipulate the fun other people have.  For example, bring the fun to you: tell your friends to hang out with you instead of going out.  This may be difficult to accomplish, which is why it's necessary to have some alluring quality, such as a neat pet or a juggling ability.  If they decide to go galavanting around dropping paper and living like Drake then you need to ruin their fun.  Fake a severe laceration forcing them to come home (you can surprise them with Funfetti cupcakes and they'll totally ignore the fact that you're not bleeding from the ears), figure out how to disconnect the power to the club they're at, or text Kelly anonymously saying Julie -- who she's out with -- hooked up with Kelly's boyfriend last year.  Basically just Grinch the hell out of them, but be sneaky about it.

And lastly, just remember that someone is always worse off than you so shut your mouth and stop complaining.  Or get a job (yeah right).

Friday, May 25, 2012

Annoying People Friday: Know-It-Alls

You know who I hate?  Pretty much everyone, but especially people who think they know everything.  And they're everywhere, with their stupid knowledge-filled heads and loud mouths and superior attitudes.  There's one in every crowd, clinging to every word that is spoken just waiting to pounce on something that's wrong.

My best guess is that it's an insecurity issue that makes these people think they need to correct everyone all the time.  Maybe they failed the third grade or got a 2 on the AP English exam in high school, who knows.  Either way, if you at all misspeak or make an incorrect statement about anything -- I mean anything, from the direction of the restaurant you're trying to find or the color you consider your own hair to be -- they will let you know it.  Just to be clear, you are always wrong, and they are always right, and your hair is dirty blonde not sandy brown.  They would know, and yes they will crawl as far as possible up your butthole about it.

What I wonder is if it gets tiring being better and smarter than everyone else?  I'm sure it must be a real drain on their intellect hanging out with who they view as complete dunces all the time.  I mean, I would get really sick of having to tell everyone they're wrong constantly.  But I guess it is their duty as the smartest member of any group of friends and acquaintances ever.

Unfortunately for me, it seems as though I'll forever be surrounded by know-it-alls, in all facets of my life.  How do I deal with it?  It really depends on my mood.  Sometimes it's funny to argue with them, especially because coincidentally, know-it-alls never seem to pick up on sarcasm.  Or maybe it's just that they are so intent on proving their superiority that they are blind to my blatantly rude and offensive comments.  (Either way, it's pretty funny what you can get away with.)  If I've had a long day on the other hand, I'll usually just ignore them, or walk behind them and try to trip them.

As much as I hate know-it-alls, I do have a small corner of my heart that feels sympathetic toward them.  Who's going to marry these people?  Who would want to spend the rest of their lives having every statement they make be amended?  Maybe equally annoying know-it-alls, or really dumb people who truly believe they're wrong.  Either way, god be with both of them, and hopefully I won't be invited to the wedding because I'll probably wear the wrong length dress.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Tutorial Tuesday: How to Study Abroad

Studying abroad is the paramount over-privileged college student experience.  It's when young 20 somethings get to feel like they are part of another culture, when in reality they are on prolonged vacation where everyone knows they are extremely American and they occasionally sight see (read: walk around a museum for 20 minutes then go get a kebab and beer at an outdoor restaurant and snap photos, the most artistic of which will promptly become their new profile picture).  Basically, if you don't study abroad, be prepared to be less stupid, less cool, and less pretentious than all your friends who have.

I've been here one week and I'm practically Italian, as you can clearly see.

Here's how to take full advantage of your study abroad experience, and thus reach your full potential as biggest cultural douche.

Experience the Night Life
This mostly consists of walking around in a huge group, screaming in English and annoying all the locals.  Go to clubs that have overpriced deals that make you think it's worth it.  Post blurry pictures of all your friends having so much fun.  It's basically just like what you do at school, except you're in another country so it's way cooler by default.

