Apocalypse Now?

So we all know how I'm currently the Queen of Awful Driving, yes? 

Yes. 

So, I'm pretty sure I'll be holding my title over into 2013...And how, you ask, am I pretty sure? Well, because I just did more awful driving! 

I can't drive in the snow, it's something I've known for a while now. From late November to early March, I've simple accepted that I shouldn't be on the roads. It usually works out awesome for everybody. 

But today was my younger brother's christmas festival...party...thing, so my parents asked me to go and be his replacement parent or whatever. I was like "yeah, okay, everyone already thinks I'm a teenage mother, so I don't really care." So everything was dandy and well. 

And then it snowed. And snowed. And snowed some more for good measure. So, I woke up and my family was gone and I was expected to drive. And I tried to drive. And guess how that ended? 

Badly. It ended badly. 

I got to the end of my street before trying to brake and spinning in two complete circles. And then a half-circle...so I ended up facing the complete wrong way. 

It was actually kind of impressive. I would have been pretty excited about it if I wasn't crying so hard. So...yeah. That happened. And then I drove a little further, panicked about hitting a house (I didn't, you know, hit a house. I just realized that hitting a house was a possibility.) and then stopped. 

I stopped and left my car on some random street in my neighborhood and then walked home.  And it was cold and there was snow and it was terrible. 

I wasn't wearing smart human shoes, either. I was wearing stupid moccasins that filled with snow in like two seconds. Pair those with the yoga pants and sweatshirt I was wearing and you have an awesome outfit for, like, early November. Not December. Not December with wind and snow and coldness. 

It sucked is basically what I'm saying. 

Still, I'm glad I didn't hit another car/a house/a pole/a roundabout. That would have sucked majorly. My ordeal only sucked minorly. 

Anyway, are you wondering what I have yet to mention the apocalypse? It's because I made a video about it this morning!!!!

(PS. It's kinda long...sorry. I said a lot of funny things, okay?) 

So, there's that. Gah...I'm still all panicky about my magic car spin thing. 

I should go lie down and not drive. Or retrive my car. Either of those two things. 

Whatever. May all of your drives be as snow-free as possible. 

The Five People You Meet During Finals Week

I hate everything. 

I should probably clarify that...

It's finals week, I'm stressed and the best I have to deal with my stress is to convert it into rage and then direct that rage at people I don't know. It's perfectly healthy, probably. 

Well, now that we've gotten my trademark negativity out of the way...it's time for another list-based post! 

Yay! 

Here it is...

The Five People You Meet During Finals Week

1. The Substance Abuser 

The Substance Abuser is easy to spot. They'll usually be dressed in sweatpants, a backwards baseball cap and sunglasses, no matter what time of day it is. Colloquially, they're also known as douchebags. They probably have a low GPA and a parent willing to pay for them to screw around at college.

 And I guarentee that they will spend most if not all of finals week drunk of their ass. They may or may not come and actually take their finals and if they do, they will either be drunk or hungover. Avoid these people at all costs. They tend to be persuasive enough to make you think that drinking an entire bottle of vodka totally counts as studying for your chemistry exam. 

2. The Insomniac 

The Insomniac should be avoided at all cost. Not because they pose any significant threat to your own finals week performance, but because they're really, really annoying. At 8 AM on the first day of finals, the Insomniac has already gone three days without sleep and is already seven cups of coffee deep. And why, you ask, do we know this? Simple. We know this because they WON'T FREAKING SHUT UP ABOUT IT. 

It's finals week. Everyone is tired. Everyone is dealing with less sleep...we really don't need you demanding that we compare sleep schedules with you. If the Insomniac spent more time actually studying and less time chugging espresso, they would get done studying with plenty of time to catch a nap before their first final. 

3. The Media Maven

Thankfully, most of us manage to buckle down and shut up during finals week. Not the Media Maven, oh no. They are determined that absolutely everyone in the entire world must know all the intimate details of  what they're doing to prepare for finals. When they start studying, they must post about it on facebook. 

And twitter. 

And their blog. 

They may even take a picture of their notes/study guides/computer and post it on instagram with a caption like "studying loll! #YOLO" Why do they post that they're laughing out loud about studying? I like to think they're laughing because they know we all know that they aren't actually studying because they're too busy posting about studying to study. In actuality, they are probably just programed to types "lol" after every single thing they post. 

4. The Super Nerd

We all know and hate the Super Nerd. Not only have they turned in every assignment and every extra credit assignment and aced every test, they probably have published articles in whatever field they're studying. They're the kids who have terrible glasses, un-ironic kitten sweaters and headgear. They're also the kids who will likely be your boss someday. 

