Happy boring day!

I have nothing significant to say, but I desperately want to post something. Thusly, I will yammer on about what I've done over break so far, since I know you're all dying to know what oceans of excitement I've been diving into since school ended.

First of all, I've absolutely wrecked my sleep schedule. I've woken up at one in the afternoon at least three or four times, and the other days I've woken up at noon. Most days I also nap. Today, my dad made me get up before eleven, and I almost died. Granted, I've also been staying up until one or two in the morning, reading great literature and musing on the definition of life, so it's most likely my mental exhaustion is to blame.
Actually, considering how difficult last semester was, that's entirely possible. In my opinion I'm still catching up on all the sleep I lost...last year. I'm not even close to this year's quota, so everyone can just get off my back.

My internet usage is rather prolific; however, my roommate Kelly and I switched passwords before we left for break, and now neither of us have access to Facebook until we get back to school (unless she's hacked her account, which wouldn't be surprising, as she is something of a genius and another something of a sneaky devil) (in a good way). I did this so I wouldn't feel like I had to see everyone from high school or spend time at fancy parties or go out of my way to make crafty presents for the people I love. I will see who I want and I will procure presents on my own time, thank you. So I spend a lot more time on Pinterest, pinning away, usually food I'll never have the patience to make or clothes I'll never have the money to buy. The usual stuff. Today, I unfollowed everyone's wedding boards.
I have been spending more time on Twitter, but you can only do so much on Twitter. I usually end my internet sessions by Google-stalking news stories of people from the Bachelorette.

I'm babysitting chinchillas, which are like giant fluffy mice that sleep in the day and cavort haplessly in the night, which is a big part of why my sleeping has been disturbed. I didn't realize that chinchillas squeaked, but they definitely do. If you can call it squeaking, which you really can't. It sound like they're being suffocated. Here is a video (click the word video for the video); you can see for yourself. Two final fun facts concerning chinchillas: (1) they do bite, if you put your finger next to their mouths, but so far it's been harmless nibbling and I haven't had another medical episode, and (2) they hate water, so they bathe in dust, which is so counter intuitive I honestly don't know what to do.

Last Saturday, I had the privilege of meeting my good friend's fiancée. The experience in and of itself was what you would expect the experience of meeting your good friend's fiancée would be if you had never met any other fiancées that happened to belong to your good friends.
It was fine. He was great. But no one else that I care about is allowed to get engaged for a long time until I decide I'm okay with being a grown up.

In nerd news, I checked my grades for the semester and was overjoyed, and that's all I'm going to say about that. Also, I got A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy for Christmas, the entire quintogy (like trilogy but there's five of them) (it's not a word), so...yeah. There's that. My family is mad at me because I don't talk to anyone anymore; I just read and read and then think about time travel until my brain hurts too much to do it, so I try reading again, creating a vicious cycle of frustration, which may or may not also have something to do with the fact that I'm not talking to anyone.

I saw the Hobbit, and, unlike everyone else of the entirety of people who saw it, felt ambivalently towards it.
I baked like a thousand cookies. My brothers ate all of them. 
Actually. False. I did. Plus, I made a list of things I need to do, and I keep adding to it and never doing any of it and not caring.
EVERYONE I KNOW JUST GOT PREGNANT.

...I think that's it...

...yeah, that's it. Beyond that, pretty much the usual stuff: existential crises, frustrated grumbling over what the crap I'm going to do with my life, writing future best-sellers and then giving up after the first chapter, gagging on my toothbrush, watching the Big Bang Theory every day, and accumulating heinous debt in student loans.

Whatever.

OH AND I WROTE THIS BLOG.
MERRY DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS.

fin.

Mice don't like to be saved.

This happened a couple months ago, and I wrote most of it then, but never finished it, oddly. Now it is done, annnnnd...um, tada! 
I hope you all appreciate that I get into these ridiculous shenanigans just for you.
Actually, they're...not really for you at all.
I hope you enjoy this epic regardless.

Once upon a time, there was a little mousey who decided that today, he would sit on the steps of the science center and bother the crap out of everyone. Mousey was fat, with a pointed nose and the longest mouse tale ever beheld by mankind. He nuzzled himself into the wall and prepped for a long day of being irritable and inconveniently positioned.

Back story.

I have an embarrassingly powerful obsession with small rodents. Once, I found a website dedicated entirely to 1500 photos of baby hamsters, and it was the best day of my life. I have never owned a small rodent, but I have spent enough time staring at them longingly in Petsmart that I might as well have. There has never been a time in my life that I have not wanted a rabbit. (I realize that rabbits aren't rodents - they're lagamorphs, obvi - but nobody knows that besides you and me, and...I mean, I know I'm a loser, so maybe you should come to terms with yourself.) My freshman roommates described me once as a "true mouse advocate." I also babysit chinchillas for Emma and Nolan when they go to Oregon. Now I'm kind of in a kitten phase...or bears. I like bears. But the rodent thing isn't a phase so much as it is a lifestyle.

End of back story.

As the diligent little science major I am, I'm on my way to lab with my sandwich, and unlike all the people I was walking with, happen to notice mousey in his hideaway at the edge of the stair. Naturally, I gasp, really loudly and embarrassingly, and squeal a lot and jump up and down and then say goodbye and eat my sandwich, because I get pretty hungry after micro lecture.

I know. I should have left it at that. I know.
Trust me, I know.

