The Library

The last time I checked the library was supposed to be a place with books where craggy old women with their hair in a bun whispered SHHHH! when you coughed after catching wind of her White Diamonds perfume. (For those of you who are too young for my references, this is a popular perfume sponsored by Elizabeth Taylor. Google her, it will make sense and be funny I promise). In movies, such as Legally Blonde, students gathered together in groups and whispered about Plato and other law bull shit while being outfitted in their Harvard gear. At ASU, the scene is similar but much more befitting of the Arizona lifestyle. Hoards of students gather to talk about how hot they are and how soon they can start wearing bikinis to class. Instead of ASU gear, girls wear Victoria's Secret, the official sponsor for university whores and whore-wanna be's everywhere. (You know what I am talking about too, it is one thing to dash out the house in sweatpants because you overslept, it's a whole other level when their hair is curled and make-up done but are still wearing sweatpants but because it is VS, it is acceptable. Whatever, you still look like trash.) Whispers of Plato? How about shouts about where the next Frat party is being hosted. Yes, please, this is the atmosphere I was looking for when I decided to study about the Holocaust. People were murdered by the millions in a torturous, inhumane way, but hey! I would much rather listen to how your friend humped a dog last night. I can also take my mind off it by looking at the girl's computer next to me. Whoa, I missed another naked night of beer pong apparently. I am no Elle Woods, but IT IS A LIBRARY. Why are you meeting here to look up funny youTube videos and hang out with friends? It is called a Starbucks. They are located on every corner and allow you to be obnoxious as you want (unless you go to one with all the hip underage smoker kids who are just like, so beyond their years man). The best are the people who sit at the computers than talk on their cell phones for two hours, aimlessly clicking, pretending like they came here to work. Either you are trying to fool your parents or your latest significant other is only good for sex and being with them before bed time is similar to the way I feel about your existence invading my study time.
The greatest part about my library experience? I have to park in a structure that I pay for because it is the closest to the library, which is still a good 1/3 of a mile away. Not far, but when you charge me $12 to park there, I am pretty sure that I deserve an escort service and a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie. Economic recovery fee you say? (This is a new $400 add on to tuition for every semester in case you didn't know) Where the hell is all that parking money going? What maintenance does a concrete building need? Last time I checked we were located in Tempe, I don't need a 65 year old, over weight man riding around on his golf cart all day "protecting" my car. What are you going to do if you catch someone anyway? Rev that engine up to 3 mph? My Grandma can outrun that with her broken hip. Next time ASU needs some financial advising, maybe they should just ask me instead of sending me a "survey" about how I feel about the rising tuition costs. Wait, where's the opting for FUCKING BULL SHIT?
Final Words: These new frozen yogurt places are awesome. Fat free yogurt with multiple flavors-how healthy! I am assuming the fact that the toppings aren't labeled with nutrition facts means I can eat as much of that too as I want. Fat Americans, making excuses to sue others for making us fat, now that's food for thought.

The Cheese

You want to know the best birth control ever? Come in to the restaurant I work at on Sunday's. Imagine "Kid's Eat Free" promos combined with the fact that we are conveniently located near Mesa and Gilbert. Do any married women in that area have any other tasks to do than prepare dinner for their husbands then bang repeatedly until their 9th child is conceived? By that time I imagine kids just start walking out of the birth canal. But I am getting ahead of myself. Picture a "typical" American family. Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister, and maybe one "accident" child. I would love to believe that really is a typical sized family. Instead add about 5 more brother and sisters all eating mac and cheese, wiping their slimy fingers over everything, including each others' hair, and you have my typical Sunday. I don't understand the promotion, why do we want to ENCOURAGE this type of behavior? It's like, "hey! have more kids, we will pay for them!" (Wait, do I smell a Democrat behind this?) So we put a restriction: one kid's meal for every adult entree purchased. Well the cheap bastards have this figured out too. (Apparently the mom's do have time for something else: planning ways to screw over childless servers). Yes kid's meals can be split. Granted one portion can be something such as a half pound of macaroni, but when I split your children's FREE ice cream sundae, don't come bitching to me about how they need more. They can eat more macaroni or hey, maybe you can order them a side of french fries. Although that would mean spending $2.29 on your child. Less money for you to get your nails done and you know your husband isn't going to give you any more allowance money that week.
I'm not saying all kids are bad and I hate them, but I strongly believe that people should test dogs before they move on to a baby. Or if they believe that breeding like rabbits is going to be their lifestyle, they should invest in shock collars. The thing is kids wouldn't be so bad if their parents actually parented them. Sorry dear but when you decided to push a human being out of your vagina, you signed up for more than a cute accessory. Just because Angelina Jolie has 80 kids it doesn't make you socially cooler than your friends without kids. I'll let you in on a secret moms and dads, allowing your kids to do whatever they want when they're 5 years old means when they are 15 and stealing the minivan to smoke weed it in with their friends, it is completely your fault. Save your money, Dr. Phil can't help you. Your kid wasn't molested when they were young and are acting out because of repressed memories, no you were a fucking lazy parent! Remember when you let them smear mac and cheese sauce all over the table and drop the other half of it on the floor? Well I do, so I hope enjoy your future weed smoking, pregnant teen drama in a few years.
Final Words: Lemon flavored anything is my new obsession. I crave its' taste and smell and can't get enough. Maybe I'm pregnant...right, maybe I'm the next Virgin Mary. (Yeah try not to spit out whatever you were drinking when you read that ya jerk).

