Take a Wok

Sup people. 

I'm incredibly bored. This is my last day in this class and it is still SO BORING. I was literally playing Pokemon on my 3DS until it died like a minute ago. The only reason I'm writing this blog because my primary way of procrastination has died. 

Wow. 

I'm almost done with this semester and I have put so little effort into literally everything. It's so sad. It's also sad that I am actually doing okay in like all of my classes. My lowest grade is a B. College is such a waste of time. 

I am so ready to be done with this whole college nonsense, people. Do I have plans after college? No. Do I care about that right now? I absolutely do not. Will I probably care about that in six months when I graduate? Most likely, yes, Yes I will.

But right now. Whatevs. What. Evs.

Other people annoy me. I'm in class right now and I'm just sitting here. Hating everyone. Look at them...paying attention and taking notes. Psh. Casuals. Playing life on easy difficulty I see, with your notes and your fancy shoes. 

Some of us like to do things the hard way, thank you very much. Some of us like to make things needlessly complicated. This isn't going well. I should give this metaphor up. This is not the hill I want to die on. 

Nothing is making sense right now. 

It might have to do with the, like, five hours of sleep that I got last night. I have a new game. I was busy playing it. It was Important.

But, no. Five hours of sleep. it's a thing that's happening. It's a think that's been happening every night for the last like two weeks since the game came out. Also, since I turned 11 and discovered the wonder of wasting time in the internet. 

I am not good at this whole "human" thing.

I either sleep way too much or too little.

I never do my homework or think about my future plans.

And today for breakfast, I had a candy cane and a juicebox.

Uuuuuuurrrrgggggghhhhhh,

I guess we should just be glad that I had breakfast, honestly. 

But, yeah. This is not news. We all know I make bad life choices. That is an accepted fact. Me and my bad choices, getting here five minutes late with starbucks. But the starbucks is actually apple juice and a candy cane because that is apparently how I roll.

Thanksgiving happened. Thanksgiving was good. I cooked stir fry in a wok because apparently I can cook anything so long as it is tangentially related to stir fry.

Ah, my job. Six more months at my job and I never have to be grudgingly polite to a member of a Ball State sports team ever again. 

Anyway. 

Finals week is coming up. I am not actually all the worried. The less preparation I put into something, the better it seems to go so...yeah. Studying isn't something that I am planning on doing, I'm not about that life.

This blog isn't making much sense or addressing anything of importance. If anything, it was kind of legitimately depressing, due to my lack of direction and healthy life choices.

Mkay. Class is over. I'm going to go find food, despite the fact that I left my wallet at home. 

This is going to be an adventure. 

The One True Elder Fish

This class, guys,

This claaaaaaasssss.

It is so boring. I've been in here for thirteen weeks. Three hours a week for thirteen weeks...that's like a lot of hours. 39 hours, according to the Google search I did just now.

I mean, I've only been in class for like 30 of those hours, but still. I've been in here longer than a full day and I have yet to learn like anything. I've learned that this professor is horrible and that negative learning is a thing that is possible.

I have lost knowledge in this class. It has had a negative impact on my brain.

It's bad too because I feel like this guys is legitimately trying to do well. If he was being lazy or whatever, I would feel perfectly okay sitting in my corner and resenting him. But I've come to realize that this is him trying his best.

So now I have to sit in my corner and feel awkward.

It's not all bad. There's a certain type of solidarity that you form with a room full of other people who have to endure a terrible professor with you. Like, I don't really talk all that much to the other people in my classes, but in this class you can just catch someone's eye and they'll nod at you with a look in their eye that says, "I understand, fellow student. This guy is the worst. This class is the worst. Let us suffer in silence together like the brave soldiers we are."

One of the guys in my class is literally a former solider. So he is really good at that look.

Ugh.

I just hate being here. Sad thing is, this is far from the first class I've had like this. In my three and a half years of college, I've had like three professors I legitimately liked, a lot I was more or less ambivalent about and then like at least a third who were just staggeringly incompetent.

(I'm aware I went from numbers to guesstimation to, like, fractions. Shut up, my school sucks.)

But, yeah. Ball State. Mediocrity redefined.

I'm thinking that after I graduate I might write them an angry letter and demand my money back. College has a thirty day money back guarantee, right? Or am I getting it confused with sweaters again? Yeah, I think the money back thing is about sweaters. Never mind.

Speaking of graduation, that is a thing that is happening soon. Like, that's about six months away. Then I am supposed to join the adult world. With, like, a job and things. And hey potential employers for sociology students who I know read my blog...I am totally available.

Seriously, though. I only have this degree because I kept changing majors, but also kept taking sociology electives. I realized this summer that the only way I would be able to graduate on time would be with a sociology degree.

So, now I have this degree almost?

And I have seriously no idea what I am supposed to do with it.

