Don't even remember his name. Does this make me a bad person?

So I'm currently sitting next to this guy, probably a junior, in the hall before class. Currently. This is real time, forgive any spelling mistakes [lol, I couldn't just leave them there after the conversation was over, now could I.]. So we're sitting, right, and he's immediately talking about his escapades with this 40 year old Korean lady who has apparently taken a shining to my dear compatriot here. He told me an endearing story about how they're making out now, how they've moved past the 'friends who talk all the time' stage they've been in since the beginning of the year.

 

And then he's all bent out of shape because he forgot his charger in his car and-oh wait, it's in his backpack! He was worried because a girl just texted him. Oh, not the Korean lady, and not the chick his friend's mom is trying to set him up with, a different one (Oh, he's a sophomore). Like, what are you attempting to gain by telling me this? Or are you just bragging about your exploits? Because I think you might want to reconsider your audience. I'm just making fun of you, not impressed at all. 
 So now he's telling me all about his tactics he's learning in his ROTC training for the army or something. Ohp, we're back to his texts. Oh, just kidding, he's on Reddit now, and literally giggling. "Lol, someone glued googly eyes to this dildo :D" 

 

Cool story, brah... I think it might have been funny if... it wasn't you telling me. (That's kinda more judgmental than I want to appear, but YOLO! HAHAHA I hate myself.) Oh, you have more to say? "Oh, yeah, I pretty much solely date Asian girls. I feel like I know I'm handsome, and so... Well, I mean, I don't really even think of myself as handsome, really, but if you know what you like and how to get it, then go for it and more power to you."

 

Just lay it out, I've got a goddamn ruler. Oh, he just showed me how to make a paper longer, in Microsoft Word. You replace all your punctuation with size 14 font rather than 12 or 11. It literally increased a paper I'd had pulled up from 4 1/2 to like 5 1/4. Too bad college assigns length using word count rather than page numbers. Dumbass.
The sad part is? I knew he would talk to me when I saw him coming down the hall, and I thought to myself Okay self, prepare for some high-endurance social interaction, you've got like half an hour before the doors to the classroom even open. Focus. You don't want to look like a dumbass in front of this admittedly attractive male, despite his dubious conversation history. Apparently, he had no such qualms.

P.S. So this guy really isn't that bad, seriously, though I won't deny that he's got a... healthy ego. I just like to exaggerate. Adds a sense of adventure. Or something.

Thank you Mark Twain

Not sure if I've mentioned it on here yet, but I bought a 12 pack of those cheap-ass Bic pens at the beginning of this quarter and I have been using the same pen, the first one I pulled out of the pack, since then. I was absolutely determined to use every bit of ink from that pen before moving on to the next one, and so on, until I'd used every drop of ink in that whole pack of pens. You know how that never happens? You never completely use up those pens, and then you lose them and they inevitably disappear somewhere.
I was determined to keep those 12 poor pens from the terrible fate of pen island (hurr hurrrr, penis land), the place where perfectly good pens go when their owners inexplicably leave them somewhere, decide they are no longer worthy of being used, or otherwise forget about them. Here is an explanatory diagram courtesy of google:

Those poor pens.And so close to penis land, too, how humiliating. So, in dedicating myself to this cause, I had moste valiantly saved those 12 expendable Bic pens from this terrible fate! Or so I thought. My attempt at heroism was violently thwarted Saturday by a vicious beast with jaws that bite and claws that catch. Also known as my beagle, Josie. She decided that it would be a splendid plan to gnaw on that pen, that pen which had been so lovingly carried around by me all quarter long, and that was less than a centimeter from being out of ink. I debated laying out a crime scene in my living room when I discovered what had transpired, but I already knew the killer, so a crime scene investigation would have been moot. Josie's such a sadist: Exhibit A.

Imagine my absolute despair, my rage, the onset of a spiraling depression when I realized how futile all my efforts had been. I had tried to save this pen from pen island, but condemned it to a fate far worse! My thoughts were a jumble. What would happen to the other pens I had bought? Would some horrific fate befall them as well? Are cheap pens not meant to escape pen island at all? Or, worse yet, is it their desired destiny to meet up with all their forgotten brethren on that island? Am I holding the other 11 pens from pen island against their will? Would it be better for me to lose them all on purpose? Or to not use them at all? Or would that destroy their dreams of fulfilling their ultimate purpose in life? I became more and more overwhelmed the more I thought about this.