They live for finals week...finals week for them is like hanukkah for Jewish people. It's the one week a year that society acknowledges the thing they're good at (be it knowing the answers on tests or knowing all the words to the "Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel" song). The Super Nerd is ready to kill it this week...they have their study guides color-coded and prepped for action. 

They're going to get 100% on every single one of their finals and ruin the curb for the rest of us. 

5. The Black Hole

We all reach this point. You've studied and studied and you just can't take it anymore. No matter how much knowledge you pour into our brain, it all just seems to leak out. You, my friend, have become a Black Hole. Nothing can escape the soul-sucking despair that has come over you. Not study guides, not sparknotes, not even time. The last few hours before your final slip past and all of the sudden you're stuck in the exam room staring down at a test that you know none of the answers too. 

You do the best you can and go home where you'll sit, sucking up all the joy. After a few comatose hours spent drooling on the couch and watching cartoons, the Black Hole will stop sucking up joy and become a normal, underacheiveing college student again. Finals week will be over and, while you probably failed half your tests, at least you don't have to do it again for a while. 

So...there's that. Be on the lookout for these kids...they'll make an already hellish week all the more hellish. 

Good luck on your finals...and also on hanukkah, Jewish folks...

Drug Trafficking and YOU

Greetings, blog readers. So...it's been a while.

Like a couple of months. I've been busy.

Don't look at me like that...I have. I've been doing so many productive things and making so many friends....

Okay, okay, you caught me.

I bought an xbox.

So...technically I have been busy. Just not busy in a positive way. Unless you count playing Skyrim for like 8 hours a day as a positive way to be busy.

Moving on...my video game playing has led to some crazy escapades. And by crazy escapades, I mean me injuring myself while doing something stupid. Again.

All I was trying to do was hang up a kickass Batman poster because my room was boring (it's not boring anymore. Now it has a kickass Batman poster). So, I was doing that. Just chilling in my room and standing on a desk and hanging up my poster. I got it all stuck to the wall and I was like, "yeah! this Batman poster looks awesome! no more crime for my room, no sir!"

So, I was all excited and whatnot. I was going to hop off my desk, head downstairs and get some celebratory grape jello. That didn't happen. I jumped from my desk to my bed...and it all went downhill from there. See, I can't jump very far in real life. In video games, I'm a world-class jumper. I could jump the crap outta any jump-related situation. In real life, not so much. Long story short, one of my legs ended up on the bed and the other ended up on the floor. I inadvertently did the splits and suddenly walking wasn't really in the cards for me.

I've been limping around like some sort of demented pirate for the past two weeks. It's made my walking class rather difficult.

That's just one of the wacky and depressing things I've been up to. I also had the stomach flu on Thanksgiving and dressed as Batgirl some more. So...you know. Average Danielle-type things that I've been doing.

Right now, I'm in class. Criminology to be precise. My professor sucks. A lot. Today we're talking about cocaine trafficking and prostitution. Fun topic, right? WRONG! She's making it SO BORING!

How does one make prostitution and cocaine boring? I don't know! It's like a recipie for fun and debauchery! Or a kickass movie! It should be like Scarface up in here and instead I'm so effing bored that I'm stabbing myself in the leg with a pencil just to stay awake.

I should really be teaching this class instead. I'd wear my Batsuit and bring in a real live prostitute for the students to look at (don't touch...they bite!). I really am so much better at things than most people.

Gah, I should go.

I've probably got lead poisoning from all the pencil-leg-stabbing I've done.

So, if I die in the next few hours...that's probably why.

I'm Drunk (With Knowledge)

Happy homecoming weekend! Or something! I don't know...merry homecoming weekend? Have a good homecoming? I'm very bad at social situations. I don't really know the protocol for wishing someone a good...well...joyous homecoming. 

Like all the cool kids, I am spending homecoming weekend not at the football game and not getting drunk/tailgating. I'm in the library. With my equally as cool sister. I actually did homework and stuff. It got to feeling a bit too productive...hence the blogging. And pintrest-ing. I spend far too much time on pintrest. I have twenty bucks in the bank. I can't buy anything I pin. I can't even buy food. 

I had to cancel my netflix subscription. 

It was a dark day indeed. 

And who do I have to thank for my current poverty? (Aside from my teacher parents, inability to win the lottery and refusal to get a new job) The financial aid office, that's who. 

They're seriously the worst. First, they make me feel terrible for being poor. And, as you know, I did not choose the thug life. The thug life chose me, financial aid office. After they're done berating me for being poor, they put me on hold. FOR HOURS. Seriously. I think they all went to lunch and laughed about it one time. 