So anyway. Om nom nom. Sandwich is consumed. I wander back over toward the direction of our mouse friend and find with some concern that he has moved onto the step, right into the line of foot-stepping-ness, but hardly a foot from where he was before. I assume he is sick, so I stare at him for a little while like a complete lunatic. This is right at the end of a lecture block (of COURSE), so all of these freshmen are coming out of their classes and thinking, what is this chick doing just standing on the stairs, but I stand strong and continue as a protective force to his minuscule existence. 
After a while, a small crowd gathers, and some freshman gives him a handful of Captain Crunch (word to the wise: mice don't like Captain Crunch), and I decide that, because there are literally five people standing and looking at him and some kids STILL aren't noticing that he (we're assuming it was a boy mouse) is there, someone has to take it upon themselves to remove him from the danger zone.

You can probably guess that person was me, because I'm the only one stupid to make that judgment call in the first place.

I dash heroically into my micro lab (not really dashing, because you're not allowed to run in lab) and obtain a pair of nitrile gloves in order to preserve myself from the rampant bacteria crawling through its fur. A little struggling ensues, but eventually I have a hold of mousey and am running down the stairs with metaphorical fanfare blasting in the background as I go to release him into the ravine where he will be safe from the feet of the unobservant science majors. And right where the hawks can get him. But that's not important.

I'm sure you know what's coming.

chomp.

So now I'm standing at the bottom of the stairs holding an angry, squirming rodent, and I can see blood pooling under my glove, and I think to myself, everything my farm-raised, mouse-hating mother has ever taught me has gone to waste in this moment. In honor of that achievement, I say a bad word.

Still the job has to be done, so I chuck him into the ravine (he bit me, I'm not going to tuck him in). With renewed vigor, I run upstairs and my lab instructor tries not to laugh while we start performing necessary hygienic procedures that involve rubbing alcohol and squeezing out a lot of blood and my entire class laughing at me and my friends signing as witnesses to my stupidity and me filling out paperwork and crying in front of my supervisor.
They tell me I have a big heart. It doesn't make me feel better.

Fast-forward.
I'm at the health center. The doctor is telling me I need antibiotics because, of course, there's something called rat bite fever. Oh, and I need to get assessed for a rabies shot.
Yeah. Rabies. I could have rabies.

Excellent.

Since things can't really get any weirder, I text my friends and threaten to bite them.

That night, during the lab I TA, I look up the health center the doctor told me to talk to about the vaccination, and this page opens up with the biggest font I've ever seen saying, "STD Clinic," right in front of all my little first-year chem students, but I close it really quickly so I don't think they notice.

Fast-forward.
I'm on the phone with the Monrovia Health Center, who doesn't administer rabies shots but who tells me the phone number for a place that actually does, but I get nervous and lie about having a pen so I don't write it down. I google some more and eventually find a place that advertises having them, so I call them.

"Do you administer rabies shots?" (There's one heck of a conversation starter.)
"Yes, we do, did something happen?"
"I was bit by a mouse yesterday."
"Ohh, okay! Well we do give those; did your doctor say you needed one?"
"He said I needed to be assessed for one..."
"Then you probably do."
"Okay, well how much would that cost?"
"Well, there are five shots, one you take blahblahblahblahblah and the last you take twenty-eight days later, and they're $295 each."
"Two hundred ninety-five each?" Please, Jesus, let there be a decimal.
"Yes, and you can make your appointment..........."

I forget everything else she said. You would have, too, if an ungrateful rodent was about to cost you fifteen hundred dollars.

It was around now that I start to realize that despite my best efforts, I am probably going to have to inform my financial beneficiaries of my misadventure.

Excellent.

"...hello?"
"MOM! HOW ARE YOU?"
"...good...how are you?"
"GREAT!"
"...uh huh. Is everything okay?"
"OH YEAH EVERYTHING'S FINE!"
"Did you fail something?"
"NO!"
"Okay?"
"No..."
"...um..."
"No, this is beyond failing."

Fast-forward.
Mom takes impending financial deficit rather well. She also calls every health department in the state, all of whom tell her, "We don't give rabies shots for mouse bites." Which puts me in a predicament, because Dr. What'shisface told me I might need one, and the lady at the clinic told me that if he said I might need one then I do need one, but Mrs. Nursefrompasadena told my mom that I don't need one, because mice don't carry rabies. Also, if I do need a shot, but I don't get a shot by tomorrow, I can't get one. Ever. Also, RABIES KILLS YOU.
To add insult to injury, everyone keeps asking me why I didn't pick it up by its tail. I'm not sure why the whole world assumes that's a universal precept, because...I've never heard anything about it.

The next day, because I'm at my wit's end, and because I might maybe be looking for a chance to suck up, I inform Dr. Microbiologyprofessor of the predicament, and he looks at me like I'm a nutcase for a few seconds. Then he discusses the general lack of rabidity in mouseys, and describes the symptoms involved just to keep me informed, adding that now that I know what it means to have them, I will think I'm having them until I'm sure that it's impossible for me to have them, and even maybe after that.
That didn't make sense and I'm not fixing it.

Eventually, more very grumpy people from various clinics inform me multiple times that I don't need a shot. Dr. What'shisface confirms that his comment was only investigatory, not actually diagnository.

Conclusion: Lydia forgoes rabies shot. Everyone else is 99% sure that I don't have rabies. I'm only 80% sure, but I'm also the only one who was dumb enough to pick up a mouse. And the only one whose life is in jeopardy, but no one seems to remember that. Maybe next time if I get bitten by an angry bunny rabbit people will care. Or a bear. I bet bears give you rabies.
Technically, the incubation period for rabies is up to a year, meaning that the virus can decide to not kick in for basically forever until after you get bit, which makes no sense, but viruses are incapable of logic. So I'll let you know what's up next October.
Oh and my antibiotics made me throw up. But that's beside the point.

Fast-forward:
Nicole and I are walking past CVS, and Dr. Microbiologyprofessor - the one who I talked to about the bite, and also the one who told the whole story to my class, which was AWESOME - walks out, and before we can recover and greet him sufficiently (seeing professors in parking lots is a weird experience), he says, "It's the mouse lady, as forever and always you shall be known! It's your legacy!"




