A Danielle by Any Other Name...

So I found out last night that all of the football players who I so kindly made stir fry for all year think my name is Jess. 

Jess? Really guys? I THOUGHT WHAT WE HAD WAS SPECIAL! I have cooked you dinner, like, a hundred times and you don't even know my name. My feelings...are so hurt right now. 

Not actually. 

Because it's not like I even kind of know any of their names. I know them by their orders. Oh, that guy? Sure I know that guy! That's beef, teryaki sauce, no veggies and white rice guy! And him? Oh, he's all three meats with General Tso's and noodles! 

But it was kind of funny, because when I told them my name wasn't Jess they were all surprisingly distressed about it. They made me tell them what my name started with so they could guess what it was. 

They guessed several very outlandish words that started with D before I took pity on them and told them my name. 

They got through Diamond, Dave and something that sounded vaguely like Dorkle before guessing Danielle. 

I kind of wanted to say yes to Diamond, though. Diamond is a kickass name. I would be really okay with someone thinking my name was Diamond. 

It's better than stupid Jess. 

In other news about my name and my job, everyone there has slowly but surely taken to calling me Dani. I'd just like to point out that I never asked them to call me Dani. I never referred to myself as Dani. The word Dani has never come out of my mouth other than following the words "Don't call me..." 

I have no clue why it's happing. 

And I don't know how I feel about it? 

I mean, I have always disliked the name Danielle. The name Danielle is stupid. I'd go by my middle name if I could, but my middle name is even stupider. 

So...Dani is a thing that's happening? I guess? We can see where it goes? 

In other news, I'm judging a speech meet this weekend. It sucks because I have to wake up early. Like, insanely early. Like, early as in "I usually go to bed like an hour after this" early. Whatever. It's worth it though because it gives me, just, an insane amount of power over a group of high schoolers. 

With a stroke of my mighty judging pen, I get to decide if their day is good or terrible. I am the decider of things and scores and whatnot! 

I'm quite excited, guys. It almost makes up for the insane earliness that I am being forced to deal with. I might just not sleep. I do that with alarming regularity. 

I like to claim I'm an insomniac. What I really am is a person with incredibly poor decision-making skills. 

Look at my track record. Look at all of my majors. 

There really is no arguing with those kinds of results, guys. Or, I mean, there could be arguing but it would be really futile and useless and blah blah blah. 

Speaking of lack of sleep things, I had a midterm essay due this morning. I'd like to claim that the account of me writing the essay that follows is due to the fact that I forgot about it or something, but that would be a lie. 

I didn't forget. I was super aware of the fact that I had a midterm essay due for several days beforehand. But because I'm a moron, I didn't start until two in the morning, like, eight hours before it was due. 

Professors really need to stop referring to assignments as things I "can't finish the night before." Some part of my special-snowflake-Danielle-brand of crazy takes that as a challenge. Don't underestimate me, professors. I once wrote a twenty page research paper the night before it was due. 

I'm impressive in the worst possible way. 

Honestly, my grades on my slapdash awful papers are usually pretty good. Better than grades people who actually spend time on their assignments and, I don't know, try. 

Imagine what I could do if I spent more time on my assignments. If I started actually writing rough drafts and editing...I might actually be able to take over the world, guys. 

But, then again, there are some pretty interesting documentaries about sharks I've been meaning to watch...

So I should probably do that before I get on with my world domination. 

You know. Priorities. 

Bars are Weird, Casinos are Depressing and So Am I

Guys, this weekend was weird. 

I turned 21. Went to bars. Drank alcoholic beverages. 

Refused to dance beyond awkward hand motions. 

You know, the usual. 

So, I accidentally hit my friend in the head with my, admittedly rather large, nose. It was pretty hard. There was blood involved. Coming from my nose, not her head. My nose is large, not sharp. 

Anyway. 

I didn't actually drink that much, for turning 21 and all. I'm kind of super lame when I'm drunk too. Mostly I wanted to go home and take a nap, but that is kind of my default setting so no one was actually surprised. 

I get really weirdly pretentious, too. I kept quoting Oscar Wilde for some reason and talking about obscure bands. I don't know. I just wanted to let everyone else know I was better than them. Because of this, I sang really loud when songs I knew were on. I also sang really loud when songs I did not know were on. 

Also, I was really cold, but refused to wear a coat because I didn't want anything obstructing the view of my very sparkly shirt. 

It was real sparkly, guys. Fishing lure sparkly. Intense amounts of sparkle. 

And for some reason, I kept calling everyone dude. I don't know why. I really, really don't. 