As you can see, I am going through a tremendous upheaval in my core beliefs right now. It has been two days since I discovered the mangled body of that pen, and I still have no answers to these essential questions. Who knows what will come into question next? The thought is not comforting. I am wary of everything, lest it poses another life-shaking question I am unable to answer.

View mah complete profile, y'all!

I waste a lot of my time on StumbleUpon. A completely ridiculous amount of time. Time I don't really have.  But it's how I do things, so the world and my homework and my college career can SUCK IT. So, it would follow that I would find some pretty mentionable stuff in all the time I spend sorting through the mediocrity of the internet. I'm not sure what that previous sentence really means, but what I'm trying to say is that I found some pretty rad shit, bro. It's called the Dialectizer, and you'll never guess what it does. ...What's that? It tells you how to talk in different accents, you say? NO! That would be too interesting and potentially hilarious! This website converts the contents of a web page or a block of text into different dialects! Cockney, Elmer Fudd, Swedish Chef, and Moron are among your (albeit limited) choices.

 (Not that chef.) Here, have a sample. It's my 'About Me' section, for reference.

Thin's thet may o' may not apply: ah's currently studyin' histo'y of art in college, an' is considerin' an English mino' t'further solidify mah future in a cardboard box on th' side of th' road, cuss it all t' tarnation. ah like cats better than houn'dogs. ah have two fish, a few cacki, an' a marimo (ten points eff'n yo' knows whut thet is). Mah favo'ite colo' is yeller, an' mah favo'ite animal is an ockopus. ah's a professhunal procrastinato', mah socks nevah match, ah can trip on over ennythin', ah's nerd-tastic, ah make fleece hats, an' ah fancy mahse'f an artist. ah carry a molehidee notebook on account o' ah reckon it makes me look intellyjunt, but mostly on account o' ah went through too menny sticky notes an' napkins an' scooted outta room on mah han' too menny times an' finally bought one. Mah brain is full of thin's thet try t'murder me eff'n ah doesn't write them down, as enny fool kin plainly see.

That last sentence is my personal favorite. Enny fool kin plainly see, even me! Yo' kin tell thet ah's a fool on account o' of th' way ah talk! Hurrr hurrr hurrrr!

In other news, 'Call Me Maybe' by Carly Rae Jepson is the new song that impersonates a merry-go-round in my brain. The merry-go-round from hell, whose devil operator who has nothing better to do but keep the poor children that stole candy from babies and then died stuck on the ride forever. Around, and around....
In other other news, the Avengers is better the second time around, and I didn't think that was possible. My brain literally had to restrain itself from exploding because it wanted to watch the entire movie again. As well as the end bit, at the shawarma bar. I wonder if shawarma bars have had a sudden spike in popularity and in customers dressed like superheros...

Aw, no, it's cool bro, we're the Avengers. We just saved all your asses and shit. Sorry about your store... So can we maybe have some food? It's just that I've wondered about this place for a while now, and you kinda owe us, and all.

The day I thought was going to be godawful

So today I suspected was going to be terrible, but so far its been kickass. First some background: i was awake until 1:30 or 2:00 last night attempting to finish these peer reviews and study for a stats quiz.

Well, make a notecard for the stats quiz, I have no idea how to study for math. Might explain my utter destruction regarding... anything to do with math. But I digress. I thought today was going to be shitty, because of sleep deprivation and the fact that my first class starts at 7:30 and because attendance was required.
Well, my first class was all right, minimum of effort, and my coffee kept me awake. Stats was less of a fail than I expected, but I'm assuming I'll get it back and get a T for troll anyway. So whatever about that. But then I was sitting outside the Science and Engineering library (Because it has a cafe inside, not because I read either of those subjects on a regular basis), on this lovely bench. Just sittin' and eatin', alone like usual, whatever to that as well, and this guy walks up and smashes his cigarette on the trash can and then blows this huge lungful of smoke right in front of me like a fucktard.

I thought 'What the fuck, man? You just made that bite of this delicious sandwich taste like a crematory.' Immediately after the thought completed itself, he tripped over an electrical cord strung across the walkway. 'OH MY GOD I'M HARRY POTTER!'
Yeah. I just released a snake on Dudly cause he was being a bitch.