Excellent.

fin.

Study break.

I'm sitting in the library, blogging, which probably constitutes some form of illegality, and before I start rambling, I want everyone to know that I am poised and ready to throttle anyone who crosses me, because I am so not in any rational or socially forgivable or moderately humane place of mind.

Actually, that's a little extreme. I won't hurt you. Even if I tried, I'm pretty shrimpy, and I haven't even looked at a workout machine since high school. I haven't used one either, to eliminate the possibility of me exercising blindfolded. I also have these things called inhibitions that choke me when I get angry, and therefore the cruel comments and the hapless yelling and even the mean texts are prohibited by my all-powerful filter, even when they're worded perfectly and would nail the point home better than anything I would ever say again. Nope. Not on your life. Save them to the Drafts folder and look at them when you're hormonal.
That being said, if if I tried to punch you, my arm would probably whip back at my face and break my own nose.

That's a good place to start. I hate to see people hurting. When I do let myself throw caution to the wind (I lied about the filter's omnipotence) and say something...straightforward (rude), I regret it within a span of 2.5 nanoseconds, and feel guilty for about 2.5 years, and finally forget about it...OH WAIT I don't. And I have a lot to feel guilty for this week. 
I'm tired of arguing with people and taking everything personally. I'm also sick of feeling apathetic...I'm also not sure if that sentence is logical. But what is logical!? Because if I'm going by how everyone else is feeling, I'm being completely logical, because everyone I know is one or more of the following:

1. Stressed.
2. Angry.
3. Overwhelmed.
4. Touchy.
5. Sleepy.
6. Fighting off gastroenteritis.
7. Constantly complaining.

And HUZZAH! SO AM I! LOOK AT US! WE ARE THE FUTURE.

Listen.

I'm not an expert.

I'm not that wise.

I'm completely guilty of everything on that list and everything I said I'm not guilty of in the second paragraph.

But this is not okay.

In light of the lack of okayness, and because of the desperation we are all undergoing, and through the lens of the reminder that I really am not thinking rationally and you can't hold me completely accountable for this because I'm malnourished...

Some Tips For Finals/Dead Week.

1. You are not going to die.

Contrary to the universally accepted title of "Dead Week," no one actually dies, and neither will you. Anyone who has ever gone kaput while studying has done so due to an unrelated medical condition. Stay healthy and don't push yourself too far, but chill the frick out, because quite honestly, I'm getting sick of hearing everyone use that phraseology.

2. You are not going to care in ten years.

Actually, you aren't going to care in ten months. Stop treating yourself like you're an application to grad school. You deserve so much better - in fact (don't freak out), you deserve to be happy. WHAT!? I KNOW! Weird, right? You deserve to take care of yourself and appreciate your surroundings, and, most importantly, to respect where you are right now. You'll figure out life. Well, okay. You won't. But you'll figure out enough of it. If you get a B in Philosophy, you're not going to end up a homeless pigeon lady.

3. You still need to eat. You still need to sleep.

I say this because I keep having inconvenient revelations about what an unhealthy place college is. First of all, you're under a lot of pressure to constantly do better. You're stressed. You're surrounded by stressors that remind you of your stress and consequently cause you more stress. You're on a time constraint, meaning that you end up sacrificing things like working out, sleeping, or eating healthy, all of which are pretty stellar for your immune system. And you know what else is at college? Sick people in close quarters and relatively unsanitary apartments due to their lack of desire to clean the bathroom. When you get to the point where your health is your second priority, you might need to reprioritize.

I recognize this is coming from a girl for whom the only reason she was late one time to OChem because she was throwing up in the library bathroom. I'm not saying it was a good decision. Maybe your week will force you to pull stunts like that, but make sure you take the best care of yourself you can.

4. Do not let what other people are saying about their crap influence how you see it.

If you feel confident about this test, if you think you've studied enough already, if you have that gut intuition that maybe an all nighter would do more harm than good, then block your ears and let them verbally process their ish. You don't have to stress because other people are in a panic.

Trust me, this one's sneaky. All of everyone I have any class with seems to have this self-confidence thing where they feel great about a test and then someone, in passing, maybe not even in the same class as we are, or the same school, will say, "Oh, I don't know, the Scantron part was really hard," and all the way home they'll think, "I literally got every question on the test wrong. Oh my gosh. I literally failed because of the multiple choice. UGH. That Scantron..."

My friends say literally a lot. Interestingly enough, they also get A's a lot.

I bet you're not super different.

5. Do not let this be an excuse to treat other people like they don't matter.

This is more of an apology to everyone I know...which could serve as a warning? I don't know. There is a point to which we are all on an edge and about to lose our minds over it, but there is also a point where you cross the borders of respect. Neither way is a good way. I know it's hard, but I bet you'll feel better about it later.

6. Your academic prowess and motivation does not give you an excuse to complain more.

I am allowed to say this because I live every day of my life (except Thursdays and weekends) surrounded by biology majors. Yes. Some of them have a wonderful outlook on the future and a realistic motivation that doesn't hurt them and a true love for what they're doing. But some are hanging on to fishing line, hoping that maybe if they pull hard enough they can reel in Johns Hopkins, but if they don't, they'll starve to death, because they didn't pack anything else to eat, and they're on a rickety boat in the middle of the ocean.

I'm not saying that it's a bad thing to want to go to grad school and to have a concern for your future and your career goals. That's flipping wonderful.

It's a BAD THING when I can talk to an English major (probably complaining, honestly; we're all in this together) about a test I have tomorrow, and they'll say, "Oh, that one with fifty diseases and ten pages of notes on the immune system?"

