Moving (Part I)

Five of my friends from high school, all a year ahead of me in school, went to the same college, Colorado State University, and thus decided to live together their sophomore year (as all freshmen must live in a dorm hall). Unfortunately, Fort Collins, which is the lovely small town that houses CSU, has a little law called "3 Unrelated" or "U+2," which states that no more than three unrelated people may live together in any dwelling within Fort Collins city limits. Obviously, five people is more than three. Consequently, they would either have separate into smaller groups (and pay more rent) or live outside of Fort Collins. Located just to the south of Fort Collins at about a twenty minute drive is Loveland. Loveland has no such 3 Unrelated law, so they began their search here. Once couple would share a bedroom, my boyfriend had his own room, and the other two shared a room because one of them was unsure as to whether he would remain at the aforementioned institution. Next thing you know, the significant others of the two latter mentioned people move in, and there are four people in one bedroom and five people to one bathroom. Shortly after, I move into my dorm (also at Colorado State), and spend much time with all my friends, mainly with Boyfriend, and as such that half of the apartment became very much the definition of overpopulated.

Needless to say, we all started getting on each others' nerves, and around the same time, almost to the day, most of us announced that we would be searching out our own places to live. However, the lease is not up on this apartment until August, so while we're all moving out, it's just me and Boyfriend in this giant. Boyfriend and I are pleased to finally be moving into our own place, within Fort Collins. It will be a two bed/one bath, so there's plenty of room for all of our crap. We're moving next Tuesday!

Happy Independence Day!

Merry 4th of July to all, and to all a good night of fireworks and freedom!

I don't really know what else to say. This is a cool video, though.

Being Responsible is Hard

I hate being an adult. It's summer, so I don't have classes, so instead I have to do dishes, or clean the house, or do laundry, or get stupid ideas like starting blogs and promising to post every week. I can't do anything! But instead, I play a little MMORPG I like to call Guild Wars all day, or watch daytime TV, or goof around on the internet by pretending I'm shopping for things I can't actually afford, or by clicking random ads that look interesting (the best/most interesting/weird ads usually begin with Facebook).

I have been perfecting procrastination for a very long time, since middle school, when classes actually got harder than a piece of cake. I recently began the journey to perfect the art of procrastination during my senior year of high school. I was in AP English, and our teacher was telling us how to bullshit an essay in under thirty minutes. This is useful, considering that one is given a small amount of time to complete many essays during the official AP English exam at the end of the year. This also became useful when I started college, which requires many long essays in a short amount of time. My best grade was on a bullshit paper on a story that I had only gotten half-way through reading. You see, we all want to sound smart in our essays by using big words and fancily arranged sentence structures. But we fear that our reader will think that we are just pretending to be smart, so we dumb it down just a little bit. Instead of using the word "preposterous" we use "absurd," or even "silly." You also limit your connections between story and meaning by vaguely describing the symbolism of the pile of gold. This doesn't work. The teacher seems to expect you to be smarter than "silly." On your next paper, you actually use the words you think to use first. You make all the connections you found in the story and explain its meaning to the fullest. Such a method also does not work. This time you are wrong. For the next paper you fall asleep reading the novel, and in desperation you write an essay in thirty minutes at midnight before you go to sleep, look up the craziest synonyms you can find, make up crazy meanings behind the text that you know aren't correct, and fall asleep on your laptop. Your teacher thinks this is wonderful, A+! He/she wants you to be smarter than you are. You learn that not trying is the best way to go.

The above story is evidence that society forces us to become procrastinators, even those who were champions of responsibility to begin with. It is also a guide on how to write a good college paper if you get all the way through your English and composition classes as an average writer, take a reading class to discover that you suck, and need help. You're welcome. :)

What brings me to this blog post today is my hatred of all things responsible in matters of "homemaking." I have been putting off doing the dishes for a long time, several days in fact. I wanted lunch today. I got out some hot dogs that were yet unopened. I grabbed some scissors and prepared to let out the hot dog marination/preservation juices, only to find that the sink was full of said uncleaned dishes.