I can't go to lunch. I have no money to buy lunch. AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, FINANCIAL AID OFFICE. 

Ball State really should pay me to go here. I give them so much good press, what with my positively-themed blogging and all. (But, really. My college is the worst college. Except at being drunk. We're all super good at that.) 

So, with a school full of hookers and drunkards...is it really surprising that I avoid homecoming just as fervently as I avoid having a boyfriend? 

The difference is...only one of those things is a choice. 

Whatever. It's cool. I'm probably really bad at it anyway. I'll just becoming a nun. Or a velociraptor. 

Don't ask me how I'd become a velociraptor. I have ways. 

I should go. We ordered a pizza and I can always count on melty cheese and cardboard-y crust to temporarily fill the hole inside me where the love is supposed to go. 

Oh, I jest. 

...but seriously. My school is the worst. 

Ways to Avoid Studying and Help the Blind

I have a criminology test tomorrow that I should be studying for. Therefore...blog time! 

I really should study thought. Criminology is a class that I never, ever pay attention in. It's not my fault, though. The professor is probably the worst lecturer ever. Seriously. Watching cartoons for an hour would probably be more informative. Or listening to the lecture in German or something, I don't know. I do know that she, my professor, likes to copy things word for word from our book onto powerpoint slides in point 12 font and read them to us. Word for word.

If we were a class full of blind people, then that would be awesome. As it is, we only have one blind person in the class and, while I'm sure he's getting a lot out of it, the rest of us can read those slides faster than she can and with fewer pronunciation errors. 

It's usually cool, though. 

I'm just on pintrest the whole time pinning things to my two wedding boards. Yes, I know I'm perpetually single. It's not weird that I have two wedding boards and no boyfriend to love me. I just want to wear a pretty dress and have a whole day where everyone is required to look at me. 

Shut up. 

Anyway, my latest attempt to learn another language has been foiled. I guess I can add Japanese to the pile of languages I tried and failed to learn. That pile already has Latin, French, Russian, Farsi, Pig Latin, Elvish and Spanish three times. I seriously hate myself for being unable to speak anything but english. And I don't even speak english well. 

I think the language-learning part of my brain had to be discarded to make room for all the awesomeness that I just naturally contain. That or it was broken during the "stroke-like- event" that I had last year. 

That was fun. 

Ugh. My notes from my criminology class are just sitting here, staring at me. Get off my back, criminology notes! I'm busy right now! 

Okay, so other class that I hate is walking. You're probably shaking your head and saying something like, "Walking? Really, Danielle? I knew you were impressively lazy, but are you really going to complain about walking class?" 

You don't even know. 

You don't even know what I'm going through. I never knew that people could walk so fast. It's like...sprint-walking or something. I keep almost tripping over my abnormally large feet. (cool story...I had to buy my new shoes in the men's section. They're a size 11...in mens. That's like a 13 in women's.) 

You'd think that having freak-feet would make walking long distances easier. Lies. They just make you flat-footed so you have to stomp around the place like an arthritic godzilla. Or a heavy-set camel. Or an obese third-grader. Or a fish that spontaneously grew stumpy legs. 

So, yeah. My feet. They're stupid. 

Also, I think that my fitness teacher has decided to make me her "project." Like, if she encourages me enough, I will spontaneously become an expert at fitness walking. I'm sorry, but that is not going to happen. My feet will always be big and stupid and I will always be lazy and unmotivated to do anything but watch netflix and eat pizza. 

Mmmm...pizza. 

Pizza bagel bites are awesome, by the way. Not that it has anything to do with anything...but the fact still stands. Pizza bagels kick ass. 

This blog feels fairly boring. Sorry. I can't accidentally sexually harass boys every week. Somebody might get wise and report me to university PD. 

Ha...like they're real cops of something. Plus, I'm a criminal justice major. We're all on the same team, bros. 

I should go. My criminology notes beckon. 

Sociology for Dummies

So, I'm thinking of starting a new blog (or at least retitling this one.) My new/renamed blog would be called Weird Places I, Danielle L Renckly, Fell Asleep and Also Why Does My Hall Have So Many Damn Fire Drills?

It's a working title. 

But seriously. Those two things combined basically comprise my entire life at college so far this year. For one, the sleeping in weird places should really not be an issue. I have a single dorm and two sets of furniture. Two beds, two chairs, four perfectly good places to nap!  

Apparently, whatever instinct controls my sleeping habits would beg to differ. A list of the places I have fallen asleep in the last two weeks is as followed: 

the floor, the floor, the floor again, the shower, the floor, under my bed, the floor, the floor, the shower again, the floor, inside a box, the floor, the floor and, oh guess what? THE FREAKING FLOOR. 