Guys, really? We don't even have classes on the same campus. And all of them know our problems. We whine more than any other major, without competition. I don't care if you're pre-med or scared about grad school or convinced that you're in the hardest class offered at this college, we are not better than anyone. I'm sure there are hundreds of people who would love to see us struggle through a Music Theory class, and you know what we would do?

COMPLAIN.

7. Seriously, take it ONE thing at a time.

Stop stop stop stop STOP reminding yourself of things. Make a list, a complete, thorough all-encompassing list, and let it sit on your desk for reference so you can stop bringing it up to yourself. Most of you don't know this, but the back of your mind is a wonderful place for this stuff to be! And when I say back, I actually mean the back. Because when people say the back of the mind, it's usually involved with the sentence, "You've been in the back of my mind all day," which translated means, "I learned as much in class as I would have if I was asleep because I was dreaming about your abs." 
Anyyywayyyy...something tells me that all the effort and stress and hours you've spent talking about it aren't going to let you completely forget about it. Okay? So pick a thing and go hard on it and then eat a pop tart and switch gears! Enough with the double dipping. And I don't know if I can say this, but really, enough with the worrying. I have this theory that if you keep listing out all the crap you have going on for people, especially in the context of, "I have to do ALL THIS by NEXT WEEK," you're going to feel worse and worse about it every time.

Chill pill.

8. Do not feel bad about isolating yourself.

If you study better without people...leave the people.

9. Please stop whining over how little you're getting done.

Every time you decide to go on Hulu instead of do homework or sleep instead of write your paper or make gourmet dinners instead of studying for your Micro final, you are consciously - CONSCIOUSLY - making a decision to do one thing over the other. And the things you decide not to do may not be necessarily bad. If you decide that you're going to, hypothetically, write a blog post instead of writing your book report on Knocking on Heaven's Door, you are thinking, "I am going to write a blog post instead of a book report on Knocking on Heaven's Door." I don't understand, but it sounds like some people think they become possessed by this unproductive demon that sits there and controls their hands so they click on the wrong internet sites and then wake up four hours later confused and unintentionally procrastinating. YOU ARE ON THE INTERNET RIGHT NOW. You are thinking, "I am going to read Lydia's blog instead of study for this test." And I'm not angry that you are doing these things! They are wonderful things! Eat! Sleep! Do it for fun or as a break or for whatever reason inspires you. But recognize that your priorities are what they are, and that your needs will have to be fulfilled on the schedule that you put yourself into, and that whatever time you spend doing things other than studying is YOUR FAULT.

And also recognize that you are also going to consciously make the decision to get frustrated and whine about it instead of studying after the whole deal. So you could also stop getting so pointlessly frustrated with yourself and move on.

Okay? So cook! Finish this post! Pin to your travel board after you're done! But don't get upset with yourself for doing it. Fricking do it on purpose and party while you're at it.

10. Someone within earshot has more to do than you do.

First of all, I'm not sure if I care how much you have to do at all. It depends on the tone of voice you approach me with. Sassiness may be appreciated. Desperation and groaning and diva-esque-ity, I will probably turn around and walk away. No, I won't, because that's disrespectful. But it's also disrespectful to assume you're the only person struggling. And to talk about it like your world is crashing harder than someone else's... I dunno. Maybe think about that before you push them over the edge, because you may run into that person who has a test and a paper and a presentation in every one of their seven classes. And that would be awkward.

And you know what? It's disrespectful even if you do have more than they do, because maybe inferiority isn't a mindset that would be super beneficial to them now. Or, like, ever. But surely not during finals week.

Finally, avoid the, "Oh my week is easy after I finish this," phrase. I'm happy for you if this is true. But odds are, another person who is also in earshot has everything going on next week and might tell all his friends in his class, and then you have a lynch mob outside your apartment...and no one wants that.

11. Stress isn't all bad. But some of it is.

A lot of people employ stress as a way of motivating themselves. This is super nifty. It's a reminder that they have things to get done and that they need to be done on time, and it helps them kick into gear. This is a good thing. It's not uncommon and not something to be hated on.

A lot of people take stress and blow it up like a balloon and then spend hours ranting or lying around muttering confusedly (I do this a lot; I promise I'm not crazy) to get rid of it. This doesn't work, and it's also very bad for you, and as a side bonus, you tend to not get much done. And you get sick! And you lose motivation because you're angry at yourself...and you fail all your classes and die.

For further reference, the "Ned's Declassifed School Survival Guide" episode on stress is golden. Some medical and psychological studies could be just as helpful.

--

I know this week and next week are awful and that I am an awful person for saying these things. It's okay if you disregard me because I threatened to strange you; you probably deserve it. But please please please please please please stop beating yourself up. You are worth more than your grades. I will say it again, more emphatically.

YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN YOUR GRADES.

Calm down.

Breathe in...

...

...

...

...and breathe out.

You're almost there.

fin.

Turkey and happiness.

As per Juliana's request. ♥

Yesterday was Thanksgiving...in case you...forgot...and are stupid. Or in case you are foreign. Today is Black Friday, because most of America finds comfort in shopping and acquiring new belongings, and acknowledging that we maybe are supposed to be content is kind of stressful for people.
This week, we made a lot of food. I ate a LOT of food. And pie. Pie is food, but it deserves to be recognized separately. I saw a lot of people I care about and had some good conversations. But I think I and most of the kids that are in the same boat as I am would agree that the best thing about this holiday is not the food. Or the pie. Or the shopping. Or even the people. Well. Okay. It probably should be the people, but I'm going to be honest...it's not. Or it is. Or...it is tied. With being at my house.

And these are my thoughts on the subject.