Here is a fact about me: I hate dirty things, but as long as they are contained to one spot, I'm okay with it. This is how the dishes were allowed to accumulate. However, I also hate sticky, juicy ickies dripping off of meat of an unidentifiable origin.

I was not about to let hot dog juice get all over my dishes, dirty or otherwise. I set aside the hot dogs and began to clean the dishes. Surprise! The dishwasher is full of clean dishes! That's okay, just move on to empty the dishwasher. Done. Fill the dishwasher. This is where it gets hard because I'm obsessive-compulsive to an extent, and I have a very hard time putting bowls on the bottom rack. The water won't make it to the top, and ALL my dishes will be dirty still! I survived. Run the dishwasher, hand-wash the things that don't fit or aren't dishwasher safe. Done.

Open hot dog container, drip juice on the counter, have a fit, microwave hot dog, hot dog explodes, clean microwave after another fit, use bread crust instead of hot dog bun because to poor too afford hot dog buns in addition to bread, eat hot dog, spill mustard on self, have a fit, do laundry. Done. Write blog post to procrastinate folding laundry. Done.

And here we have a paradox! I originally promised to write a blog post once a week. My procrastination with the dishes served as a tool of responsibility in creating a post! This blog post (responsibility) is serving as procrastination for not doing laundry! And now I feel inclined to discuss literary terms and theoretical physics at the same time! But I won't. I'm going to go do laundry. And I become responsible once more.


Buttons of responsibility and procrastination belong to Allie Brosh, at Hyperbole and a Half. Read it and revel in it.

Why I Didn't Have Real Friends Until High School

We all try to get what we want. One might argue that this is even more true for women. All of our willfulness and self-importance (yes, it's true) starts at an early age. Our daddies call us Princess, mommies want their little girl to grow up strong and not let men take advantage of you because that's all they want so always be wary of them. It's like we get the world handed to us on a silver platter.

Most young girls want a Disney-themed something at some point in their childhood, and I was no exception to this pattern. I wanted a Pocahontas-themed birthday party for my third-ish birthday. I got my Pocahontas birthday party. I woke up that morning to a forest of balloons, including a Mylar balloon with Pocahontas on it.


I had to go to preschool still, but my mom and grandpa stayed with me for the whole morning. They had brought a Pocahontas cake, so we shared the cake with the rest of the kids and teachers in the room. I figured that I couldn't eat a whole cake without getting sick, so why not share with my classmates? That was where I drew the line with my charity.

Mom had also brought several balloons of varying colors (from my forest) for me and everyone to look at and enjoy during the little party. That's when things started to go wrong. The other kids started fighting over who got what colored balloon to take home that day. How dare those insolent little brats believe that they could just take my balloons!


I screamed and cried for my mommy to make them give my balloons back to me.


She assured me that the balloons would be mine, but I had my doubts, all the way up until I got to go home, where I was once again greeted by my forest.

Cows

Last night, I dreamed that I was in a mall or something, and I was trying to talk to some guy, when all of a sudden he started yelling at me. And he wasn't just yelling anything, he was mooing, and as loud as possible. And I was like, "Um, hello? Trying to have a conversation, here. Stop mooing!" But he was all, "MOO!"

When something stupid or scary or bad or frightening or annoying happens in a dream, I usually know that it's a dream, so I try to wake up. I did as such on this occasion, only it didn't work! I was in my bed, and there was still mooing.


You see, my parents live in almost the middle of nowhere, in the beautiful Rocky Mountains of Colorado. There's a dirt road in front of their house with nothing across it but a large grassy hill where someone's cows roam frequently during the summer months. After a few moments, I realized that I was awake, and that there was actually a fucking cow outside of my window, mooing. I have no idea why it was mooing, nor why it was doing so as loudly as it was, but mooing it was. I wanted to kill it and have a nice hamburger right there, in front of all of the cow's friends, like, "See what happens when you moo at me all morning!!!"