The Bartender

You know that friend you have that is pretty, dresses nice, and is fun but she isn't drop dead gorgeous or the life of the party so you can bare to be friends with her? I am that friend.
I can say with reasonable confidence that I am decent looking. I mean, I shower daily and partake in grooming rituals on a daily basis. I do know that a red shirt and purple shorts do not go together (no, not even for you Ms. "I'm so trendy because I mismatch bright colored lycra clothes from American Apparel"), and I retired my mystical dreamy colored horse shirts a long time ago (it's all about plastering Miley Cyrus gear all over yourself now). I am funny and witty but that is only if you understand my dry, and sometimes dark sense of humor. Although the people who don't get it only fuel my fire to persistently pick on their shortcomings, such as last night - "look at that girl's dress - hey hunny this is a public place, no one wants to see the nightgown grandma knitted for you last Christmas (it was a white, long, cotton dress that was flowy and had a lace collar)."
[Preface: I am in no way, jealous of Maria. I simply ask for acknowledgment. The way guys act towards her is rude and unattractive. This is, by the way, why she never goes home with you.]
But anyway, for the most part I am there for the ride, good for a few chuckles, and perfect as a drinking partner (I still manage to throw up in bathrooms and not all over bar tops.) My friend "Maria" is more the limelight character. She has huge hair, a big ass with a small waist, and cleavage that appears from no where. Seriously the girl goes from a 13 year old pre-teen to breast-enhanced model on the cover of Cosmo with the change of a shirt. I have become used to the staring (at her, not me), the comments on her hair, and the repeated cold shoulder tactic so I can fend her from "just-turned-21-year-old-male-alpha-dog-who-is-going-to-prove-to-his- friends-he-can-get-a-girl-to-go-home-with-him." What I can't seem to grasp is that our favorite bar, the one where half my life savings has gone to, continually produces ass hole bartenders who focus on Maria and neglect to acknowledge my thirst. Gentleman I will let you know something right now: If you want to get with the hot girl, you better be damn sure you take care of her best friend too. First of all, hot girl will never be alone at the bar, conveniently waiting for you to swoop down and take her home with a purse full of sex toys and a naughty nurse outfit under her jacket. Meaning, you have to get past me first. The only way that's happening is if you give me another fucking drink. Last night bartender, Tim, walks up to Maria and says "What's up Maria? Ketel and Cran?" She laughs says yes and then he looks at me, "Uh something for ya?" Oh hey genius, I have an idea, how about the same damn drink I have been ordering for a year??? And by the way I have a name. I know, crazy, but they forced my parents to write something down at gun point.
This is why I like Trevor. Trevor is our bartender normally. He puts my drink in front of me WITHOUT asking. And knows my name. He also likes Harry Potter and asked a male friend of ours one time to come over and play some Harry Potter card game that he was really excited about. Winner, winner chicken dinner.
Final Words: At least role playing as Hermione would allow me to use a wand and shout random magic words.

The Loner

I know I complain about a lot of things on this blog. So for this entry, I am going to do the same thing. Why stop a good trend?
Recently in a newspaper article a report done by some researchers from some university did some study that looked at some people's conversations throughout some amount of time. Yes, this really must be something. Anyway, they found that people were happier when they had "meaningful conversations" over idle chit-chat. Their example of a meaningful conversation was, "What do you think is the best way to transport kids to school" and the person responds on opinions they have heard. This is opposed to chit chat: "Oh that ice cream looks good, what flavor is it?" and the person responds "vanilla" and moves on. Hm. Who are these people? They have nothing better to do than talk about getting their kids to school? Oh wait, I get it. They researched stay at home moms because who else has the time to be researched for a year straight? And any stay at home mom will naturally be happier when she gets to talk to a person who is over the age of 10. And I have had plentiful meaningful conversations about ice cream. That is an important topic. Flavor, toppings, which brand, syrups? Hellllllo, if you don't think that's serious business then you have your priorities mismanaged. The report goes on to conclude that people who spend time alone and only engage in chit-chat are not as happy as people who spend more time with friends talking about real conversations...I wish I could call these people and ask them to follow me for a week. You know when I am happy? When Barbie (see previous post) keeps her mouth shut so I can enjoy my wine. When I get to read the paper and enjoy coffee before little 3 year old Joe-Joe shows up with his grandparents and his entire playroom. (This is not Gymboree people!) When I am in class and I can take notes without you texting your best friend about the picture that Molly posted of her and Joe making out in a hot tub -o.m.g., what a whore!, and then you lean in to ask me if I think that it is sanitary for people to do that in a hot tub? Sorry, while I am trying to learn about how the media is warping my brain (must. check. facebook...), I decided you would be a topic on my blog because you're so annoying.
Final Words: Bacardi. Diet. Lemon.