Things I have missed about home:

• The family.
• The puppy.
• A closet that is entirely mine, and entirely messy.
• A stocked refrigerator.
• Not having to sleep in constant terror that I will plummet eleven feet to the ground in the event of a violent sleep spasm, a.k.a., the lack of bunk beds.
• FREE LAUNDRY.
• Movies On Demand….and a television.
• A shower head that is actually taller than I am.
• An abundance of marshmallows.
• A dishwasher.
• Not having to log into the school’s internet system every time I open my computer.
• The tangerine tree and its tangy blessings.
• Knowledge concerning the location of the chocolate stash.
• (Notice most of these are about food).
• The new rod hockey set upon which I am going to prove my inadequacy.
• All of the warm clothes that I needed last week.
• Endless distractions from homework.
• Chick-fil-A within a reasonable distance from my place of residence.
• TWO bathrooms.
• Christmas decorations…and being able to burn candles that smell like Christmas.
• Not needing to call my mom in the event of a meltdown.
• Odd African baskets that show up where we need them least.
• Baby brother saying things like, "Can I tell people I'm from Brooklyn?"
• The “shell mantle,” which is the only part of our house that is actually decorated.
• New couches that ALL RECLINE except for the middle seat on the big one because there’s no logical place for the lever.
• Actual ice packs, not leaky bags full of ice wrapped in socks.
• Not having to go out of my way to avoid awkward passing encounters with people I’m not sure I’m friends with.
• Living with only one other person who drinks coffee and has a tendency to make too much of it.

And, because I'm not entirely a sap...

Things I have not missed about home:

• The emaciated goldfish that have taken up a dwelling in the living room.
• Having to locate my clothes in the vortex that is our laundry.
• Commentary from EA Sports’ “lifelike” virtual basketball announcers, ALL DAY.
• The realization that I did actually take all my underwear with me to college.
• Endless distractions from homework.
• The return of the unidentifiable mass of pollution at the bottom of the pool.
• Throbbing headaches from the unending commotion (this is why I was so pumped about the ice packs).
• Said family turning on the washing machine while I am in the shower.
• Being 45 miles away from Donut Man.
• Food comas…actually those are kind of nice.
• Flies that never leave the ceiling.
• Being away from people I love.
• Being away from the oatmeal I love.
• Nervous anticipation for the inevitable battle with the ant colony that will take place upon my return.
• The constant reminder that my dog doesn’t love me.

Have a beautiful weekend and remember to be grateful! And to snatch all the leftovers you can possibly fit in your luggage.

You will be in good company.

fin.

It's a looove stooorryyy, BABY JUST SAY no.

I feel like I always write something remotely feminist around this time of year. I tried to balance it out with some man-respect.

I’ve had way too many conversations with single people, which means I've been thinking way too much about dating. This is an effort to sort the things that have been swirling around in the goosh that I call my brain, and to help you to maybe

GET A GRIP

and do something productive with your life other than whine over your irretrievable losses.

Sorry.

I’m grumpy.

Also, I think the title says it all. Also, I’m grumpy. And I'm going to say flipping a lot. Henceforth, there will be no witty introduction.

Okay maybe a little one. Before I get into the trouble I will just for writing the things I did, I’m going to lay down a disclaimer so that I don’t get in more than I deserve. THIS IS NOT A JAB AT ANYONE SPECIFIC. This is completely a sweeping punch at all general existence. But this is not some cryptically worded maniacal plan that was intended to point out someone's flaws in any way. The reason for this is twofold: 1, because, despite what you may think if you have ever been exposed to my inordinately squeaky voice, I am not fourteen, and 2, my blog is for me ranting about the…everything…in general, not people in specific, because that’s rude, and I have more to do with my life than make people live in fear of me tearing them apart with my vicious rhetoric.*

Also, I’m going to say something metaphorical and weird. There’s a concept that some people have of writing, kind of based off of Greek mythology, that we all have a muse that inspires us to write the things we do. Well guess what. I don’t know if I have a muse, but if I do have a muse, and if you are my muse, you are now my ex muse, because you are fired. Mostly because I have eight o’clock classes and I’m sick of being inspired until two in the morning.

Thank you.

SOME MYTHZ CONCERNING BOYZ AND GURLZ...

THERE IS SUCH THING AS A FRIENDZONE. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS WHAT YOU THINK IT IS.

This might be a harsh way to start things off, but seeing as it is one a.m., you can take it for what it is and ascribe anything you don’t like to my lack of comprehension at unholy hours of the morning.

Guys. I don’t know how many times I have heard you say things like, “You can’t find a good guy because they’re all in the Friend Zone,” or, “I’m perfect for you, but you won’t realize that because I’m in the Friend Zone,” or, “Let us have a moment of silence for our brother in the Friend Zone.” These statements seem to make a lot of sense to you, which is interesting, because they make no sense to me. As if there was this magical state of emotion which prevented a girl from being interested in you, based on questionable factors in your relationship? Oh…you know what…wait. You’re right. That actually is something legit. Except it’s called, SHE DOESN’T LIKE YOU.

I’m sorry if this hurts, but girls don’t reject you or even refrain interest in you because they want to "just stay friends." They do those things because they don’t want to date you. And whether or not it was a coping mechanism or just the effects of rampant female lying, somehow guys have developed the concept that girls can’t date their friends? Are you kidding me? Every married adult I know would say their spouse is/was their best friend, and the same goes for a lot of the couples I know and think have a chance at making the big time. Honestly, if you are legitimately a friend of a girl, she has considered dating you at one point.

…move past it…

Okay? Okay. The idea behind this comes from the actual definition of a woman, as can be combed from the depths of my universally applicable experiences.

