so lame

So I think I'm moving this bitch to Tumblr. There's more funny stuff for me to look at there, and I can't keep up so many things at the same time. Plus, there's an app for tumblr. Sorry blogspot.
Tumblr confounds me, but feel free to watch me crash and burn at irrelephantsays.tumblr.com !

In sum: I don't know how to internet. Peace.

Some Intense Feels

So hey. I'm all college'd up now, going to classes and making friends and shit. Quick life update: quit my horrendous job at Chipotle and had a hard time not sobbing when I told all the people there I was leaving because I love them. Wifey's in yonder-far-land and I've caught the sads. Rooming with another person's cool except when it's not, and I find myself rolling over more than I told myself I would.

But the whole making friends bit? That was the relevant  part of that previous paragraph, not my conceited ass rambling. My RA is really big on getting the people in Jones tower to be friends and be social, instead of letting our floor look absolutely deserted all the time, so we do shit together and we're actually friends, as far as I'm aware.

This is literally what the hallways in Jones felt like last year when the RA wasn't on his game. Deserted. Also? Dr. Who episode, "God Complex". Weird as fuck, and also where I got this hallway image. 

The thing is? All the people on my floor are fucking all stars, and that's not exaggerating. The guy next to me plays guitar like a total boss, and has other random miscellaneous instruments in his room all of which have names. So he's pretty rad. I'm on the international floor, too, which means that people came from places like China and shit. Wow, I can drive home in 20 minutes, and any further than that and I would probably not be able to survive.

Seriously RA, if you weren't here, who would force these amazing people to hang out with me? You da best. 

And then there's this guy. He is saturated in interesting, and has done everything at least once, it seems like. He plays the ukulele like a pro. He goes to cons and makes badass cosplays. He's awesome at telling stories. Even the shit in his dorm is fascinating.

This is how my brain reacts in this man's heroic presence. And other parts of... nvmd.   

People are just amazing, I don't even know how to deal with anything. The chick I met in my art history class? She's got all her shit together in life, and that just confounds me. HOW.
And then there's me, the awkward girl who lists her job, her major, and her year when asked to share three interesting facts about herself for an icebreaker. No interesting talents besides the lame "I like to write..." or "I'm pretty creative, I guess." (For further elaboration, see my first day at Chipotle. Manager: 'What's one thing I should know about you? Skills, whatever.' Me: '...uhm. I'm good at smiling?')

new mandatory Life Experiences regarding sleep

So today I learned things. And I don't mean things like the capital of Alabama or how to spell 'discombobulated'. I mean valuable life lessons that are crucial to my continued survival on the least possible amount of sleep necessary to sustain life. I'll start at the beginning. Or as close to it as I can remember.

Life lesson numero uno: Commission a real live person to wake you up in the morning if you fall into bed already asleep two hours before dawn the night before. Alarms are not to be trusted with this responsibility, as they will balk and allow you to turn them off as a sleep-zombie. They will then sit quietly and watch you snooze on through any obligations you had that morning. Bastards.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ghlc77E_2E
...that's a picture, I swear. Not really. But please, click that. I think I would murder myself. Every morning.

Life lesson deux: Monster tastes way better than red bull (which tastes even worse than medicine, I've been meaning to ask them how they managed to do that) even though it's still pretty gross. Sublessson deux: Taste doesn't matter when you're already tired and you know that you need to stay awake. It also helps if someone  else buys it for you.

FUCK YEAH, FREE MONSTER ...oh, um, thanks man...

Life lesson... three: Dubstep is amazing for keeping oneself awake. Not only is it amazing for matching your stride or head bobbing to, it's just obnoxious enough to keep your focus, thereby not allowing your mind to wander to subjects like how much you would rather be in bed. Sublesson three: It's even better for those who can't study and/or read with music in the background, because there's no real words in dubstep to distract you from the shit you're trying to read.

Uncannily similar. 

Also very comparable, though it would be much harder to focus on homework if there were transformers having sex in your living room. I mean, your entire house would be in smithereens by then. 

Life lesson IV: Don't work at Chipotle if you don't want to work. Hard. All day, every day. Or if you have terrible or even moderate people skills. Sublesson IV: Try the salad dressing. It's delicious.

also try the purrito. It's a new special. 

Blog because you have nothing to blog about.

So I guess it's been a while since I've said anything on here. I suppose I should rectify this. It's just that since I've gone on summer vacation, I've been so uninspired. It's like my brain needs the pressure and despair and fatigue and stress of school in order to function at optimum capacity. Huh. It's not that I have a lack of things to talk about, I guess, it's just that I don't... feel like talking about them...

This is you while reading that intro. I suppose it could have been written a bit more intriguingly.

I've gotten a job at Chipotle. The employees there are amazing, though the customers have arrived unanimously at the decision to be as obnoxious as possible in every conceivable fashion. Meh.

There was a huge storm a week or two back that knocked down a tree across my driveway that the neighbors and I brought to justice with hand saws. There's another one still just chillin on the ground in my backyard. I could talk about ho utterly incapable one of my neighbors is with a chainsaw and his life in general, but meh.