For some reason, I keep waking up on the floor of my dorm. Sometimes I'll wake up on the floor and not remember how I got there. 

You know, this all plays pretty well into my "I'm secretly a werewolf" theory. 

But, moving on to the fire drill thing. I've been at school for about a month now. Four weeks. Not that long. In that time, my stupid building has been through four fire drills. That is literally a drill per week. Not, of course, that they've been spaced out that nicely. No, they happen without warning at the most inopportune times. Like at midnight. Or when it's storming in a torrential fashion. Or when I was very busy watching the Vampire Diaries, thank you very much! 

Stupid college. 

Speaking of stupid college, I had a test in Sociology today. 

It did not go well.

 Have you ever read something that was in English, or whatever language you happen to speak natively, and have just not understood it? Like even a little bit? 

That had never happened to me before this morning. And let me tell you...it was terrible. Awful. I almost cried. I was taking my exam and I looked at the first question and I...

I...

I DIDN'T GET IT. 

It said something along the lines of "looking from the perspective of Muller's theory on differential association, how does the ruling class assure its hegemony through constructing and diffusing a proper ideology of crime?" 

Ummmm...yes? 

 Is this what stupid people feel like all the time? IS IT? 

I feel like I'm in Latin/Spanish/Math class all over again. I hate being not awesome at things. 

And with that improper segue...(spelled that word right on the first try, I did) 

I'm currently in mourning. I've had a dear friend fall gravely ill. And by dear friend I mean my macbook and by gravely ill I mean it decided that it wanted to stop turning on. 

My computer is quite the hipster. Apparently, working when I needed it to work was too mainstream. Now, I'm stuck doing all my homework/facebook stalking/blog typing on a computer in the library. When I am struck with my own hilariousness and start to laugh like a moron, the people all stare at me.

Peasants. They're all jealous of my overwhelming awesomeness.

But, seriously...I know nothing at all about computers. I know that they're the special magic boxes that let me watch my shows and type my snark-tastic blogs, but that's pretty much it. So, my attempts to fix my lovely macbook began and ended at hitting it, yelling at it and then cussing it out. 

So, I'm probably going to need to contact a professional. 

I'm gonna go stand outside the library and stop the first dweeb in a Doctor Who shirt. Sound plan, I think. 

I'll let you know how it all pans out.

Hell is Other People (And Big Feet)

Hey there...Danielle in Sociology class here.

I'm so bored. So, the other day my biology professor just said that there's "no way to escape learning." For one, that sounds rather frightening. Are you going to hunt me down and force me to read a textbook at gunpoint?

 "You will learn, defiant student!" 

"No, no, please! Anything but that! Anything but learning!" 

"Learn or I shoot!" 

"Give me ignorance or give me death!"

 Two, I so totally can. Haha, I defy you, biology professor! I should be listening to the lecture...instead I'm writing a devilishly amusing blog! Learning, ha...school is for chumps.

So...my ongoing quest for college-friends has hit another tiny bump. This bump, unlike the others, is not due to my undeserved sense of superiority or my unwillingness to ever leave my room. This bump is made entirely of social awkwardness. And also feet. 

It happened this morning. I was on my way to class, listening to my music, just as chill as you please. I was like a normal human for five seconds almost. Then I tripped over my stupid feet. A boy who was walking near me glanced over and said something along the lines of "are you okay?" 

Now this is the point where most normal humans would nod and laugh or thank the kind stranger who had taken in interest in their present predicament. Not me. Nope. I will not settle for normal, comfortable social interaction. Instead I shouted the words, "Big Feet!" at him. 

Smooooth. 

I do have fairly large feet. They're size 12. My feet are not petite. When he looked confused and a little embarrassed, I decided to do the idiotic thing and keep talking. "I have big feet...I was, I was talking about my feet. They making walking a rather difficult endeavor." 

When he remained silent, I assumed that I should keep going. "Yeah...so I was talking about my feet. Not your feet. All thought, you know what they say about guys with big feet!" 

Once time travel is invented, I am using it to go back to that moment and shoot myself. I'm not kidding. 

Keep in mind, that I had headphones in for all of this so I was practically shouting these things. It was suuuuper. 

After an awkward half-bow half-curtsy deal, I scrambled up and used my big feet to get the hell out of there. So...that was my Tuesday.

Anyway, I've updated my blog. It's now DDB 2.0 (Danielle's Depressing Blog Two-Point-Oh). No gonna lie...it's pretty bitching. (I'm going to bring back the word bitching. I feel like it's going fairly well at this point.)