Woman: (noun) psychopath

I’m not going to speak for the totality of womankind, because I hope to goodness gracious I am wrong, but women are literally so obsessed with dating and finding someone special that they really do go through all their options, probably several times, before they’re sure about whether or not to cross someone completely off the list. (Yes. We have lists. They’re flipping efficient.) When girls say they haven’t considered someone, they don’t mean they never considered dating them, but that they never considered following through with it. And if you’re in the “Friend Zone,” whatever the crap that is, I’m guessing you probably have been considered twice as much as anyone else on the list. However, that also means she knows you better, and she’s more aware of the facets of your personality that wouldn’t click or, to continue the trend of unnecessary harshness, turn her off. And the reason she’s rejecting you isn’t solely because she wants to be friends with you, because she does want to be friends with you, but she wants to be friends with you and not date you. You can date and still be friends. But you can also date and break up and hate each other. She respects you enough to avoid that possibility. So why don’t you respect her?

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS HARMLESS FLIRTING.

You will never meet a normal woman. If she is normal, she is actually an introvert waiting to pounce on you like a quirky mountain lion who likes singing loud country music karaoke.

That’s...not the point.

Think about girls. Now think about girls and Pinterest. You show them a set of cute, matching dresses, they fill them with their best friends and plan their wedding around them. You show them a sparkly necklace, they match it with a dress and plan their wedding around it. You show them a cactus, they put it in a cute little pot and hand it out as favors at the wedding they planned around it.

You see this!? YOU SEE WHAT WE ARE? Now. How on EARTH would you think that goofing around and flirting with someone without the intention of at least some form of further consideration could ever be even a little beneficial? Really? What are you going to do? You’re going to confuse her like nothing on this planet, and from there she has to reconsider you—which is a lot of effort and theoretical wedding planning—as well as piece through the options, which are these:

1. That’s just the way you act, in which case, you will never be considered, ever. Just like the boy who cried wolf never got help from anyone when the wolf came, if you actually start liking her, she’ll never believe you, and she’ll blow you off like she’s learned to always do in order to cope with the emotions you screwed with.

2. You just did it for kicks and giggles, which is just rude, and now you really will never have a chance.

Girls are like elephants; we never forget anything. Also, if you cross us, we’ll bust up your car.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS “DOING BETTER.”

Alternate title that was way too long: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP THAT WAS BASED EVEN A LITTLE ON SOCIAL PERCEPTION.

Hopefully this is something that passed in high school and most of us have gotten over this, but I’ll say it anyway, because people have a tendency to disappoint me. Also, I'm grumpy. Girls. This is for you. If a guy has ever asked you out, and the reason you said no was because your friends think he’s weird or because you were afraid what everyone would think of you, guess what? You’re a terrible person. Ohh, I know you haven't ever done that...and that you're lying...no...stop...shut up. I’ve done it too, so don’t start yelling. But really! I know you’ve heard that ALL guys are stupid and cruel and not worth investing in until they’re older, or maybe that they’re awkward or confusing. My mom said things like that to me all the time. Granted, she said basically the same thing about mayonnaise, but we won’t go there. Here’s what I propose:

Will you marry me?

GET IT!?

Good gravy it’s late.

Aelktjlsgkmslk. This is my idea: if a guy asks you out that you aren’t completely sure about, the first thing you should NOT do is talk to your best friend about it. Or any of your friends. Talk to them later, of course, but when this first happens, don’t go spreading it around like the crap they give the Bachelor** on People Magazine. Sit and think about it by yourself. Maybe talk to your mom. But go through the reasons you don’t want to go out with him.

...kind of weird...

...awkward...

...kind of mean to me once...

...kind of smells like cheese...

Now look at that list.

I bet you this: half of those are complete bullcrap, and you won’t go out with him because everyone thinks he’s weird. Sure, he’s a nice guy, but he dresses weird. Of course, you have great talks, but your best friend doesn’t think he’s worth it. Hey, he’s actually got a job and a car and a good relationship with his mom, but the girls you hang out with think you can do better.

Now let’s be realistic.

If all guys have the characteristics of mayonnaise, how is one better than the other? He may treat you better, he may be more compatible with you, heck he may be better looking than the entire flipping school, but say he is better than the dorky kid who you turned down for winter formal, and you, my dear, are lying to yourself, and that dorky kid deserved more of a chance than you or your friends ever gave him. You will never do better than him. You may do different and end up happier, but your interest and attraction to him will never take his worth away.

Well that got way too flipping deep. Next topic.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS NOT WEARING DEODORANT.

This doesn’t have much to do with dating, except that dating will not happen without deodorant, so it’s actually the foundation of all relationships. Some people just don’t want to wear deodorant, and to them I say, “Necessity is the mother of invention.”***

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS WORTH DETERMINED BY BEING ASKED OUT.

Of all of the extensive topics I'm covering, this one is the one that makes me the angriest. Probably because I believed it so long, and so many people I know believed it or still do. Plus, seeing as my dating experience could be called anything but extensive, this is probably the only one I'm actually qualified to write...woops.

Girls.

Guys.

Dogs with a lot of feelings.

You. CAN. NOT. Tell yourself this.
EVER.

Look at yourself.

Now back to me.

Now back to your man.

NOW BACK TO sorry.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to date someone. It's 100% normal. There's also nothing wrong with not wanting to date someone. It's totally not normal, but humanity and self-control still operate on the level of respectable acquaintances. It's still a good thing.

Your character and your beauty and your talent and your intellect and your heart and your purpose are all fundamental to your being. All unique to yourself. And you know what I noticed and you should have noticed about all of those things?

NONE OF THEM INVOLVE ANOTHER PERSON.

You don't need anyone to affirm your character. Are you a person? You have character. Respect it.

You don't need anyone to affirm your beauty. Are you a physical being? You have beauty. Own it.

