A Missive from the Executive Director of Stir Fry Affairs

Well, hi there. It's been awhile, hasn't it?

Things have happened, guys. So many things. 

The most relevant of those things is that I've started a new class that's really boring with a really boring professor whose only redeemable factor is that he allows me to have my computer while he drones on about criminal justice whatnot. Hence the back-from-the-dead blog. 

But, no. Seriously. I've had things going on. So many irons in fire. So many. 

I got a job. So...that's a thing. I'm in charge of all things stir fry from 4:30 to 8:30 every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday down at Elliot dining. I also do dishes sometimes, but I'm more focused on the stir fry thing. I love cooking stir fry. I'm awesome and fantastic at it. 

I made up a job title for myself. I am a stir fry artist. Or the executive director of stir fry affairs. Not gonna lie...my boss does not appreciate these titles as much as he should. Mostly he looks tired and rolls his eyes. I'm great. I don't know what his problem is.  

I'm also in three online classes this semester. It allows me to bring my procrastination to impressive new levels. I can do all my classwork in my batman footie pajamas while watching cartoons and eating grilled cheese. 

You should all be jealous of my totally awesome life choices. 

Speaking of awesome life choices, I accidentally went waaaaaaaay over my data plan with my cellphone so...now I owe the phone company like 800 dollars. I would just like to say that this is totally not my fault. Ball State's wifi apparently has an aversion to, I don't know, actually working. So all of my awesome music listening is now threatening to bankrupt me. 

I mean, like, more than I've already been bankrupted. 

Lucky thing I have a job. 

I mean, I only got the job to buy myself a new computer. (FYI, I did buy a new computer. And it's awesome. I've played so many games on it. All the games.) But now it seems like my job will do what most other people's jobs do. You know, pay for my food and my rent and stuff. Ick. I hate being a vaguely responsible adult. 

My professor is off on a tangent about both kings and antibiotics. I...did not know those things overlapped, historically speaking. I also have no idea what it has to do with criminal justice. 

But I digress. I kind of haven't been paying even a little bit of attention. Like, I've been the opposite of paying attention. I've been actively trying not to absorb the information being presented. Kind of like I do when someone tries to explain a sport to me. 

I have literally no clue what goes on in any sort of sports game...tournament...thing. And I am proud of that. That is a point of pride for me. 

Moving on...

I turn 21 next month. And we all know what that means....

I can legally apply for a marriage licene in Mississippi without parental consent!!!

Wooo!!!

There's also the drinking and gambling bit, but I'm less excited about that. Drinking and gambling are things that require you to leave your totally awesome apartment and interact with society. And that's not cool, bro. 

Society sucks. 

Trust me on this, I'm a professional. I'm almost done with a sociology degree. Legit. One class left and then I can go and do whatever it is someone with a bachelor's degree in sociology does. 

Be unemployed? 

Continue to make stir fry? 

I wouldn't complain. I like making stir fry. I am the executive director of stir fry affairs.

Wow. Class is almost over. 

I probably should have payed attention. 

Alas, it is too late. And we should not regret the things we cannot change. Gandhi said that. Or something like that.

Probably. 

I should go. (hehe) 

Day 218 of College: Near Misses and Nervous Breakdowns

Today...


A swarm of vicious wood bees almost killed me. It was thisclose. 


For those of you not in the know, wood bees are the huge black ones that are approximately the size and shape of my big toe the time that I dropped my laptop on it. 


I don't understand how they fly. I really, really don't. 


My problem with wood bees aside, I have had a very odd week. It's just been all-around weird. 


We'll start with this weekend, shall we? We shall and you get no say in it. Ha. 


Anyway, I went to Cinciatti this weekend (yes, I know I misspelled that. Google Chrome had informed me.). While in Sinsenatty (at this point I'm juts being a smart ass) I visited Ikea. 


My mind was blown. 


If there's ever an zombie apocolypse, I'm headed straight for Ikea. There's enough food/couches there to feed/sit an army. Despite my Ides of March resolution not to spend any more loan money on stupid stuff, I bought a whole ton of stupid stuff. 


Those purchases included but were not limited to a pair of shark-flops (flip-flops with sharks on them), a tiny little wooden man and an aloe vera plant that I named Vladimir Putin. 


...I can spell Vladimir Putin right on the first try, but not Cincinattii. Mine is an odd sort of mind. 


Anyhow, it turned out that my Ikea escapades were just, like, a set up for the wackiness that would ensue in the rest of my Cincinatty trip. 


I would spend paragraphs upon paragraphs describing what led up to this particular incident, but I really don't think I can honestly justify it. 


I had a nervous breakdown. In the middle of a Ralph Lauren. 


I'm not kidding. 


I shouted at my shopping companions that they were "spending too much effing money" and that their Ralph Lauren clothes were "the stupidest things that I had ever seen." 


I almost threw a vase out the window. 


There was a lot of uncomfortable silence and staring in Ralph Lauren after I was through. Also, apparently, I've been saying Ralph Lauren wrong for my entire life. Lauren is not pronounced "Lauren." It's apparently pronounced Ralph Lau-REN. There's a straight-up nonsensical emphasis on the REN. 


Of all the douche-baggery in all the malls of all the worlds...Ralph Lau-REN is the freaking worst. 


Hold me back. I may just burn down a country club. 


I hear buzzing...


...the end is nigh. The wood bees have found my super-secret hiding place. 


Danielle OUT