So, you know...shenanigans. 

But the fun doesn't stop there, oh no it does not. The drunk Danielle fun train is just leaving the station. Lots of embarrassing stops coming up, folks. 

I'm going to tell you something and you're going to think I'm lying, but I'm really not. 

A midget hit on me. And I ran away. 

And before you yell at me, I mostly ran away because a boy was talking to me. Not because he was a midget, specifically. And look, I know that "midget" is probably not the most politically correct term or whatever. But if I'm being honest here, "little people" seems way more offensive than midget. Little people is what my mom calls her kindergarteners. 

But back to my story. I was hit on. By a little person midget whatever. It wouldn't be all that extraordinary, but he was literally the only guy who hit on me. All night. Have I just been looking in the wrong niche or something? Am I, like, just attractive to midget little people whatevers? 

This is going to require some soul searching. Also, some more trips to bars in the name of scientific inquiry. 

I am nothing if not respectful of the scientific method. 

Speaking of things that are weirdly sad and smell like smoke, I went to a casino! 

It was super depressing, guys. Incredibly depressing. Depressing all around. Most of the people there were old or looked old because their skin had been exposed to lots and lots of cigarette smoke. 

It was a hotbed of sin and debauchery, let me tell you. 

I spent thirty dollars. 

And won nothing. 

I also learned that I suck at blackjack. Did you know blackjack was a thing you could, like, hardcore suck at? I so did. It was really sad. Took me like five minutes to lose twenty bucks.

My favorite machine was an under-the-sea-themed slot machine. There were sea turtles and it make a do-do-do-do sound whenever I bet anything. 

It was all very exciting.

Until I lost thirty dollars and realized that my juice would have to be store-brand this month. That shit is just unacceptable. It is either watered down or way too sugary.  

Ugh...my life. Is so. Difficult. 

I should go. I have homework that I didn't do because I was busy quoting The Picture of Dorian Gray in a bar and singing the National and Frightened Rabbit songs over Ke$ha. Loudly. 

I'm real cool guys. I so don't blame that midget for hitting on me. 

Later. 

Juice, Polygamy, Screenplays and Appletinis

Sup.

It's a Thursday. It's cold outside.

So, you know, the usual things are happening. Bad weather, day that ends in y...check marks all around.

But, I turned 21 this week. So that is an exciting thing that happened. I drank some appletinis and bought some beer even though I really hate beer. So...I have that now. I'm not going to drink it, because it is twelve kinds of nasty, but I have it. And I am legally allowed to have it.

So suck on that, everyone younger than me. I might be likely to die sooner than you, but I have beer! Legally!

Right now I'm awkwardly lingering in a Starbucks trying to kill the forty minutes or so I have between classes and work. I figured it was write a blog or work on a screenplay, so...

Oh, you think I don't have a screenplay?

You're right. I don't have a screenplay. I have, like, a dozen of them.

But anyway, I wrote a pretty fabulous paper on polygamy the other day. And by pretty fabulous, I mean that halfway through, it turned into a self-righteous rant about how it was Perfectly Fine to be single and about how other people shouldn't force their life choices on me, oh my god Mom get off my case.

Yeah...

I probably should have rewritten it, but I didn't start it until two in the morning the night before. So really I'm just lucky I wrote anything at all. It was a bit of of a mess though, I'm not gonna lie. I think at one point I combined, like, three different sociologists into one mega-sociologist.

It worked for the Power Rangers. Why not sociologists?

I'll let you know about my grade. I wonder if it's possible to give someone a negative score for an assignment.

Anyway...time for a story.

Before I tell this story, vosotros need to understand something. I have a weirdly intense, probably majorly unhealthy, love of fruit juice. Two particular types, apple and cran-grape, stand above the rest. If I don't have a bottle of each in my fridge, my mental state is less than ideal.

I honestly think I might be a little bit cripplingly dependent on cran-grape and apple juice. They are literally the only items on my grocery list that I buy name-brand. I have money in my monthly budget set aside for juice-items.

My first alcoholic beverage was an appletini because of the possibility it might taste like apple juice.

But back to my story!

So, I turned 21 Tuesday. I had a bottle of wine that I got from my parents for my birthday and I decided that I was going to open that sucker and have a glass. I'm 21, dammit. I do what I want.

Because I am a liquor novice, me and the bottle opener got into a bit of a tussle. And by bit of a tussle, I mean I threw it at my wall and now I have a hole in my wall shaped like a bottle opener. So I gave up on the bottle opener and used a knife to cut the cork in half like a really lame ninja or something. Unfortunately, that made the cork fall into the bottle.