You don't need anyone to appreciate your talent or your intellect. You think. You do. You are a time bomb of excellence.

Do you have a heart? The answer is yes. And that heart is shaped so as to fit into the hearts of others, and to hold those other hearts in your own. The capacity to love is the most unique and unfathomable characteristic of humanity. Who cares if someone hasn't decided to date your heart? You flipping have one. You have been bestowed with the greatest gift ever given to mankind, and it will never be something that deserves to be taken for granted.

I KNOW THIS IS SAPPY AND DEEP BUT I PROMISE IT'S FULL OF TRUTHFUL...STUFF...!

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS RULES/FAIRNESS. (i.e., girl code)

Hopefully this scares you. If it doesn't...I mean, I just gave you a whole lotta mush about how you have a beautiful heart...but you might not have a soul.

This is one heck of a juxtaposition.

I realize that most of you have probably not thought about this, or you have but never put it to words. What I mean by this is that, despite how you expect things to pan out, the reality is that “all is fair in love and war.” And I’m not saying that because I want it to be true. I’m saying that because in love, just as in life and death situations, people don’t think rationally. I’m saying this because no matter how great you think you are, or you think someone else is, for that matter, you or they will turn into a giant flying backstabbing ninja star over a boy if you like him enough. Always. And sadly, there’s really nothing you can do about it.

Now, I also know that some of you haven’t realized this either:

There is such a thing as class.

And tact.

And being a slut.

So don’t go crying to me when people get mad at you, or say things like, “There are no rules! Why is everyone angry!?” They’re not angry because you “didn’t follow the rules.” They’re angry because you’re a obnoxious human being.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS, “IT’S ONLY OFFICIAL IF IT’S FACEBOOK OFFICIAL.”

I don’t need to hash this out because it should be completely obvious that it's freaking stupid.

The only reason I recommend putting it on Facebook is so people who think your boyfriend is cute can be cut off at the pass of internet-stalking (like I have been so many times before...what?), and because who doesn’t like opening up their profile and finding 100,000 notifications?

Once I stalked my friend Jenessa’s photo album of her trip to Alaska, and via likes and comments gave her 143 notifications in one hour. Hello.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS “THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS.”

Seriously, is that sentence even grammatically accurate? I’ve typed it so many times that the phraseology is oozing out my ears and it looks wrong.

Also it’s kind of orange…gross.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A PERFECT RELATIONSHIP.

Dating is hard. Relationships are hard. Sacrifice is hard. If you think it's going be all holding hands and skipping through flowery meadows and making out in line at Disneyland, you are so far from being right. So cut yourself a little slack. Cut other people slack. Let's all get slack. Slack...line. Hipsters. Date...hipsters.

Your goal is not a perfect relationship. You have nothing to "achieve" or "prove" or "show off." Your goal is to love someone. And love is flipping intense.

But when it's actually love, it will have been worth all this crap all along.

So CALM DOWN.

don't worry...be happy...wooo de doo dum dum de dooo...

fin.

*Win a Date with Tad Hamilton.

**YOU GUYS IT'S SEAN AND I'M GONNA DIEEEE okay.

***Plato? Or not.

OChem for dummiez.

This post deserves a warning. I am not an artist, and therefore, out of respect, would not harm anyone's reputation by pinning the latter cartoons on them and their talents. Yes. I drew them. I'm sorry.

I've been in school a week and a half, and I have a test on Wednesday, and today is the second day in a row that I've eaten chili for lunch. Just chili. Just poppin' open the can and nuking it and chowing down on it. And sprinkling cheddar on it to make myself feel like I might have some small thread of decency holding me together. Like one of those threads that come off the pizza when you pull off a slice from the rest of it. Or one that hangs on and tries to hold on to both slices of your grilled cheese. Or the one connected to your spoon when you pull it out of your chili.
My sanity is being held together by shredded cheese.

As you can see, I've decided not to study. Also, my life is in shambles, but that's a story for...never.
Actually, it's a lie.
And this chili is delicious.

My test is in Organic Chemistry, which is the class you can bring up at any kind of social event (not ANY kind; please be discretionary*) and have someone roll their eyes and say, "Oh, yeah, I got a 27 in that class," or "My third cousin took that class and changed their major because of it," or "Ohh...OChem...the only class I ever got a C in...[expletive]." (the latter is most likely to only be heard during Nobel Week in Stockholm) But so far, it hasn't reared all of its ugly heads. Just like twelve of them. My professor informed us that the first test was going to be a review of General Chemistry. We've all already taken Gen Chem, which covers pretty much the entire general spectrum of all chemistry, and still is not as hard as OChem. So this first test, he said, would be pretty easy, and we'd all do well on it, because we all knew most of it already.

I have never seen any of this crap before.

Here's the deal.

Think of yourself.
1. Yourself.
You are made up of a lot of things. I know, personality, talents, interests, right? No. Guts. You are made of guts. Remember that.
2. Guts.
And each of those guts is made of squish. Scientists call this squish tissue.
3. Tissue.
And tissue is made up of cells, which apparently is a misnomer related to cork, but that's really all science is, in the long run, just names and mistakes and yelling at people who disagree with you. What?
4. Cells.
Cells look like this.
See inside of the cell? What are those? Good, they're blobs.
5. Blobs.
Each of those blobs are made of these things called proteins that are really flippin' complicated and I don't want to explain them. But they're there.
6. Proteins.
Each of those proteins are made up of amino acids, but that's a hard name to remember, so for our purposes,
7. Protein babies.
Protein babies are made up of molecules. No...they are molecules. I hope to goodness you know what a molecule is.
8. Molecules.
Molecules are just nifty little things that make up other things. Couches, chili, your mother, Australia - all of them are made of molecules. There are so many molecules, we probably couldn't count them with our cell phone calculators. If you split something in half a million times, a molecule would be the smallest piece of that something you could reach, unless it was something that was mixed up with a lot of other somethings, and in that case, who cares? But even molecules can be split into something even smaller, in which case we have...
9. Atoms.
Atoms are really best described as way too dang small. They are the ninth step down on the stairway of life, as demonstrated, unless you consider organ systems (scientific name: Gut wads) a step on the ladder, which in that case would make them tenth. There is nothing below atoms. NOTHING. Except about a million subatomic particles, but you don't need some ghetto description of what a quark is. This is a nice way of saying atoms should be completely insignificant, so it makes sense that I would be wasting two years of my life and a perfectly good GPA on them. AND A BLOG POST. YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME. You don't need this. You don't need atoms. Close your laptop. Close that browser window. Close it RIGHT NOW. CLOSE IT GOOD.

