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.

Dysfunctional student puts stuff in boxes.

I hope that all my little freshman friends read this and choose not to make the same mistakes that I did.

The past three days have been a set of incremented move-ins. Monday was the monstrous furniture day, yesterday was the unplanned appearance at the homestead where I dropped off my water bottle day, and today was everything else plus myself hastily shoved in the back of the van and unceremoniously dumped in my bedroom day.

Of course, because my family is so adventure-prone, it’s been much more than a move in. In my mind, at least, it more resembles what would happen if someone built a plaza containing Bed Bath and Beyond, Forever 21, Target (always), and a used book store on the top of Mount St. Helens, and it went off in my house. Which wouldn’t happen, of course, because Mount St. Helens is in Washington, and most contractors know better than to build shopping complexes on active volcanos. BUT. It is done. Regardless of volcanic activity, it is done. We just need to go to Target (again) for some minor omissions, but the remainder of my existence is organized in a set of plastic shelves and six drawers, and I am currently sitting in the very comfy blue armchair with my laptop and my lap desk, typing away this beautiful story as I soak up the air conditioning that WE DON’T HAVE TO PAY FOR BECAUSE WE DON’T HAVE A UTILITIES FEE! WEEEEEEE!

I’ll just tell you the story before I start jumping around like an idiot.

Monday, as I mentioned, was the shippin’ of flippin’ ginormous furniture day, but it was also Mommy-goes-to-work day (as it is every day, and yet we still have not learned to cope) and Big Little Brother’s first day of junior year at his old school, and Baby Brother’s first day of eighth grade AND first day ever at the aforementioned school. Naturally, transport of oversized furnishings was second priority. That morning, I got up at whatever ungodly hour was required to get them to school on time, brushed my teeth, drove that stupid route for the millionth time while realizing being around that school still makes me sick to my stomach, dropped off two boys, two backpacks, ten thousand sets of football gear, forty million books, and America’s stock of writing utensils, and spent the drive home bawling over how old they are now. (As you can see, emotional instability is going to be a theme of this post.) Exhausted, I came home and agreed with my dad that we shouldn’t leave until eight-thirty. I woke up at nine-thirty and didn’t care. But finally, with everything stacked tetris-style in the back of his vehicle (a.k.a., the baby monster truck, to give you an idea of how much crap I have), we migrated towards the mod, passing the time with a nice, awkward discussion about how holding hands leads to pregnancy. Don’t ask.

(For reference, a mod is basically a mobile home, split in half between two living assignments and their corresponding ant colonies, and built with walls that threaten to fall over when you hammer into them, but probably won’t. Ours is blue.)

Everything went off without a hitch, because I had Daddy, and Daddy has chosen to ship our family across the country with twenty times the amount of boxes before. Twice before. We’re experts. Really, if we’re honest, it was easy because all we did was set down boxes of stuff in the respected rooms, put a few bottles of cleaning supplies under sinks, and mutter about where the furniture should go. He offered to help move a couple of things, but I said no thanks, because we didn’t know what other furniture was coming, and if it did, we knew boys that could help us. Looking back, that wasn’t the best idea, because Daddies hate not helping their daughters almost as much as they hate when they know boys.

He doesn’t need to worry. I moved my desk myself, and apparently all the boys we know have done is leave the toilet seat up in our bathroom and comment on how our apron defines our societal role.

I wasn’t actually planning to come back yesterday, but it so happens that after I had to get up at another ungodly hour to drive my brothers to school again, my roommate (Camille) and I were asked to be makeshift caterers at our other roommate (Kelly)’s grandpa (Earle)’s funeral reception (may he rest in peace; from what I heard, he seemed like a really boss grandpa), and I ended up driving her (Camille) home. Lo and behold, she already is in residence at our modular apartment. Instead of driving home from there, though, I thought, “Hey, why not make this move in a hundred times more complicated than it has to be?” Seeing as my mother works at my university (no, I’m never going to get away), I figured we might as well save gas, and she could take me home and then drive me and my avalanche of belongings in her van the next day. I left my water bottle in the fridge, so I count that as a minor yet necessary step of the relocation process.

I just want everyone to know this: waiting until ten at night to pack when you’ve been up since seven and have been on a bogus sleep schedule since May is probably the stupidest thing you can do, not only because you’ll move more slowly, but because you’ll spend a lot of time staring at the floor, wondering why you can’t just get up in the morning to do it, convincing yourself you can stay up, deciding to take a shower, doing the world’s tiniest load of laundry, walking outside to unlock and start packing the car, and realizing that the moon is really pretty and you should sit in your driveway and journal about it instead of looking for your philosophy textbook. Sometimes I tell myself I think more clearly at night than most people. This would not be one of those times.