So...this school's temperatures are Dante's Inferno-themed today. My dorm room is literally the hottest place I have ever been. My Bio class is about the same temperature. But my sociology class decided that it was going to be different. My Bio class decided to be the ninth circle of hell today. For those of you not in the know, that means that my bio class (and the ninth circle of Danielle-hell) is really, really, really cold.

Also, Judas might be here. I don't know yet.

How am I supposed to dress for these ever-fluctuating temperatures? Wear short shorts and a parka? Snow pants and a tank top? 

Maybe the hipster I saw the other day with jeans, no shirt and a beanie had the right idea. Ha, as if. Hipsters never have the right idea. Expect being hit by buses. That's a right idea, all you hipsters out there. Think of the volume of people who get hit by buses. Not very high, right? Right. So, you'd be super un-mainstream. 

You're welcome, world. Thanks to me, Danielle L Renckly, there are no more hipsters. They were all hit by buses...and died. 

I should go...there are probably a dozen or so people left on campus who I haven't made uncomfortable yet. That needs to be remedied.

The Adventures of The Snark: The Sarcastic Crusader

Hey there, blog lovers. 

 

(That makes you all sound weird. Sorry.)

 

 

So...I'm bored. Once again, I am at work, failing to sell lawn mowers. Who cares? Lawn mowers are stupid. When the zombies rise up, no one is going to care about lawn mowers.

 

Though those really big ones with the giant blades would make pretty good weapons. Hmmm. This is an idea. Me with my lawn mower and maybe a machete of some kind. Suck it, zombies! I'm the white, female version of Will Smith! You'll never get me!

 

Ha, we know that's not true. I'd be dead after five minutes in a zombie apocalypse. Or I'd be the one to start the zombie apocalypse by inadvertently knocking over a vat of zombie-juice or something. I don't know. This example got unexpectedly long and rambling.

 

Still, using lawn mowers to kill zombies. My idea. If that pops up on The Walking Dead or in a crappy horror movie, I'm suing. Intellectual property and all that.

 

Anyway, I'm back up to Muncie next week. Back to the land of me having no friends and also an unfortunate abundance of majors. I'm Criminal Justice right now. I honestly have no idea how that happened or why I thought it was a good idea. My skill set of being snarky and lying on a couch watching The Vampire Diaries does not go well with a career in bringing justice to criminals.

 

Though I would like to be a superhero. I could wear a cape and call myself The Snark (again, intellectual property of Danielle L Renckly). Would I have a superpower? Nah...Batman doesn't have superpowers. And Batman is badass.

 

Evildoers beware the Sarcastic Crusader!

 

Yes. I'm going to get my criminal justice degree and somehow use it to become The Snark/female-Batman. I'll be the hero that the greater Indianapolis area deserves...but not the one that it needs.

 

Or maybe I'll just change my degree to glass blowing. Or have a nervous breakdown. All three are equally as likely at this point.

 

So, yeah. That's where I'm at right now.

 

Also, we're t-minus (or teeth-minus) 5 days to shark week.

 

I love shark week. I've covered it before here, but you really cannot understand my depth of affection for it. I'm not being hipster-y and ironic. I genuinely love shark week. I follow it on Twitter. (P.S. I got a twitter. Follow me!)

 

I don't know what it is. It's just the best week of the whole year. And thankfully I have a single dorm this year so I can watch my Shark Week in undisturbed peace.

 

 

Except for, you know, school and all that.

 

Anyway, I should go. These lawn mowers aren't going to not sell themselves. (Double negative! Ick...but whatever) Wait...wait just a second...these lawn mowers are going to not sell themselves!

 

Haha!

 

But really.

 

I should go. My boss keeps walking by and glaring at me. I keep doing cross-eyes at him though, so that might be part of it.

 

Sigh. I miss Hot warehouse boy Ethan.

 

Later.

 

-The Snark (aka, Danielle)

Tales from Fort Danielle

So…Danielle here.

Let’s admit it. I’ve been lax this summer. There have been no blogs. No blogs at all.

But, come on…lawn mowers don’t sell themselves (I, in fact, don’t do so well selling them either. That’s a thing lawn mowers and I have in common, apparently.)

But, I’m bored.

And I’m out of things to do again. Out of all the things. And now I have…let’s see…four and a half hours to kill. AND NOTHING TO KILL THEM WITH. I’ve worn out the sword that was busy work. I have done all the busy work. I am no longer busy.

This is TERRIBLE.

Four more days of work, people. 32 more hours (well, 36.5 hours if you count the rest of today.). 2,190 more minutes to kill.

DIE, MINUTES DIE!

Well, I suppose I could go ask my supervisor if she has anything else for me to do…

Nah. I’ll probably just take some old invoices and make more paper airplanes. I’ve gotten rather good at paper airplanes this summer.