There are plenty of different varieties of atoms. Some of them don't exist in the natural world; they only exist because scientists were bored on Friday night and pissed that they couldn't get dates, so instead they made an atom. Some of them haven't actually been made yet, but they're still on the periodic table...whatever. Those atoms are a lot like your wedding. You're not engaged, heck you aren't even dating anyone, and yet you still have a Pinterest board with what kind of favors you're probably not going to get out to the guests you haven't invited yet.
Science.

Atoms are made of protons and neutrons in the middle, and electrons float and spin around outside of it. These electrons like to kick it with each other, and that makes a bond between atoms, which is what makes a molecule.
I don't know why it took a whole semester to explain.
The important atoms are Carbon, Oxygen, Nitrogen, Fluorine, Hydrogen, Bromine, Chlorine, and Sulfur. I don't know who decided these were the important ones, but they're in pretty much everything.


Carbon is the cheerleader of the atom world. It's super popular and bonds with everyone and everyone always talks about it. Carbon is what makes compounds organic, as in ORGANIC chemistry; obnoxious popular girls are what symbolize high school. Also, they can stand in rows and do cartwheels or make pyramids or something. And of course, after a year around them, you usually hate them.



Oxygen usually only forms two bonds and two lone pairs; it likes to keep to itself. It also likes to double bond to Carbon, making it that friend that needs a lot from you but never really branches out. Oxygen bonds with itself to become the substance we need to live, just like your hope that someday your friend can branch off with someone just like them so that you can finally breathe again.




Nitrogen is hard to explain, but it makes carbon groups functional and different. Like a cheer coach.




Fluorine usually just sits by itself and eats chili while hanging off of an organic compound, like someone you kind of used to know a long time ago but never talk to and only ever hear from them when they're posting statuses on Facebook about how much they hate society. Both are super negative and hard to understand.

Hydrogen is kind of just there. It doesn't really do anything besides hang off of Carbon. Hydrogen is the hot guy from the other school who's dating the cheerleader so he's always around but doesn't know anyone else.

I don't know what Bromine and Chlorine do exactly. Pretty much the same thing as Fluorine.

Sulfur...why did I include Sulfur in this list? Sorry. I don't need Sulfur.


There's also Boron. Boron's not really very widely used in basic carbon compound structure. I just put it in because it can bond to three hydrogens and not need extra electrons. That's kind of a big deal. All atoms need eight electrons hanging around. Not Boron. Boron is happy and at peace with itself. Boron doesn't need anyone. And Boron is better and cooler than you without even trying.
Boron is my roommate. Help.

Basically OChem is a long novel about Carbon and her adventures. Carbon has this many friends. Now Carbon has this many friends. Now she's hanging out with Oxygen. Now she's at practice with Nitrogen. Now she broke up with Hydrogen because she needed space.  You know?
I hope no one ever publishes this story because it sucks.

That's pretty much all I know about OChem. There's something about acids and bases, but I hate acids and bases and would never impose them on anyone. Literally. They'd melt your skin off.

There's one other concept I should probably touch on briefly, since it's pretty much fundamental to everything I'll ever learn. Carbons don't just line up; they can also connect into rings or circles (friend circles! The metaphor still applies!) called cyclowhatevershapetheyare. Six carbons in a circle are called a cyclohexane, and for some reason, organic chemists have an unhealthy obsession with it. It looks like this:

For those of you who feel like being snarky, no. That is not a double bond. I just suck at drawing straight lines.

Once you start drawing structures in OChem, you stop drawing the Carbons and just symbolize them with a bent line. This runs alongside the idea that a group of girls all jumping up and down yelling excitedly end up looking indistinguishably stupid. Or maybe it's the mob mentality.
Somehow, people realized there's a way to make cyclohexane more stable (I'm not getting into why, I promise you don't care). It looks differently in real life, because organic compounds are three dimensional, but in every textbook in the world, it looks like this:

This is called the chair formation. It is fundamental to pretty much everything you learn and if you don't understand how to attach things to it or move it or flip it...you die. You know the chair formation. You love the chair formation. You worship the chair formation. So, in light of that, I ask you this.
Does this look like a chair to you?


No.

fin.

*did you know discretionary was a word? I was just going to make it up and just use it, because it's my blog and I wanted to and you can't make me adhere to anything that defies my freedom of speech and Critical Reading was my lowest score on the SAT, but apparently it's real...who knew. It even means exactly what I wanted it to. Apparently it can also mean "denoting or relating to investment funds placed with a broker or manager who has discretion to invest them on the client's behalf." That's not the sense I was using it in. You probably knew that.
You can go back to whatever you're doing. I realize I've wasted the time you were obviously using so discretionarily**. Thanks for reading this footnote though. Sorry it was supes long and in this ridiculous baby font.

**that's not a word. English can die***.

***this is a footnote of a footnote of a footnote. A footfootfootnote. I need sleep.