It's not like there are sociology shops on every corner. I can picture myself now, begging by the highway with a sign that says "WILL EXPLAIN SOCIOLOGICAL CONCEPTS FOR FOOD."

Errrruuuuugggghhhhh.

This class is still going on. I think that we've slipped into a black hole. Time has stopped. We've reached the event horizon.

I'm bored, I'm bored, I'm bored.

I went fishing this weekend. I'm aware that there was no transition there, but I couldn't come up with one and I wanted to talk about fishing.

So, fishing. Yes.

My dad was with me. He makes a big deal about all of the fish that we catch. It's very nice, especially for my little brother. But he makes an even bigger deal about the fish that we don't catch.

According to my father, every fish that we don't catch is roughly the size of malnourished elephant.

Like, if  we catch a fish he'll be all like, "wow! great catch, this fish is literally the biggest fish I've ever seen, excellent work everyone, we really came together as a team."

But if a fish gets away it's like, "too bad, that was the spawn of cthulu, the one true elder fish. the fish of legend and myth. forever we shall be haunted by the fishy glory that was almost ours this day!"

Yeah, my dad is great.

But, anyway. I am not skilled at fishing. I was not aware that there was any skill involved. But based on the results that I had, there is skill involved and I do not have it.

 I also do not really enjoy fishing. I mean, I've been fishing before, but not for the past couple of months. And I completely forgot how insanely boring it was.

This happens all of the time. I do something, think it's boring, stop doing it and forget about. But then a couple of months will pass, I'll forget about it and then I'll decide that I need to try again. It's a vicious cycle.

This has happened with knitting, drawing, playing piano and waking up early enough to curl my hair. And probably a lot of other things. We've established that my memory is not the most reliable thing.

This blog is fairly short. But class is over in like five minutes and I have important things to go do. Like more classwork for this stupid school. I am going to graduate. I don't care how stupid things get. I don't care what sort of insane shenanigans I have to put up with.

I will graduate and then never, ever come back to Muncie ever again.

Welcome to the Line Police

So I've been reading my old blogs lately. 

They really, really suck. I was terrible at writing and at attempting to be funny. Past Danielle is kind of a moron. A moron who spent too much money and left me in poverty. 

But, yeah. My old blogs. Are the worst. I mean, I'm not going to delete them because they're fascinating in a morbid and horrible kind of way. But, seriously. It is embarrassing to read them and think that, at one point, they were the product me actually trying my best. 

Ugh, past Danielle you financially irresponsibly moron. 

So I need to add a new part of my job title. 

In addition to being Danielle, stir fryer extraordinaire, I am now also Danielle, the line police. 

Let me explain. Yesterday at work, two of the football players came up at about the same time. I only had one skillet open. So, like the mature adults that they are, they both started bitching at me about being there first. I told them to figure it out themselves. I am a stir fry cook, not a line monitor. 

Five minutes later, they were still talking over each other and shoving like five-year-olds. It was stupid. 

I proposed rock-paper-scissors, but that was apparently too much of a game of chance. Eventually I just started cooking one of them and ignored the cries of dismay. 

It was so annoying! I don't get paid enough to stir fry, let alone to settle petty disputes among college aged people. And seriously, peeps, you can't decide who gets to go next?

You are supposed to be adults! You are supposed to be adults with at least some of a college education! My little brother who is six and terribly sarcastic has better manners than you! 

I got really, really angry. Like probably unreasonably angry. I may or may not have yelled that them that they were really pissing me off and they needed to act their age or leave. 

Customer service, oh yeah. 

But, no, it's been kind of simmering just under the surface for a while now, though. I've had to say the stupidest things during my work with the football players. A list for your perusal: 

"No, you can't touch that! It's raw meat, you idiot!" 

"Please stop dancing and take your food." 

"No, you can't touch that either! It will burn you!" 

"No, I'm not on the menu." 

"Yes the olive oil is extra virgin. Congratulations you got me to say virgin. Good job. Must be a quite an achievement for you." 

"I don't care if you're hungover, I can't make it cook faster." 

"I'm not going to take your order if you sing it at me," 

And that's just from, like, the last two weeks. I hate the football players. They suck. And are the worst. 

Ugh. 

But, outside of work everything is mostly fine. I'm still living off of ramen and canned vegetables, but I'm kind of getting used to it. You can make ramen fancier by adding vegetables. 

It's, like, poverty-shic. 

Today in my sociology of gender class the professor asked if anyone wasn't planning on getting married. I was the only one who raised my hand. In a class of like two-hundred people. It was really awkward because the professor asked me to explain why. 

Explaining the fact that I am antisocial and could not spend all of my time with one person without murdering them was kind of hard to explain. In, like, a sociologically relevant way. Also in a way that did not make me sound insane. 