In fact, my paper airplanes are bitchin.

So, be jealous. I’ve wasted my whole summer and only got a lot of money and bitchin paper airplanes out of it.

So, moving on to some unfortunate tidings.

I’ve had to decommission Fort Danielle.

It was a sad day. Hot warehouse boy named Ethan went back to Illinois to be with his fiancée (she’s ugly. I bet she’s ugly).

See, Hot warehouse boy named Ethan was really the whole reason Fort Danielle came to exist. See, I saw hot warehouse boy named Ethan and hid in the top part of the warehouse to watch him and his sexy, sexy self. As the days passed, I created a fort with boxes, broken file cainets and an unused go-kart. It had a chair and a box for foot-resting and a peep hole for Ethan-stalking.

It was a dream. A beautiful, impossible dream.

Ethan thought my name was Jennifer. Seriously. Like, the first day we met he waved and said "See you tomorrow, Jennifer!" I was so amazed that he acknowledged me that I kinda didn't bother correcting him on the whole my-name-is-Danielle-not-

Jennifer bit.

And they say it's not good manners to correct your future husband anyway. So, it kinda spiraled out of control from there. I would go out of my way to keep people from addressing me as Danielle (you know, my name) in front of hot warehouse boy Ethan.

It got real complicated real fast.

I would have changed my name to Jennifer if we got married. Seriously. And I don't even like that name.

Anyway. Ethan's gone now, back in Illinois with his one-eyed, acne-faced finacee. So I no longer have to fear my name. I was thinking about pulling a Voldemort. Going by an intimidating moniker. She-who-should-not-be-poked or something. I dunno.

God, I'm tired. This job requires like an hour of driving to get to and the day starts at 8 for me, so I have to wake up at 6. It's like high school. Only with lawn mowers.

I fell asleep at my desk the other day. I mean, I doze sometimes, but this was hardcore sleeping. I was out. I may have snored. I don't know. I did drool. I know because the expense reports I was supposed to be filing were sticking to my face.

Anyway, my least favorite office mate walked by my office. I sprang up from the desk and shouted "I HAVE A HEADACHE!" in my best project-around-the-whole-

auditorium voice from high school. 

My whole office was actuely, painfully aware that I, Danielle L Renckly, had a headache, dammit. I was not going to stand for this. I was going to shout about it and make sure eveyone else had a headache too.

Thing is, I didn't have a headache. My head felt fine. My head was awesome. I have no idea why my subconcious mind thought the best thing to shout at that particular moment was "I have a headache!"

It's okay if you don't understand. I don't and neither did the rest of my office. For the rest of the day, they all treated me like a bomb that might shout mean words at them if they looked at me funny. They don't seem to realize I'm like that all of the time.

Anyway, I should. This blog has sucessfully managed to gobble a half hour of my life.

36 left.

...I could write 72 more blogs...

No.

No.

Be strong.

Okay.

Jennifer...ahem...Danielle Out.

Summer Blog 1: To Hell (or New Mexico) and Back Again

Okay....

 

So, I wasn't planning on writing any blogs this summer. I thought I'd just do a blog-haitus until school starts again. With an awesome internship and a vacation to California on the way, what did I even have to complain about? Plus, I wanted to be a network tv show...not a soap opera.

 

Turns out my life is soapier than I dare admit.

 

I just got back from what has to be the stupidest series of events that have ever happened on a vacation. Seriously, the National Lampoon Family has nothing on me right now.

 

First, our car ride there was the worst thing ever. At one point, I was convinced that we'd slipped out of New Mexico and into Hell. So, in other words, we stayed in New Mexico (thereby implying that New Mexico is hell. Bam. Joke landed.) The ride was supposed to take us 28 hours. It took us 38. Imagine 38 hours in a cargo van with seven other people who you don't particularly like all that much.

 

New Mexico. 

It was terrrible.

 

Next, I blew up my thumb. Like, not blew up like a balloon. Blew up like a damn explosion. Long story short, my uncle makes model airplanes. Like, the big ones that apparently require stupidly huge batteries. I was sitting at a table and I saw some wires. I didn't know what they were attached to nor did I really care to find out. I was bored, so I started sticking them into each other.

 

Turns out you shouldn't randomly stick black and red wires together. Beacuse they'll freaking explode.

 

I saw the fire (because there was some. And sparks. And smoke.) and I was convinced that I was straight-up going to die. I said my prayers, I was ready to go. It was the end. I had accepted it.

 

Then the fire stopped and I started to laugh because I was alive. But I also started to cry because I was terrified and my thumb freaking hurt. So, I was laughing and crying at the same time. My sister informed me that she had never been so scared of another human before.