So after controlling my inner monologue and determining that I would keep my magical prowess a secret until my latent Hogwarts letter arrived, I got up and moved to a picnic table on the Oval (big central blob of grass on campus) because it was a little bit closer to the library that I had to eventually get to anyway. It was lovely. Someone was cutting the grass, so it smelled good, it is the perfect temperature outside, my sandwich (that I have dubbed the Jesus sandwich, its catching on) was scrumptious. Another piece of evidence that today is not entirely wasted.
So now I'm siting in the library, pretending to write this page about a play that is due at 1:30. ...I really should get on that. But if I finish that on time, then this day will have been a success rather than a dismal failure. Hooray!

Edit: OH MAN! How could I have forgotten this major detail? This day got even awesome-er when I was this dude who looked like a professor on the top, button up, messenger bag, glasses, the like, but he had on a fucking kilt! and knee0high green socks! And looked like he wears these things on a regular basis! He is my new hero. A kilt. Who would have thought. He was like this, but old. Which made it even better.

I would have taken a picture of the actual guy, but I cant pretend like I'm texting because i cant get pictures off my phone onto my laptop. 

Damn you, wimpy old person.

My grandmother, man. Love her, but sometimes I'd like to take a nice drive to the grand canyon and chuck her over the viewing platform. Maybe Niagra Falls, it's closer. Less time for her to make me want to think of worse ways to off somebody. Today, when I came home from my real house (and taking care of my post-op mother like a boss, by the way) she said that she'd like me to empty the paper-recycling box in the house into the one in the garage and take it down to the street. Sure thing, no sweat, grams. Then she said that she would like me to wait until she had read the paper, so I could recycle that too. Sure, whatever, you crazy person. Why you put that off until Sunday evening every weekend so I have to wait to bring out the recycling every weekend I will never understand. Just wait till next week's recycling goes out. You're still only recycling one at a time. But whatever. She's insane, and has undiagnosed OCD.
So I go upstairs to start writing my paper on the propagandist aspects of the Stele of Hammurabi. Ten points and a cyber cookie to anyone who knows what that is. I then realize I've got online stats homework due tonight, so I attempt that instead, and after consistently failing through half the questions, I go back to my paper in a pissed-off mood. Bitch level is hovering at around 30%, thank you statistics. About an hour later, at 9pm, she comes upstairs and tells me that she's finished the paper. Just long enough for me to forget that I had to bring it to the curb. Bitchyness increases by about 5%. She tells me not to just pick the bin up directly, but to use a little dolly thing and wheel it down to the curb, because carrying it is bad for my back and shit.

I hate that dolly. It's way more trouble than it's worth, and she only things the paper bin is heavy because she's 150 pounds of pure fat, no muscle mass at all. Bitchyness increase of 20%.
I go grab the inside-paper bin, dump the contents as ferociously as possible into the outside-paper bin to try to punch out some of my bad mood, and then stand there for a solid minute debating whether or not to use the effing dolly. I finally kick the inside-paper bin across the patio, strap the outside-paper bin to the damn thing, and drag it jerkily down the driveway. Bitch level increase another 5%. I dump the bin at the curb, drag the dolly back up the driveway, kick the inside-paper bin again for good measure, then bring it back inside. "Thanks honey." Yeah, yeah, fuck you very much. "Welcome."
I return to my essay. I like my topic, so it's kinda nice. My bitch level decreases a solid 5% as I start the intro. Then to my dismay, Grama comes and stands in my doorway like 10 minutes later. She never talks until I acknowledge her presence, which is just something she's always done and has irked me since she started. Just talk, dammit, if I'm doing something important, I'll say so. So I say "yes?" and she asks in her stupid beat-around-the-bush way that wastes 10 minutes to move my car so she can be the one closest to the bottom of the driveway, because she has to leave earlier that I have to in the morning.

Never mind that I said I'd be awake before she has to leave, so I'd be there to move my car then. Never mind that I was just downstairs, and could have done it then. Bitchyness increases by 15%.
So we move cars, I go back upstairs, and start writing this stupid post, and my bitch level is going up more because I realize how much of a bitch I've been to her. I mean, I'm living in her damn house. Can't I just reign it in or something?

...well fuck me, I probably do. That most likely should have occurred to me sooner.