"This club was pure insanityyyy."
Make a Dramatic Change
Now that you've gone on a plane trip and seen a few sights around your host city, you've obviously experienced the European philosophy of life.  So naturally you have come to realize that America is much too fast-paced and concerned with tangible things like money and making a living.  To represent your new laid back outlook on life, get a nose piercing, cut off your hair into a Euro-pixie cut, or start wearing a lot of mismatched scarves.

Write a Blog
This enables your friends back home can see how cultured you're becoming (I'm literally doing it right here, you see?).  Gradually you'll forget about keeping up with the blog, but remember to post pictures of the Big Ben, Eiffel Tower, or your "totally sketch but economic" hostel on occasion.  Pictures of the exotic wines and beers you taste on the reg help as well.  Remember to title the posts in the language of whatever country you're studying in so people get the feeling you're bilingual.  It's called Google Translate, and it's how I passed two (going on three) semesters of Italian.  Also it's how I know bad words in four other languages.  Also I'm eleven years old.

"I loved the beer in Germany, but don't worry Mom and Dad, I was responsible and even learned what hops is!"
People say traveling in Europe is so cheap.  I disagree, so this is not something I'll personally be partaking in to a large degree, but remember to take long weekends in Paris, Amsterdam, or Berlin.  Seeing as you will never be able to soak up anything about those cities in 3 days and 2 nights, it's not really about learning the city but more so about taking harried pictures of major landmarks before it's time to hit the next discoteca then head home for another week of difficult classes like Cultural Studies and British Film.  Don't forget to change your Facebook status (e.g. Heading to Ibiza for the weekend, nbd!).

Run Out of Money
If you're not completely broke by the end of the trip, you clearly didn't spend enough money on crepes and beer.  Call up Dad and ask him for enough money to spot you an extra two weeks so you can travel more and truly find yourself.

That's essentially how it's done, from what I can tell.  To recap: make it very obvious you're in a foreign country, both to the natives of that country and to your friends at home.

"If you ever get the chance to go to Paris, I totally recommend it because I was there for 2 days and am an expert now."

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Biddies on the Town

"Are you going out tonight?"

It's a question you need not ask a biddie, because the answer is always a hair flip and an indignant "um, DUH."  But of what does a typical night out consist?  Let me break it down for you.

Complaining About How Much Dinner She Just Inhaled
Before I went to college my mom told me a few pieces of advice about drinking: alternate with water, don't try to keep up with boys, and always eat dinner.  Smart biddies never drink on an empty stomach (and my mom is one smart biddie) but they also wear really tight clothes and have probably gained a little beer gut from all that freshman year studying they did.  Anyway, biddies finish their sushi or piece of lettuce for dinner and immediately start fretting about how fat and bloated they're going to look.  It's both annoying and endearing, which basically means you want to shove a donut in their mouths.

Getting Ready
This process varies in length, depending on the mood and goals of the biddie.  If she wants to get her make out on, it's going to be a much different outfit than if she wants to stand in a circle with her betches and bitch about other betches.  Anyway, because biddies can't make decisions for themselves they spend 20 minutes forcing their roommates to decide between pairs of shoes, pairs of earrings and color of mascara that absolutely no one in the world gives a damn about.

This is when people get wasted so they don't have to tolerate that middle ground of drunkenness when social situations are still awkward.

Going Out
By this time, those high heels her friend fake deliberated about for an hour are starting to seem a little complicated.  Getting by with a little help from her [equally smashed] friends, a biddie makes it to her destination and attends to the first items on the agenda.

  1. Acquire drink (usually a feminine mix of vodka, cranberry juice, club soda, and Justin Bieber's blood).
  2. Scope out the scene.  This means targetting potential hot girls that act as competition and accidentally spilling drinks on them, and figuring out which guys they can subtly run into and convince to tolerate them for a night or a marriage.  It's all about the future, you know?
As the night progresses, these two priorities remain of utmost importance, until...