This morning, I woke up at the most frighteningly early hour of them all, with none of my boxes or bags or multicolored, dorm-section-of-Walmart storage units in the car, and (shocker) made my mom late for her carpool, because we still couldn’t find my philosophy textbook (my dad took it and then put it back and then my brother did his homework on top of it or something). She still bought me coffee, which I spilled on myself and the parking lot and the twelve napkins I accidentally pulled out of the dispenser. And we actually still got her to work on time…holla! All I had to do from there was drive to my little mod and voila! The story is over!

But you see, the story is not over, because despite the fact that I have several friends, even guy friends, who vouch for my driving abilities, this week has not been very good for my self-confidence or my car’s shocks. Of all the trips I have made this summer, the worst trip I have made was from WEST TO EAST CAMPUS OF MY SCHOOL, in which I went the wrong way out of a parking lot, realized it when I was approached by another car containing my mom’s coworkers, ran into a small wall to avoid them, ran a red light (barely) to turn onto a street, and bumped the car next to mine’s mirror with my door. Worst. Drive. Of. The. Summer.

Aside from yesterday, when I was almost flattened by a truck driver on a cell phone.

And had to cross the double line of the carpool lane to get to an exit.

And drove into the curb.

And ran another red light.

…

I’ve spent the rest of the morning with the car parked, trotting back and forth between the mod and the vehicle in an old T-Shirt and gym shorts, hoping no one comes by and realizes that I’ve given up on life. But really, if you can’t organize and unattach your hangers with any sort of poise or control, you really start to wonder what has made you think you could even come close to passing Organic Chemistry.

I have found myself thinking things like, “Wait, why did I pack this sweater? I decided I was not going to pack this sweater. I didn’t want this jacket either! What’s wrong with me!? WHY AM I SO STUPID!? HOW…hmm…actually I might wear this.” Or, “I really don’t think I can bring these pictures from high school to decorate my wall, because…wait…who are these people.” Also, “How the heck am I going to fit all these pants in this drawer if it’s so dang small?” (for your sake, I edited my thoughts, and for my sake, I folded them) I have searched high and low in the car for razors that were actually neatly packed in a jar. I have realized, that despite all my roommates’ efforts to make their work and living spaces creative, fun, and pretty, all I brought to decorate was a wooden frog and a poster of Katniss Everdeen. I have debated on whether or not I should set up the giant mirror, and of course, chose to err on the side of narcissism. I have brought a few things that I didn’t need, like bubbles, play dough, season one of Royal Pains, four pairs of converse (I know, right? I was supposed to get another one for my birthday, but everyone forgot), and measuring cups that are shaped like turtles, but have forgotten a few vaguely important life implements, like band aids. And socks. Somehow, I have miraculously organized my desk, but only with the help of an entire drawer dedicated to nonacademic, “fun” things, namely, every movie that every girl brings to college, ever. I even threw up a little (that was weird, and I'm fine now). Now I’m eating Cheerios straight out of the box.

Something is wrong.

But all the same, all is well. I am here, finally. We have some great chairs, some great appliances, and one too many bath rugs. Our roommate painting is unfinished, but for an unfinished painting, it looks pretty dang good. We have a vinyl couch, which is good, because bed bugs don’t like vinyl (they are the classiest variety of parasitic insects). I have a giant pillow I can jump down onto in the mornings so I don’t wake all my roommates up when I crash to the ground from the top bunk. We have a guitar that no one can play and wind chimes that play themselves. We have an apron that does NOT define our role in society and magnets on our fridge that almost spell out our names. We have four different air fresheners, because at the moment, we are more comfortable with the destruction of our ozone than our closest friends knowing what we actually smell like.

I am home.

WE are home.

Well, once Nicole gets here. And Kelly.

Until then, Camille and I are home.

Actually, Camille's gone.

...you get it.

fin.

Ish my baby brother says.

I have this eighth grader who lives in my house and says fun things. Apparently we're related, which would explain why we have the same face, but his brain operates on a completely different angle than mine. And yours. And everyone's. This makes him one of my favorite people to talk to.
I've mentioned that my he would outdo me if he started blogging, so I decided to kick start his popularity.
All quotes taken over the course of the summer.

---

Dad: "I've decided I'm starting a rock band, son. It's time."
Brother: "What?!"
Dad: "You've heard of the band 'Yes'? Well, here I come with the band 'No'."
Brother: "Or you could be like the band 'Kansas', except 'Kentucky'!"
Dad: "Yeah, that's a good one!"
Brother: "Dad, I have a good name for your band. How about 'The Alzheimer's Association'?"

