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 150 of College: The Diamond Half-Wall

Today...


I just drank a venti coffee thing from Starbucks. For those of you not, like, in the know with Starbucks-lingo, the venti is the big one. The REALLY BIG ONE. THE UNGODLY BIG ONE. Seriously, my hands are twitching weirdly while I type. It's sort of interesting but also terrifying. I'm one of those people who just shouldn't drink coffee. I get shouty and weird (well, weirder) when I have caffeine inside of me. 


It's how I imagine most people feel when they snort cocaine. 


Or get electrocuted. 


Moving on...I have a problem with Ball State right now. A problem that doesn't involve my major or my shitty dorm or any of the usual things. NONE OF THE THINGS. 


My problem...is with a half-wall. 


Lemme tell you some things are this half-wall. It's right outside of the library, it's maybe five-feet tall at its highest and it HAS NO FEASIBLE PURPOSE WHATSOEVER. 


That in itself would be annoying enough, but wait! There's more! Not only is this half-wall idiotic...it took them an ENTIRE SEMESTER to build. So...it takes close to SIX MONTHS to build a half-wall? Really? 


I think not, construction gods. 


If you don't actually go to Ball State...my half wall ranting might seem a bit groundless. It's not, I tell you! There are perfectly good reasons to hate that freaking half-wall. 


1. Why is it even there? It doesn't surround anything. It's not protecting anything. It's just a diminutive wall that's sitting by the side of the library and being more useless than nipples on a male cat. 


2. Why did you have to build it during the school year? The entire student body had to manuever around your stupid half-wall construction site for SIX MONTHS. Couldn't you wait until summer to build it? Or maybe go all Extreme Home Makeover on its ass and finish it over winter break. 


3. Why a half-wall? Why not just a regular wall for all the freaking time you spent on it? 


4. Knowing Ball State, they probably built this wall in the most cost-ineffective way possible. They probably hired male models to build it instead of actual construction workers. The foundation is probably made of elephant tusks. It's not made of bricks. It's made out of FREAKING BRICK-COLORED DIAMONDS, RIGHT BALL STATE? Education Redefined...try Education ROB YOU BLIND. 


He. That was clever. 


5. My entire tuition...all four years of it, will probably go to pay for that half-wall. 


Isn't that just depressing?


Danielle OUT. 

Day Thirty-Five of College: Tattoos and Gibberish

Today...


The math behind these blogs is getting rather difficult. You know, I have to figure out when I wrote the last one and then figure out what day it is today and then add on days so its accurate. Oh, the things I do for all seven or so of my loyal readers. (Then again, I write these more out of self-pity than anything else.)


Moving on. So far, college has prompted me to make one life-altering decision. I'm never, ever, ever, ever getting a tattoo. Seriously. Every trampy girl here has a tattoo. A lot of the non-trampy ones do to, but...the trampy ones are winning on that front. I swear, I have never seen more chinese characters or different languages inked on people's skin. It's like a freaking mutli-culti ink-fest up in here. If you speak that language, then it's one thing. Then it's sort of okay...because at least you know what it says. But, seriously, if I was a tattoo artist, I'd just write curse words on people. Or the word "fish" over and over and over again. And then I'd laugh about it. 


How do you says "You're a total idiot" in Chinese? Cause I think the girl sitting next to me has it written on her freaking arm. Oh, and how do you say "If you can read this, punch me in the face" in Hungarian because I swear to God, there is a girl in my Journalism class who has it inked all over her neck. 


It makes you wonder...do people in other countries have random English words all over their bodies? Can't you you just imagine the chinese guy in a circle with all of his friends, proudly displaying his new tattoo? 
      "D-O-U-C-H-E-B-A-G." Then he'd nod all cool-like. "Yeah, it means 'courage' in English." 
Sure it does, foreign boy. Sure it does. 


So, seriously, before you get a tattoo, something that will be on your skin FOR ALL OF TIME, please, check on Google Translator and make sure that it says what you think it says. Or, crazy idea here, but bear with me, maybe you could get a tattoo in a language you ACTUALLY KNOW. 


Unless it's a tattoo based on the Twilight book series. Then, you get it in whatever made-up language you want. Because maybe it will keep people from finding out YOU GOT A TWILIGHT TATTOO. I've seen them...they're real, I swear. You know the girl with Hungarian on her neck? Yeah, she's got "and so the lion fell in love with the lamb" inked up on her lower back. There's also a picture of a lion. And a picture of a lamb. In case the words alone weren't enough for us. 


Good Lord, some people are dumb. Seriously, how did you get into college? Oh, wait, I forgot. 


This is Ball State. 


Right. 


Now everything makes a lot more sense. 


Danielle Out.