Going Home
...she realizes she can't speak English anymore, is blowing chunks in the bathroom, decides she doesn't like the poor boy she dug her claws into all night, or the poor boy she dug her claws into all night finds a safe and secure hiding spot.  By a streak of luck, biddies seem to usually make it home (treasured cab driver, coincidental bus encounter, friend, carriage ride) and rarely have to wake up in say, the median of a highway or a suspiciously soggy and unfamiliar couch.

The Drunchies
Despite earlier lamenting about weight gain and looking skinny, not even the strongest of biddies can resist the drunchies.  This is when she raids her pantry for all things edible.  Cereal boxes are ripped open, Nutella smeared all over the walls, pop tarts go aflame in the toaster oven.  Food you don't even own is somehow consumed; I don't know, maybe it was the neighbor's.  God forbid anyone say "Cook Out," "Waffle House," or "Sheetz," because then you have to get it, it's a rule and dangerous things will be done to obey it.  The drunchies can best be compared to an irate elephant tap dancing in your kitchen: loud, uncontrollable, and angry.  

Passing Out
Since she is now home, biddies will pass out anywhere: inside the refrigerator, on the couch, on the floor just inches from her bedroom.  Either way, she wakes up feeling and looking like death and does it all the next night.

It's just the biddie lifestyle.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Annoying People Friday: People on Airplanes

So as you -- my devoted fans and readers -- know, I'm in Florence, Italy doing important things like sitting on bridges guessing which passers-by are Italians and trying to figure out what a miniature toilet next to a regular sized toilet in my bathroom is doing there.

FYI, it's to wash your butthole with...
But before I got to Firenze, which incidentally is the name of a centaur in Harry Potter, I had to get here via plane.  I don't know if you all have ever flown internationally but let me tell you: annoying people are not just native to America.  They are everywhere.

I boarded the plane, only to realize the seat next to me was unoccupied.  I was obviously happy because that means one less person in my vicinity (always good) and an extra blanket.  Score City.

WRONG.  I was happy only until I realized who was surrounding me.  Here's a brief description of people I spent nine freezing hours with, dozing in and out of a sleeping pill-induced dream where We Bought a Zoo seemed to constantly be playing (good movie though, I recommend).

Why are you still reading my blog?  Go see this adorable little girl and attractive man play with tigers NOW.
Little Kids
...scream and poop, all the time.  That's all they do, day in and day out.  Scream, poop, scream, poop.  Oh, except when they're not busy kicking the back of your seat on an airplane.  That was fun.

I understand that couples are annoying all the time, and I also have heard of heightened sexual experiences at high altitudes but PUH-LEASE.  Keep it in your pants.  What made it worse is that this particular couple a) looked oddly similar (incest?  They were Russian...not that that means anything) and b) had Chipotle that they somehow made last for the whole trip.  Interesting phenomenon: Chipotle looks no less delicious after eight hours on a plane.  Must be the additives.

The Person Who Wants to Make Friends
You know those people who try to make friends and talk to everyone in their vicinity?  I'm one of them, but I have my limits.  For example, I firmly believe the Appalachian Trail is not a place to go and make friends.  Same with an insane asylum, or an international flight.  NEWS FLASH: You are not on this plane to become best buds with some total RANDO you JUST met.  This girl sitting across the aisle talked nonstop about her life the whole time.  Anything you want to know, I could tell you.  She was adopted, studies "naturals," is a photographer-designer-poet-writer, and also has supernatural powers, apparently.  At first I thought she was high, then I just realized she was freaking insane.  Some of my favorite quotes from this whackjob:
"I don't like plastics...they're just not natural."
"They should make a plane out of bamboo."
Upon being offered an in-flight glass of wine: "Yes, I'd like the blood of Christ." *
Literally the face I was making. 
I think airlines should have sort of policy to shut these weirdos up.  Their audiences are entirely captive, it's just lucky for this girl a nice, tolerant lady was sitting next to her and not me because I would have stuffed a wad of tissues in her mouth.

*These stories are 100% true, my friend traveling with me heard it.