Me: "Once my roommate and I ate a whole Little Caesar's pizza all by ourselves."
Brother: "You know how pizzas have eight pieces? Well once I ate thirteen pieces. And I threw it all up in Sam's sink."

Me: "What's your favorite kind of flower?"
Brother: "...I don't know. But my favorite flower name is a chrysanthemum. Or a poppy, because... 'poppy!'"

Brother: (while stretching) "OH! Kidney cramp!"
Me: "You can't have a kidney cramp; it's not a muscle."
Brother: "But I just DID!" (falls over)

Me: (singing offhand) "Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy..."
Brother: "...but here's a technical, so go Miami!"

Brother: "This isn't a poem! It doesn't rhyme!"
Me: "It's free verse."
Brother: "Free verse sucks!"

(concerning Pinterest)
Brother: "Why aren't you pinning half of this stuff?"
Me: "Because most of this stuff is a waste of time!"
Brother: "This whole thing is a waste of time."

Brother: "Did you know you have more tendons in your hand than teeth in your mouth?"
Mom: "Wow! No, I didn't know that. What an interesting comparison. Where did you hear that?"
Brother: "I made it up."

Me: "I'm sorry I missed your game tonight."
Brother: "Yeah, it's too bad. I was a little LeBron."

Me: "Why don't I have any clean underwear?"
Brother: "We don't fold your underwear. We only fold MEN'S underwear."

(while looking at pictures) 
Brother: "LOOK! You're so pretty! Do you think you look pretty?"
Me: "I guess. But I think they look prettier."
Brother: "No! They're ugly! They're farm animals compared to you!"
(This one was kind of funny, but more sweet. And a blatant lie.)

Brother: "You know what kind of movies I like? Japanese movies."
Me: "Are you just saying weird stuff so that I'll blog it?"
Brother: "No, I'm not! Because I was watching Rebirth of Mothra 3 the other day. You know how there are like five Mothra movies? Mothra, Birth of Mothra, Rebirth of Mothra 3... Death of Mothra... Mothra's Babies..."

"Every day, I wake up, and morale is soaring. And then it just plummets, like a runaway rocket, except that those actually go up. It plummets like a rocket whose engines are on the tip of the rocket, and then it goes down."

"Dad wants to know if you've fed the chinchillas...and I know what I'm going to name my kid."

(during Olympic gymnastics)
"Quit watching sissy men and help me!"

"Why don't we give wilted flowers at funerals?"

"Everything that comes in a box is special. 
...wait, I didn't come in a box. Am I special?"

"Your friends are just little Catholic schoolgirls!"

"You look like Queen Amidala. That's not a compliment."

"Once, he told me that he dated a girl with more arm hair than he had leg hair, and I asked if she was part gorilla."

(concerning my dog being in heat)
"Mom, are those her utters?"

"I learned that I was changing schools, and I ran into a door."

"Wait...the Beatles did drugs?"

(while holding stuffed animal) 
"Remind me not to get a girlfriend. I have this dinosaur."

"Remember the pizza story? Well, once for my birthday, I ate half the cookie cake. And then I ate a whole bag of Munchies. The cheesy things. And then I ate two things of Dippin' Dots. I was in Mom's bathroom throwing up all night."

"I need a tattoo that says...not Mom or Dad, but...Authority Figure."

"Blink...hundred eighty-two...is that a rapper?"

"How old is she? She's really getting up there. I'd say she's in her hundreds."

"What if I named my child Fandango?"

"I feel like this post is going to give me some unwanted popularity."

Kristen Stewart does it again.

I've never had a moment where lightning struck me and showed me where my life was supposed to go. I don't know what I'm supposed to do as a career or as a person or even as a daughter who is eagerly waiting on dinner. I'm usually in the dark about things until someone else's decision makes it clear that maybe I shouldn't turn there or buy that brand of peanut butter.
Today, however, I did have one of those moments while I was at the movies. There wasn't any actual lightning, which would have been nice, because it was so dark we couldn't find a flippin' seat. Also, a really long preview for Brave was playing, and we thought we were in the wrong theater. That kind of threw us off initially, so even when we did find an unoccupied row, it was several rows further up front than it needed to be. Finally, I sat down, on top of Katie, and then on a seat too far away, and then on a good seat. The previews finished and the long awaited title scene flashed past us.
Thirty seconds later, I realized that I needed more than anything in my life at that very moment to blog about Snow White and the Huntsman.
So here we go.