So now I had a bottle of wine with bits of cork floating in it. It was really, really frustrating. I laid down on my kitchen floor for a while and my cat Commander Shepurred started chewing on my toes. I needed a place to put my stupid wine. And I had ruined the stupid cork.

But...what was that? And empty apple juice container in my fridge? What luck!

And it was lucky. Until this morning when I wanted a drink of apple juice. The wine was vaguely apple juice colored and I was tired enough that it passed. So I just took a big drink of of it. Of wine. That I thought was apple juice.

It was literally the worst thing that has very happened to anyone ever. I spit wine all over my kitchen.

I had to eat, like, half a dozen waffles to make myself feel better.

Anyway, in other news, the ladies at work have started to offer me rides home. Instead of being a normal human and saying something like "oh, no thanks," or, I don't know, accepting the rides so I don't have to walk a mile and a half to get home, I felt the need to explain why I hate accepting rides from other people and that my Danielle-brand of craziness that makes me unwilling, or let's beyond honest, actually physically unable to accept help from other people.

I just really hate depending on other people for things. For anything at all. A lot of me wants to get a medical degree so I'll never have to ask a doctor for help. I hate ordering things in the mail because it means depending on another person to deliver the things to me. I hate asking my landlord to fix things because it means admitting that I can't fix the things by myself.

I have problems.

Problems that require me to go now and not twenty minutes from now because I am too stubborn to take the bus.

The snow awaits.

One Does Not Simply Get an Internship

Yesterday I had to walk a mile and a half with cold mashed potatoes in my shoes. No, I have not pledged to some sort of strange fraternity or sorority or whatever. It's just another side effect of my lovely job. 

My paycheck is another side effect, but that one is one I actually, you know, like. 

So here's what happened. I was just chilling, doing my thing and putting dishes back. Then, some puny little high schooler tripped and dropped a plate of mashed potatoes on my shoes. 

I would just like to ask...

Why do you have an entire plate of mashed potatoes??? Are you a hobbit or something? An Irishman in the 1800s? An Irish hobbit? No one likes potatoes that much. They're awful and starchy and the ones at my work are not made from real potatoes, they're made from awkward potato flakes that come in a big box. 

The worst part was what the kid said afterwards. He just looked at me and went, "looks like you got potatoed." 

Potato is not a verb. It is not even sort of a verb. YOU CAN'T JUST MAKE UP WORDS LIKE THAT. SOCIETY HAS RULES FOR A REASON AND ONE OF THOSE RULES IS THAT YOU DON'T JUST MAKE UP WORDS LIKE THAT!!!!

It isn't a verb. 

I, he, she, we potato. 

Just...no. 

The worst part was walking home. I am too stubborn to take buses. I am too stubborn to accept rides. It's a character flaw. I'll admit it. 

And it led to me walking in squishy mashed potato shoes. Ugh. It was horrid. 

Speaking of things that are horrid...I have to talk to my internship coordinator this week. Here's the thing...I don't want to coordinate an internship. Last time I interned, I ended up hiding in a warehouse, stalking a hot boy and being renamed Jennifer. 

It was a weird time in my life. 

But, no. They're going to ask me what I want to do with my life. I don't know. I don't know what I want to do with my life. Um...finish my degree? I guess? I'm not actually all that interested in it? 

Yeah, this is going to go really well. 

And by really well, I mean I'm probably going to get yelled at. I hate getting yelled at. For whatever reason, people just seem to like yelling at me though. Do I just have one of those faces? One of those faces that you just want to yell at?

Ugh. I really don't know what to do here. My life is stupid and college is stupid and internships are stupid and I really don't want to sell lawn mowers again. 

I was so bad at it. 

I built a fort, hid in the warehouse and played games on my iphone. I did a terrible job. I can admit that. That's something I can admit now. I was the intern from hell or at least somewhere hell-adjacent. 

I don't want to inflict myself on anyone. 

I also don't want to leave my apartment. I like my apartment. There are waffles there and tea that I ordered from teavana and my best friend/xbox. 

Anyway, moving on from all of that bound-to-be-unpleasantness...more unpleasantness! 

There is supposed to be some sort of all-the-snow storm tonight. While I'm at work. And, because of my aforementioned refusal to take the bus or accept rides, I'm going to have to trek home in that. I DON'T WANT TO. I REALLY DON'T WANT TO. Also, I forgot my hat so my unnaturally small ears will be sad and cold. And sad. 

You know, once winter is over, I am going to have literally nothing to complain about. 

I should go. 

The snow awaits.