So the next time you board a plane, remember not to be intimate with your boyfriend, kick the seat in front of you incessantly and be a total crackhead.  On behalf of Biddie Lifestyle, I hope you enjoyed the flight!

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Italy or Whatever

HEY GUYS I'M IN ITALY.  I don't hate it as much as I thought, mostly because every other person eats gelato (literally) so I feel less terrible about my fat girl lifestyle.  Anyway, so far I've been here for three days and have already found ways to complain.  Here's a list of Florence Problems (you can hashtag them but only if you tag me):

  1. Getting run over all the time.  Vespa drivers are cray.
  2. Dead pigeons.
  3. Live pigeons.
  4. Getting crapped on by pigeons as you walk home.
  5. Basically anything about pigeons.
  6. Is pigeons even a word?  Moving on...
  7. Not getting hit on when you go out (AM I UGLY OR SOMETHING?).  It's bringing out all my old middle school insecurities.
  8. Not knowing how to flush toilets.
  9. They still play Amy Grant in bars.
  10. Celsius.
  11. How do people always know you're American?
  12. Police coming to your school and telling you that thieves know how to climb seven stories and steal all of your belongings.

But other than those minor details, Florence is a wonderful place where you can imagine Renaissance artists convening in piazzas (oh excuse me, that means a "city square" for all you less cultured tools out there) and there are pizza shops on every block.  Also, I've seen lots of gypsies and groups of Asian tourists so consider me satisfied.  

This is me and my biddie-licous roommate Christina.  More on her biddie lifestyle to come (SUCH an inspiration).

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Times I Wish I Were Still in High School

I know what you're thinking... "Well, this is going to be a one-word post: 'never!'"

You're wrong, as I have already proved, but what else is new.  No, as much as I love college there are days when I pine for the simplicity of cafeteria lunches and a clear social hierarchy.

For example, late May.  It's when all those little biddies start posting pics of prom on Facebook.  I sit at my laptop drooling creepily, though the albums are always the same: Pictures of eight girls in pastel dresses standing in front of their acne-ridden dates who have matching pastel bow ties, much to everyone's chagrin.  They walk around striking different poses, poking each other with corsage needles and trying to force smiles as their own mothers tell embarrassing child stories to their date's mothers.  I love prom, and still sustain I had the best dress at mine.  If anyone from my high school wants to challenge me I will smother them in the 100 yards of tulle that comprise my my dress, which still hangs in my closet, allowed to be touched by no one but me.

Oh and here's the back.  Marvel at it, and be consumed with envy, you peasants.

And remember exam week in high school?  The way it worked at my school was that you had one exam per day and were dismissed by noon; thereby teenagers were unleashed into the town to spend the day doing hoodrat shit with their friends.  But now my exam weeks are filled with me doing hoodrat shit by myself as my friends get study rooms at the library and actually try.  LAAAAAAME.

Sometimes I just really miss living with my parents.  On cold winter days my dad would go out and start my car before I left so it would be warm when I got in it.  My mom would make me chocolate milk when I got home from school and assure me that the reason my friends were mean to me that day was because they were jealous.  I've never been able to make coffee as good as my parents and now my laundry will sit for days until I remember to take it out of the dryer.  Being an adult is just not in the cards for me, I suppose.

But while I certainly miss the ear-shattering bell signaling the end of the period, fill-in-the-blank homework sheets, and the risk of no retakes on picture day, I can safely say that there is no way in hell I would ever go back, which is good because shortly upon my graduation my high school collapsed.*

*Which in my opinion is an accurate summary of my high school career.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

When in Rome

I'm getting ready to spend the next two months in Italy, "studying abroad" (drinking wine for college credit).  I'm living in Florence, former rage spot of the Jersey Shore and other less important historical shit, and staying with whom I hope is a fat old Italian lady who makes some bomb manicotti.  It's going to be two months of sipping cappuccinos, riding on Vespas through narrow cobblestone streets and any other activities I can partake in while emulating Julia Roberts in "Eat Pray Love."  Sounds like the life right?