I just started obsessively watching Adventure Time, which is a problem because I'm also obsessively watching Angel (a spin-off of Buffy the vampire slayer). Just because they're at two opposite ends of the spectrum of television genres doesn't mean they are equally as lovable by someone as challenged as myself. But that pretty much sums up the entire topic, so meh to you sir. 

 I just read a book that contains but is not limited to a hostile, room-sized cube of flesh, government conspiracies, french-kiss-induced amnesia, liberal usage of the word 'graft', and a sexy vampire that looks like Grell Sucliff. (I think its called The Rook, if that flesh cube is just too tempting to turn down. And spoiler alert, it's sentient and sprouts muscle-tentacles. Oh baby.) But if you were interested in that, you'd read it yourself. So meh to that too.

So please bear with me until my brain is restored to its usual, harried and top-performing self. I go back August 22, please be patient until I return to my... regularly scheduled programming?

I like books! And stuff!

I'd just like to say that today was a complete and total social disaster. I had to go to Half Price Books, to see if they had considered my application yet. I submitted it Sunday, and Stephanie of the handshake-that-parts-shoulder-from-socket sect told me that the manager would be back Tuesday, and an underling would start calling people to set up interviews Monday.

I'm not really sure how this picture applies. Uhm, you would remember your potential killer's name too if... she'd... Vulcan nerve handshake-d your hand? ...I like Spock.

 So I walk in today, sell some books, and ask the lady at the counter if they had looked at the apps yet. The manager was also standing there, and he was like "Ohp, we only had one summer position open, and we filled it last week! Sorry." Well, thanks, manager jerkface, for letting me know that I should stop holding my breath. Oh wait... you didn't. So then I bought a few books, and he had to follow me out into the parking lot because he forgot to give me the money he should have for selling my books. The books he watched me sell.

Completely unbiased portrait of this manager. I'm not bitter over his inability to let me know I didn't have a chance of getting hired and making me keep hoping I did, not one bit.

 So, equipped with the knowledge that the job I had been waiting on was no longer an option, I applied to a few other places. One of them was Barnes and Noble. I walk in, fill out an application, and go back to turn it in, and the guy is like "All right." and skims it, and then asks "And why do you want to work here?" completely off hand. Little did he know that he has just asked me the question to end all questions. My brain shuts down, systems on red alert. I have not planned out an answer to this inevitable question! I have nothing to say besides 'because I'm poor'! ABORT ABORT

Wait, you have to actually talk to people and convince them of your worthiness when you're applying for a job?

But the guy was still staring at me. I had to answer. "Uhm, I would like to work here because I like books, and I read a lot, and books are interesting, and I go to college so I'm around books a lot, and reading is fun, and I like books, and yeah so that's why I would like to work here. For the books." All higher brain function had shut off. I was stranded.

I like books so much I even know how to use them.

He just said okay, and I sensed the dismissal for what it was and beat a hasty retreat. Right into a girl I knew in high school. Sayanora, speedy retreat. I was doomed. And then, when I'd completed that awkward social encounter, I tried to buy a book and get the hell outta dodge. "Uh, miss? Don't forget your keys!" I'd left them on the checkout counter.
To top off the complete social incompetency? The books I bought today are as follows: Black Butler, a manga, two Star Trek books, and a book called Atlantis God (the description included nazis.)
Hello, My name is Brittni, and I am an utter social failure. (Hello, Brittni.)

Too lazy to think of a title? Why not Zoidberg?

So I've been absolutely motivated to make something recently. I have all this free time on my hands, with the sudden commencement of summer vacation. So I want to do all the things I've been meaning to do all school year; write a story, draw a picture, sew a hat, weave a basket underwater, anything.

This is what I expected to be. A masterpiece-creating artistic genius. And black.

So I sat down at my computer today, all prepared to write something full of witticism and intricate life lessons. Aaand... nada. I had absolutely no ideas. Mind was blanker than usual; not even a wayward line of song lyrics to be found. I had the will to write, just no muse. No single point of inspiration upon which to focus my genius. I closed the word document in dissapointment.

Perhaps my muse was just this frog, and he was too tiny for my creativity to sense.

How is it that during the year I can be struck with inspiration so acute that I am forced to dig furiously through my backpack for my moleskine at the most inopportune times, and during the summer when I have all the time in the world my creativity is struck dumb? Someone should really work on that. I think it has something to do with the fact that my brain is melting out of my ears because of the heat faster than Michael Jackson's nose melted off his face. I don't want to do anything when it's hot, besides stand in the shower mindlessly, so it is only logical that my imagination is equally as unproductive.

This is me. Imagine this ten times less productive, and that's me during the summer.

(I was going to put a picture of the aforementioned nose, but i googled it and it creeped me out too much.) With any luck, my imagination will kick itself back into gear soon. And if not, well, I guess that's why I'm an art history major, not a fine arts major.

Edit: I was watching that gif after I posted this entry, because I thought it was hysterical the first time I saw it. But then I started thinking about the circumstances behind the octopus's listless tumble and realized that the poor creature is probably suffering. Now I want to track down its owner and demand clarification. Anybody got a pitchfork I could borrow?

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.