I don't ever review movies, and I don't know what parameters are established around what you can and can't say, so I'm just going to tell you everything that happens and hope you can get over having such a masterpiece of film spoiled for you.
Organizationally, I will be chunking (not a word; that's dumb) the major events into sections, headed by the exclamation I proclaimed into the theater at that time.
P.S. This is why no one likes watching movies with me.

Snow White and the Huntsman (alternate title, Ten Seconds of Abs Make This Movie)

"That's......nice."
In a creepy twist, we find that the naming and coloration of the princess was based off of an incident in which the queen pricked her finger and blood dripped onto the snow, and her mother decided she wanted a child with skin as white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair dark as a raven's wing (wherever the raven came in, I have no idea). Lucky for them, it actually happened, and even luckier for them, they were cast in a fantastic society in which a name like "Snow White" would not ostracize their child. Cue heartwarming scene of Snow White and potential (duh) future love interest, William, saving injured bird, and symbolic image of partially eaten apple falling to the ground. Then of course the queen dies, like she does in every princess movie ever, leaving the king emotionally ravaged and unstable and susceptible to the wiles of a psychotic hottie.

"I don't want to see this."
Post two-second inadequately-explained fake battle, psychotic hottie (told you) weds grieving father, and wedding night "ceremony" commences. Truthfully, nothing really happened, but some of the things that Papa mumbles to his new Queenie suggest that perhaps he was not grieving as much as he let on. Anyway. There was a lot of neck kissing so that Blondie could perform an untimely soliloquy, and you could just tell she was about to do something kinky, which is why I said what I did, and then she stabbed him, so I guess I was right. King dies. Kingdom flushed down metaphorical toilet of selfishness. OH. Debut of Creepy Brother, as well as Man in Mirror, who confirms to Angry Blonde Queen that she is, in fact, way sexier than the survivors of her rampage.

"You forgot something."
Snow White, like every other princess ever conceived, is imprisoned in the north tower until her 18th birthday. Somehow, she has learned to make fire, and she sets up a small altar, where she lights a bonfire but not the candles around it, clutching dolls while she prays all but the end of the Lord's Prayer. I don't know if that was a religious statement or just lack of research. Either way, her lonely routine is interrupted by the imprisonment of a neighbor, a girl named Greta. Greta asks fearfully what awaits her; Snow White just stares at her.

"Ew."
I don't remember the purpose of this first scene, except that Psycho Lady eats a bird heart. (Hence "ew.") Flash to her throne room, where stabbing of the tyrant is attempted and failed, revealing Queenie's imperviousness, and stopping of the heart of the attempted stabber is performed, revealing Queenie's tendency to overreact. After a vague, possibly incestuous rendezvous between her and Brother King, Greta's purpose is revealed: the queen literally sucks the hotness and youth out of her, turning herself back into the Crazy Seductress we all know and love, and turning Greta into a vivacious yet unbecoming old lady. The Man in the Mirror decides now would be a good time to announce that Snow White is actually better looking than she is. Oops! Also, because she is so innocent and sweet and kind, she has magic blood, and the queen has to cut her heart out in order to have immortality and eternal hotness. Of course.

"Ew."
I said it again because Creepy Brother decides, like his sister, that seduction would be a good way to get his victim to comply, except he's the kind of person that would make you tell your children to come inside after seeing him at the park. In accordance with her innocent, holy reputation, Snow White chooses to deny his make out attempt and shanks him in the face with a nail, still showing no sign of emotion. Old Edition of Greta encourages her to "go on without her." Heart-wrenching. Some magpies (they're key) flutter around and show her a hidden passage out of the castle, a.k.a., the sewer, and she becomes the first fugitive to escape successfully. Lucky her. The magpies flutter around some more and direct her to a lone, conveniently-located white horse that carries her away from the approaching soldiers and into a forest.

"Ooh...oh my gosh."
I didn't expect this movie to have such intense special effects. Snow White finds herself in the creepiest forest ever imagined by human minds, complete with oysters oozing tar, living fungus, toxic gas, beetles, worms, dead magpies (there they are again), trees with arms, dementors, and a creepy giant winged bat thingy that is weirdly attached to a trunk... I don't know. No one follows her in, and she stumbles about between alternating angle shots of her face and enhanced heavy breathing sounds. Eventually, she hyperventilates and passes out on the ground.

"There he is!!!!!"
Because Snow White is in the aptly named "Dark Forest," no one wants to go in and get her, because they're all secretly babies, and someone who has already braved the dangers within has to be hired as an assassin. Apparently creepy healing powers aren't enough to stop demonic bats. But it's okay, because that means we are introduced to the huntsman (YAY), a.k.a., The Huntsman, because they actually did not give him any other name in this movie. Huntsman is an untrustworthy drunkard who is conned into procuring the princess by a promise of resurrecting his dead wife, because every good hero has to have an angsty, sensitive side. Cue journey.