WELL I DON'T WANT TO GO.  I hate change.  I almost withdrew from college the night before I went.  I hate having guests in my house.  I don't even like replacing my toothbrushes.  (I do it though...geeze I'm not nasty.)

As much as I hate change, I love complaining, so it's been a lethal combination for about a month.  I complain to everyone I know about going and they give me blank stares.  What would you do if some white bitch was whining about having to leave the Land of the Free [Frosty with Purchase of a Combo Meal] to go live in one of the most romantic and culturally rich countries on the planet while her dad pays for it?  Probably punch her, which accounts for my two black eyes.  So what am I so scared of?

There's No Target
Where am I supposed to buy my coffee creamer and mascara?  There's no Target (or Bath and Body Works, or Victoria Secret...but that's a whole separate issue), which is why 25 pounds of my 50 pound weight limit comprises extra essentials like Tresemme Curl Scrunching Gel and Venus razor blades.  I'm loyal to my products and have heard you have to buy your groceries and clothes in DIFFERENT STORES in Italy.  Since when was my convenience not top priority?

There's No Texting
Don't even try to appease me with all that Skype and emailing nonsense.  What am I going to do when I can't instantaneously text my boyfriend mundane details of my day or tweet my every thought?  Make up for it when I get back, that's what.  Brace yourselves.

There's No Gym
I love stereotypes, and as far as I'm concerned all Italians do is nom on pasta, drink wine and sit around hitting on foreign women.  While I plan on indulging myself in all of these activities, I'm not trying to gain five pounds a week.  I have a wedding to be in when I get back and I have already gotten my dress fitted.*  It's me versus gelato, and I hate losing.

*It's not my wedding.

I'll Be There During the Most Patriotic Days of the Year
My 21st birthday, for one.  I wonder if Italy has ever seen a bar crawl, because if they haven't they're about to experience American college.  Memorial Day, for another.  Do they even eat hamburgers?  And FOURTH OF JULY?  My favorite holiday, next to Flag Day.  I hope it's not illegal to set homemade fireworks off the top of the Duomo while drinking a Bud because I'm not trying to get arrested and have some Amanda Knox shit happen to me.  Regardless, I've packed my American flag that I like to wear as a dress and will represent until I pass out.

I've heard the Italians love shoes...I'll fit in fine...right??...

All My Money Will Be Gone
In two months, everything I own will be gone.  I plan on making the most of my time there, and that means two things: traveling and clubbing...both of which cost those monies.  Luckily, I plan on staying in Europe after my term ends and living as a nomad because I have gotten really into that show My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.

What If It's Not Acceptable to Wear Leggings and Cowboy Boots?
What if it's not acceptable to wear leggings and cowboy boots?

My only comfort is that I can call Italy "Bidd-aly" for two months and bring the biddie lifestyle to Firenze.  (Also I get to use the word "piazza" in regular conversation, and say things like "Let's meet at the Ponte Vechhio.")  If you have any other comforting advice (read: Euros) there is a comment box and the Help A Sista Out Foundation. 

Ciao, or whatever.
What I'll be doing as my plane takes off.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

If I Were President

I don't like politics.  I just registered to vote three weeks ago, and I'm almost 21.  Some people might say I'm not a very good citizen, but let's be honest: What is the real root of America?  It's not debates over politics, political parties or world peace.  It's debates over who is better, keg parties and whirled ice cream.  If you need any more convincing, look at the first Thanksgiving.

Despite my keen disinterest and apathy in regards to all things governmental, I think I have a few good ideas to get this country back on track and re-establish the ideals our founding pappys had in mind.

First and foremost I would require all cars to install a mechanism that will not allow them to turn unless the turn signal is on and operating at the time the steeling wheel is turned.  I am so sick of driving behind someone and having to evade the rear of their minivan as they erratically switch lanes or swerve into the Sheetz parking lot.  I believe this initiative would increase safety and cut down on road rage.