 

So many emotions.

 

Anyway, I'd like to propose that we change the proverb from "Curiosity killed the cat" into 'Being stupid almost killed the teenage girl with 1/4 of a college degree."

My war wound. I deserve a medal. And a higher-cut shirt. 

 

We weren't even to California yet.

 

Once we got there, things got stupider.

 

For one, I decided that sunscreen was for wimps. Forget the fact that I haven't been outside for longer than twenty minutes at a time in the last six years. Yeah, that's not even a little bit important.

 

Except it totally is and, as someone who could probably pass for albino, when you don't wear sunscreen, you end up  looking less tan and more like a burn victim. All of my skin peeled off.

An anonymous burn victim. 

 

And you thought I couldn't get any more a-peeling. Ha.

 

I amuse myself.

 

Anyway, I'll skip a few of the stupid things that happened (they include my siblings informing a lifeguard that they had seen a shark, maybe, and siblings breaking my new headphones and me crying about it). Because I really need to tell you what happened at Disneyland.

 

Someone stole my new iphone. At the happiest place on earth.

 

Only me. Only me and my stupid life would get an iphone stolen on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland. I never liked you, Harrison Ford, what with your stupid hair and action-hero physique.

 

I never even got to download the app that makes gun noises.

 

It's okay. I'll just shoot y'all with this real one I picked up in Texas. 

I would have used it for good and not evil, I promise.

 

But now I have to use my money made at my stupid job selling lawnmowers to buy a new stupid phone that won't be as nice as my last one.

 

Anyway, that was my vacation. It was stupid. Like my life.

 

Danielle Out.

 

Me and my stolen phone flitting around

 and being vain in happier times. 

 

Day 253 of College: Backpacking for Beginners

Today...


Today was stupid. It was just a series of events that were straight-up ridiculous. 


It started in the morning. I woke up, went to my first class and took a test. That was all fine. But, after that, I had to sign up for classes. 


What you have to understand about college classes is that getting registered in the classes you actually want to take is rather challenging. 


And stupid. 


I had a time slot when I was allowed to sign up. That time slot happened to be during my anthropology class. I tried to be all sneaky-like and sign up for classes instead of listening to the lecture. 


Except that my computer is a tool and didn't seem to feel like letting me sign up for classes. After some loud sighs and furious clicking, I just walked out. People stared. 


I really wanted to get into a walking class, you see. Ball State students have to take a physical education requirement. I was determined that mine be walking. Not running, not jogging...walking. 


I'd take crawling if they offered it. 


Anyhow, I went to the library and found a computer that worked. The working computer informed me that no, I couldn't sign up for classes because I owed five dollars to the university. 


Really, Ball State? The small fortune you've already stolen from me wasn't enough? You need five more dollars? Okay then. 


But, wait...you don't take credit cards? 


I had to backpack-run back to my dorm and find my emergency money so I could pay a five dollar fine and sign up for walking. 


I make fun of the kids who backpack-run (that's running...when you have a backpack on). They look incredibly stupid. 


I had to backpack-run across campus. Twice. 


Who looks stupid now? ... Yeah. It's this girl. 


So...that was my day. 


Also, I'm pretty positive I'm going to fail my economics class. 


I got an A on the first test so I was all "Oh yeah, I got this. No more paying attention in lectures for me. I'm an economic genius!!!" 


That was a false statement. I am no economics genius. The first test was just easy. So now I have to learn a whole semester's worth of economics before the final next week. 


I'm gonna need a bigger dorm room. 


Oh! And speaking of dorm rooms...I have a single next year! Huzzah! I will never have to talk to anyone ever again! Agoraphobia!!! 


But not really. I'm assuming someone will try to talk to me in walking class. I did, in fact, get in. 


And who wouldn't want to socialize with me and also walk? 


It's a win-win-win-win-win-win. Win. 


Danielle OUT. 


...win. 

Day 246 of College: Haikus and Momentus Occasions

Today...


Happy 50th, people! 50th blog post, that is! This is the part where people usually thank their fans and whatnot. I will not be doing that. I think we all know that I would still write these whether people read them or not. 


In honor of this momentus day, a haiku: 

Who would have thought

Writing about depression

Could make you happy

And because that was fun, a second haiku:

Fifty is a number

Fifty blogs I have written

My life is the worst

Oh, poetry. You bring me so much undeserved joy. 


Anyway, back to the 50th blog festivities! 


I've been having an oddly southern day. You're probably asking your computer screen, "But Danielle, what is a 'southern day?' Oh please enlighten us, great and very attractive one!!" 