"That's hot."
Mission: accomplished. Creepy Brother: spills beans about lying concerning resurrection abilities of Freaky Seductive Queen, also escapes Dark Forest when Huntsman OBVIOUSLY switches sides and peaces out with the girl. Awkward conversation between Dead Fish Princess and her new friend occurs, where Huntsman tells her the forest feeds off her weakness or something, and then tries to teach her how to sword fight, and then cuts off her skirt to reveal her more war-appropriate pants. Snow White's innocence level falls ten points, and her increased level of pensive stares heightens the sexual tension. Ooo.

"Best role in the whole movie."
There's some random village scene where they end up somewhere after Snow White stares down a troll (she does a lot of staring in this movie), and they meet some lady who feeds them and informs Huntsman of his sidekick's identity as a magic princess (surprise!), as well as helps provide them with shelter from their enemies, but most importantly, provides the sole opportunity for Chris Hemsworth-ab-viewing by applying a poultice to his injured left pectoralis major. Oh, and the village catches on fire because the crazy soldiers found them. But they escape again.

"There they are!"
The nifty escape leads the unofficial couple to...dwarves! Because they had to come in eventually! All of them have bad haircuts and strongly opinionated personalities.

"...this is so cool."
Again with the special effects. The crew sets up camp in magical forest, surrounded by slowly unfurling ferns, blueberry fungus, mushrooms with eyes, butterflies, hanging jellyfish flowers, magpies (hello!) that give birth to small fairy people (what!), floating sparkles, butterflies, turtles covered in moss, unidentified rodents, tiny birds riding said rodents, beetles (nice ones), butterflies, all stereotypical mammals used in classic Disney movies, and white deer with giant branching horns who eventually dissolves into...butterflies. Amidst the overwhelming nature of the...um, nature, Snow White performs a supes awk dance number with a flirty ginger dwarf, continuing to stare at Huntsman, and the dwarf with the worst hair stops speaking English. Later on, there's a vague hint at Snow White's impending usefulness, and an unexpected fight scene (they found them!) where Creepy Brother finally dies, impaled on a jagged stump with a shard of tree jutting out of his body from a place that could not have been an accident on the part of the director.

"THIS IS NOT HOT."
I don't actually know what part of the movie this was, but there's a shot of Queen Freaky's naked back where you can see her skeletal system very prominently while she has a flashback, and I was quite near to announcing to my fellow audience members that her body shape was unhealthy and not a physical trait to be sought after, and that the movie had failed to mention the queen's eating disorder.

Good grief this is getting long. I don't remember a lot of the things I said, so here's a summary of a good chunk of the movie:
There's a nice long trek across all kinds of irrelevant landscapes that kind of appeared out of nowhere, the long lost William sneaks his way into their party and Huntsman is obviously jealous, and more pensive looks from Snow White. The love triangle is pretty common knowledge. Somehow, Snow White and William end up wandering around the snowy forest together (it snowed in one of the landscapes they crossed), and he gives her an apple.
Of course everyone knows the apple is bad, but no one knows how. Everyone's more confused by the fact that they just kissed, because Huntsman is WAY hotter than Childhood Sweetheart, even with the mud that's been smeared on his face since the dark forest. Plus there's all that unanswered sexual tension! And staring! Meanwhile, the bitten apple starts growing fur, and Snow White starts crawling around on the ground and gagging, and for a second I thought she'd turn into a monkey, but she just dies. Apple-giving William turns into the Blonde Tyrant and vanishes in a flock of ravens, and real William kisses Snow White's dying self, but nothing happens. Body is transported to nearby castle. While paying his respects, Huntsman starts downing more booze and plants one on the corpse, because everyone in this movie has to have a pervy side. I guess the alcohol answers the question as to why the hero kisses a dead girl in the story, but someone failed to explain how kissing would end up breaking this movie's rendition of the spell. But of course she wakes up, and gives a rousing speech, with plenty of volume to make up for the lack of facial involvement, and the now formidable army rides off to fight the Hated Blonde, Snow White sans helmet, because it's not like she's going to die AGAIN.

"Wait...what!?"
You know what happens. They win. The Scary-But-Now-Potentially-Misunderstood Queen dies at the hands of the Innocent Princess turned Feminist Role Model. She becomes queen and stares at her people. The dwarves toast her. She stares at William, she stares at Huntsman.

The end.

No seriously. As in there was no resolution.

That's it.

Go home.

Have a nice day.



GET OUT OF THE THEATER.

fin.