Secondly, I would require all young couples looking to reproduce to pass an intricate and complex test.  While of course there would be an IQ portion, a substantial segment of the test will be spent determining whether the hopefuls have any sort of common sense.  There will be basic questions, like the ones as follows:

True or False: I will bribe my kids and let them grow up and be brats.
True or False: Soccer is a cool sport and is fun to watch.
True or False: It's okay to not use your turn signal if you're only switching lanes.
And so on and so forth.  (If you answered true for any of the above, please promptly readjust your life.)

Thirdly, I would increase hygiene and sanitation regulations.  How, you ask?  By hiring people to clean public toilets after each use.  This may seem excessive to someone who only bathes once a week, but to the rest of the populace this means no more crouching over urine-spotted (or should I say other-people's-rine-spotted...get it??) toilet seats, unflushed bowls and floors littered with wet paper towels.  And it creates jobs, so I don't really see how anyone can argue with that.

Lastly, at every global diplomatic meeting I will have perched on my shoulder a bald eagle that I have trained to be tame but look sasha-fierce.  This way, the United States can scare its competitors into doing what we want to via our new avian influence.  Also, I will hold a vote for what the name of the bald eagle mascot should be, but if you don't pick the name Blaze you'll no longer be considered an American, thus losing your rights to enter hot dog eating contests.

If you like what I stand for, which is suppressing annoying people and creating better-quality chicken nuggets, then vote for me, Sallie Drumheller, in 2012.  Thank you and goodbye.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Annoying People Friday: Weirdos in Your Classes

As the semester dwindles to a close, let's take a few moments to celebrate not having to be in class with a bunch of annoying people anymore.

The Mom
She's that old[er] lady who sits in the front of class and still uses a flip phone.  When no one else gets your professor's cultural references from the '70s, The Mom will always be there with a chuckle, partially because the reference was funny, partially because you don't get it and she knows it, and partially because she's so old she's going crazy.

And you know she knows all the words to the alma mater, whereas I don't even know what an alma mater is.

The Suck-Up
I'll be the first to admit this is me.  I'm well aware everyone in my classes hates me a) because I never shut up and b) my only goal is to be best friends with my professor.  The suck-up asks about the professor's family before class, tells him to have a good weekend and compliments him on his new haircut before you even realized he had hair.  Although suck-ups will always get a grade cushion (unless the prof sees through their crap) rest assured that while the professor doesn't know your name, at least your classmates will let you copy their homework because they don't DESPISE YOU.

The College Athlete
College athletes think they can do whatever they want, believe me.  I worked as an athletic tutor one time and had to quit because I got asked to write their papers for them so many times.  This football/basketball/shuffleboard player sits in the back of the room with his ginormous headphones on, very obviously not paying attention, and then blatantly copies your test Scantron.  The honor code does not apply to them, nor does a late policy.

The Kid Who Cares
I know what you're thinking, Suck-Up 2.0 but you'd be wrong.  The difference here is that the Kid Who Cares actually cares, whereas the Suck-Up has merely learned the system and is massaging it to their advantage.  The Kid Who Cares asks convoluted questions, usually at the end of class, and messes up the curve.

The Smelly Guy Next to You
His backpack is enormous, and he runs to class somehow always sweaty and sits next to you.  Every.  Time.  I don't know what he is carrying in there or why he's always in a rush, or why he always sits next to you, but the only way to deal with it is to wear nose plugs and avoid eye contact.

But alas, we have 3 whole months of tanning and texting upon us, and hopefully The Mom graduated this year so you will never see her again.  HAGS!

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Things I Can't Stand

I'm a pretty chilled out person (ha), but sometimes things just really peeve me. However, because I'm a mature adult I've learned how to deal with it.  For example, if someone or something makes me angry, I'll go for a run, punch a wall, or tweet incessantly about it.  Actually, I've found that the internet provides a great outlet for ranting, which is why I'm here today with a succinct list of things that really PO me so you can stay on my good side.