Firstly, thank you. I am very attractive. 


Secondly, a southern day is a day when my inner-monologue sounds like it's from Louisiana. Seriously...it's weird and I don't know where it's coming from. 


But, let's take a look at a paper I wrote for english today. The teacher said 'participation points' and I got freaking excited. Whenever participation is a criteria, I turn into one sarcastic little bi-otch. Also, my southern-ness managed to creep in there. 


Just...for example, here's a bit of my paper: 

      " ...Woe is me! What am I supposed to write about now? Drinking ice tea and headin on down to the bayou? Is that what you want? Fricken fine then. I'll go down to the bayou and fish for some catfish and we'll all be happy dandy won't we?" 

Keep in mind...that's beginning of the fourth paragraph. The finished paper had twelve paragraphs. I won't read them for you.

The last few were oddly emotional. 

Anyway. I have t-minus 17 days until I'm out of here! Woo! Then I get to work...every day...for eight hours...

I rescind my woo. 

Moving on...I'm already dreading my 8am math class and it's only three in the afternoon. I just hate it so much. It's so boring. 

I do lots of stuff in that class. Let's make a list, shall we? It's the 50th blog! We've already used italics...let's get crazy!

Things Danielle Does in Math Class

1. Draws stick figures
2. Stares distractedly at the (broken) clock
3. Contemplates the meaning of life
4. Writes "Math is the worst" all over notebooks, folders, binder, ect.
5. Draws sharks all over the desk. In pen. 
6. Throws erasers at the hipster kid
7. Not listen
8. Any conceivable thing that isn't math

So, there's that. And speaking of things you should do but really haven't...have you liked me on Facebook? You haven't? Not ready for out relationship to be FBO yet? (P.S. FBO means facebook official. Google it, bitch.) Well as a proud southern woman...never mind. 

Just, like me. Do that. Also, leave me comments. They make me happy. Also, I am staggeringly needy. We know this. This has been established. So like me on Facebook and leave me comments. And then I will be so happy I may never write a depressing blog again! 

But I totally will. 

Happy 50th, people!!!

Danielle OUT. 

Day 240 of College: Bathroom Lunchables

Today...

is a Thursday. Happy Thursday, blog readers! 

No, but seriously...that's the most exciting thing about this particular day. That it's a Thursday. 

Meh. 

I'm feeling increasingly apathetic about classes, homework, tests, ect. School in general, really. Never fear, though. I only have 23 days of college left! 

(this year, I mean)

I've been wondering...how shall I count days when I'm no longer at school? Like, this summer will I type "Day 1 of Summer?" But now I feel like all this college-day-counting was a big ole waste of time. 

Hmmm. This is something I must ponder for a while. 

So, anyway. I've recently discovered that they sell pizza lunchables in the basement of the dorm where I live. This is FANTASTIC news. So, for about the past week I've eaten little to nothing beside pizza lunchables. Oh, and leftover easter candy.

Health food! 

I'm going to have to buy more pizza lunchables this summer and somehow hide them from my hordes of siblings. 

I plan on bringing them to eat at my job so I feel all grown-up. 

Oh! Right...I haven't informed you avid blog readers about my summer employment yet! Well, in case you care (and even if you don't), I'm interning this summer at an office-type shindig. It's awesome because I can put in on my resume and make lots of money and whatnot. It's not awesome because it has real-person-job-hours. I'm working 8 to 4...every single day. 

It's like school...but I get paid twelve dollars an hour.

I'm thinking the benefits outweigh the whole working-eight-hours thing. Also, I get a lunch break. Where I can eat my pizza lunchables. 

If you can't tell, I haven't eaten yet today. So, I'm kind of fixated on this whole lunch thing. Because I'm hungry. And I want lunch. Preferably a pizza-lunchable kind of lunch.

Or any kind of lunch really. I am many things...picky is not one of them. 

So...speaking of food, I saw some girl eating Chick-Fil-A in the bathroom yesterday. It brought back memories of my junior high years. So, that was fun. And weird. Mostly weird. 

I wanted to ask her why she was eating in the bathroom. In high school or junior high, it kinda makes sense. You have to eat at a certain place at a certain time and if you don't have any friends, it can get majorly uncomfortable.

But in college, most people have houses and/or dorms. So, you can bring your food back to the place you live and eat it there. And what's more, no one is forcing you to eat at, like, a certain place or time. I could go eat some Chick-Fil-A right now! Because I'm an adult! Free to make my own choices, what what! 

But, I digress. If homegirl wants to eat in the bathroom...whatever. I'm not gonna judge. 

I'm just going to write about her on my blog. 

Danielle OUT.