The Editor

I like to write. Blog style that is. Translation: fuck commas and using "40" instead of "forty." I distinctly remember in 8th grade when we did the grammar packets. As you passed each one, it moved on to a different section of grammar. So first it was spelling, then like words (to, too, two), then commas, etc. If you didn't pass the packet you had to stay behind and work on extra packets in that area till you passed. Two weeks later I am still pondering the "use a comma when you need to take a breath" rule (which by the way, people take breaths at different spots when they talk), while my classmates moved on to Romeo and Juliet (I missed the naked butt in the movie for commas!). That is why I have friends like Amanda who completely dashed all hopes of me believing I am actually competent when it comes to the English language (aside from commas naturally). After marking up my resume with so much ink I wasn't sure if the original text ever existed, I realized I needed a lot of help when it came to sounding professional. Apparently "type like a motha fucka" is not appealing to future employers. I blame this mainly on the fact that every job I have had has required me to walk in the door...and well, start working. I am pretty sure when I handed my bosses my resume, they just tossed it to the side and asked me if I could work weekends and drive my own car. Thanks for preparing me for my future interviews and life in general guys.
Now, I have basically a new resume to rewrite. This is why I hate "real" writing. Have you ever heard the phrase "hit it and quit it"? I like to apply that philosophy to my papers. Once I've done it, I don't want to think about it anymore. So drafts, second drafts, final drafts, final papers have no meaning to me. Is it because I don't like to criticize my own work as much as I do others? Heck yeah. Hand me Billy's second grade report on his summer break and I'll rip that piece of garbage to shreds. Professor Tom wants me to look at his thesis? I may not know the words but I'll red ink the shit out of his philosophy on why zippers are more effective than buttons (and they are). Basically editing makes me feel good because I lack effective ways of transmitting my own ideas so I chose to destroy others. I do what I can to keep people in check.
Last Words: If you go to lunch with one of your lesser intelligent friends, do everyone a favor and sit in a corner, far, far away from those of us that have fully functioning brains. It is hard for me to enjoy my wine when Bimbo Barbie wants to know all about Happy Hour because heaven forbid she actually spare the last two brain cells she has. However I got a second glass of wine for free so maybe the karma of me not stabbing her with my chopsticks paid off.

The Rumor

Need I make some witty remark about how I took a three month break from blogging? No. But I will. I realized I kept having all these moments where I would think, "I need to use THIS for my blog," but after walking around campus all day trying to figure out where all the girl's pants went, (seriously have you seen these girls wearing only shirts and tights? it is called a dress hunny, Hanes cotton tees are t-shirts, just because your ass is covered in bright purple lycra doesn't mean there shouldn't be some other layer of fabric shielding me from your ass crack) and then babysitting ten or so 20 year olds at work, blogging became an activity only for kids that had mommy and daddy's wallets in their clutches.
So what else have I been up to besides staring at bright colored asses and coddling 27 year old servers because they got another bad tip? There is a point in every woman's life where friends feel the need to intervene in their single friend's life and "assist" them in finding Mr. Right. Usually this occurs around mid 30's. To a woman that gained the freshman 15 five times already and prefers staying at home with her four cats instead of going to another bar as the third wheel. However, I am 22. The person that set me up started a rumor six months earlier that I made out with a manager in our office at work. The prey was a cop. I mean really? Apparently I believed that by being set up now, I could avoid cat lady syndrome in the future (which is quite depressing considering I am allergic to my future housemates). After a couple dates, various texts, and phone calls, I question the man about his return from a trip home to visit family. All I request is that we make plans when he arrives home. He readily agrees and apologizes for being so busy before his trip. It is five weeks later. That must be one big family he had to visit.
Final Words: Every time I drink a bottle of wine I get really down on myself and eat way too much. This has become an emotional nightmare. I guess I should start drinking two.