Okay FIRST OF ALL, can we talk about how pencil eyeliner is a total rip-off?  The $8 pencil is like 3 inches to start with and then when it gets down to the last inch (A WHOLE INCH I TELL YOU!) you can't even sharpen it anymore rendering it entirely useless.  Sometimes I just want to take my eyeliner stubs back to Sephora and demand a 1/3 refund.

Not all vegetarians, of course.  Just most of them, because most vegetarians are the kind who tie you to a chair and shove it down your throat.  They think they're better than everyone and they want the world to know it.  I'm a pretty healthy eater -- due to my extremely sensitive and easily unbalanced digestive system I really only eat salad, fruit, and the occasional bag of peanut butter M&Ms -- and I don't need your speeches about animal cruelty and sustainability to alienate me.  Have you ever noticed that vegetarians are usually only friends with other vegetarians?  A dietician I recently spoke with explained this as a social thing: They eat the same foods so they hang out with each other and go to weird vegetarian restaurants that omnivores only pretend to like out of novelty, but I think it's just because they're all annoying and annoying people flock together.

And that's all I got to say about that.

Drama, all the time.  I'll be the first to admit I start a lot of drama, but mostly because I only take 4 classes a semester and get bored.  But GIRLS man.  You cannot mess up around them.  If you think you're being nice you're actually just being fake nice which warrants you a nice little shit-talk with all of her friends.  If you try to confront them in an adult manner you're just being aggressive and rude.  If you hang out with your boyfriend too much you're a slut who clearly hates all your friends.  And be assured that every time you walk away from your friends they start bitching about you, but they don't get that you really couldn't care what they think.  My advice is to only be friends with animals, minerals and boys, because ALL GIRLS SUCK.

I love Panera, don't get me wrong.  But after a recent excursion there I started noticing a few things.  Numero uno:  why do their side options suck?  If I'm getting a bread bowl I want my side item to be one of those tasty treats, not another freaking piece of bread.  They think everyone is trying to carbo-load when they go there.  Not so.  I know you're probably saying, "Why doesn't this bitch just get chips or an apple instead?"  WELL I'LL TELL YOU.  Chips are bad for you and the apples SUCK.  They're not even apples.  It's like an apple reproduced with the pit of a peach and the Panera apple got all the pit peach genes and nothing from the apple.  Where are those apples even grown, Belarus?  And numero two: the water cups are appropriately sized for a garden gnome.  The way I see it is if you don't hydrate you die and Panera is enabling my death by their small water cups.  I don't want my pleasant lunchtime conversation to be interrupted every time I have to go refill my thimble of water.

Panera Bread on bread on bread.

Short Sizes
Why are short and pant sizes different on a mammoth level?  It makes me feel fat and I'm fragile about things like that.  The fluorescent dressing room light and my mother's criticism (Mom if you're reading this I'm just kidding, it's just a writing technique and you have always been very supportive) is harsh enough, and I don't need to be trying to wedge myself into a pair of janties that should theoretically fit, if women's sizes made any kind of sense.  Did I balloon up 6 sizes from my pant size since yesterday?

Gross Drinkers I hate when people take a big gulp of whatever they’re drinking, and then there’s some liquid residue left over around their lips, and they don’t wipe it off. You know?

Selling Books Back
This is a hate/love relationship.  Usually by the end of the semester I am broke as a joke, so I think that selling my books back is going to cushion my wallet with a fat and much needed wad of cash.  Falsity, because the most you'll ever get for a book is $2.  By hate/love relationship, I mean that I hate standing in line for half an hour holding 20 pounds and $400 worth of books to only get $30 back, but I love punching the cashier in the face.  

Well, I for one feel much better about getting that off my chest.  Sorry if I offended any vegetarians, gross drinkers, or pairs of shorts but maybe this will teach you to not suck so much.  Peace and love!