Okay, I think that's a good note to leave on. 

Or, as good as it ever gets around here. 

Crumpets and Enthusiastic Crying

I HAVE SUCH EXCITING NEWS. 

Well, you probably won't think that its exciting. I mean, I do. I think its very exciting. But...honestly, it will probably not change your daily lives one way or the other. 

Anyway. I get to work stir fry on Mondays now tooooo! Yay! No more dishroom. It's all stir fry all the time. Awww yeeeeah. 

But, there is a downside to my exciting news. 

They're back, you guys.

The football players. They're back at my job and everything about my life is stupid now.

 Also I keep running out of stuff thanks to their insatiable appetite. And, see, that wouldn't be a problem if they were cool about it. But they're all like, "are you sure you don't have more?" 

And I'm like, "Yes I'm sure. If I had more I would be serving you them and not telling you this." 

And then they always say, "do you have more in the back?" 

Why is it that people think the back of my dining hall is some sort of magical land of milk and honey where there are shrimps and noodles for all? The streets are not paved with rice. The water fountains don't flow with general tso's sauce. Erugh. Can you imagine that? That would be so gross. It would get all gunked up and it wouldn't flow it would just kind of gloop out. That's the sound it would make too. Gloop, gloop gloop. 

Yuuuuuuck. 

But no, it's actually kind of awesome because if I run out of noodles or something they all act like I took the entire pan of noodles and ate them all specifically so there would be none left for the football team. They just look at me with these horribly sad expressions that say "why, stir fry girl? why would you hurt us in this way?"

BECAUSE ITS FUN YOU LOSERS!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!

I had to, like, be physically restrained from telling them "noodles are for winners" after they lost their game last week. In hindsight, it was probably good that I did not say that. 

They would likely try to beat me up. And I'm pretty sure they'd win. I mean, I talk big but I am not physically gifted in areas of strength, speed or anything else useful. 

Anyway. 

School is happening. It is a thing I am dealing with.

And by dealing I mean putting in the minimum amount of effort to not fail. So, that's a thing that is happening.

I've also done like a minimum amount of homework, like, at my home. I do it during other classes. Because I am trash who does not listen during lectures.

I'm sorry! They're so boring! And paying attention is so stupid!

I'm in class right now, like, writing this. I figure that it's better than my usual practice of typing curse words over and over and then turning them rainbow colors. 

I also have a really bad habit of doing things like texting people or playing stupid games on my iPhone.

Speaking of my iphone, my iphone is broken.

Like, the screen is completely shattered. It keeps cutting my fingers and/or ears. Of course I still use it because I am addicted to technology. 

In other sad news, my sister left the country. 

She's in England now, with all the tea and crumpets a person could wish for. No, but I took the day off of work and classes on Monday so I could escort her there along with my family. 

It was a bad choice. I failed to account for the fact that I am a really unattractive crier. Like, there's way too much snot involved. Also a lot of Darth Vader-esque gasping. I do not cry pretty. But I do cry really enthusiastically, I guess? 

Luckily, crying isn't a thing I do a whole lot. Usually only when I get mad, I don't get mad very often, but when I do there is lots of yelling and lots of tears. But I really like my sister and the fact that she drives me around! I am going to miss her and her car very much. So I got sad. And I cried. Like an idiot. 

I feel like the greater Indianapolis area is judging me. 

But I'm hoping to visit England at some point during this year. See my sister. Be a horrible American tourist. You know, all fun things. 

But before that I have to get a passport. 

And then fly on a plane. I hate planes. They are big, flying death-boxes...uh, coffins. They're called coffins. 

And I, as a person who is alive and junk, am generally not a fan of being in coffins. So, you know. Pros and cons. 

Ugh, I should go. My professor is bitch-facing at me. I think he knows that I am paying the opposite of attention. 

Okay...I will keep you updated as to the status of the football players and my stir fry escapades. You know. The important things. 

Later. 

Sharks, Snakes and Awesome Roadtrip Playlists

So. 

It's summer. That's a thing that's happening. 

I've actually had a fairly eventful summer so far. I went to Florida. So that was fun. 

It really was pretty fun. I went to Harry Potter land and bought a bunch of Slytherin merch because of course I belong to the asshole house that nobody likes. Whatever. Snakes are awesome, no one can convince me otherwise. 

I also spent a lot of time in the hotel watching crime shows. There were a lot of different ones with different acronyms, but they all kind of blurred together. It probably didn't help that I couldn't remember the title of any of them, so I just called them all CSI.

 As a criminal justice major, I can tell you that those shows are like the opposite of accurate. Being a "criminal profiler" is not, like, a real job that you can have. Just in case anyone was attempting to become a profiler. Just thought I'd kill your dreams for you. There. Dead dreams now. Have fun becoming an accountant or whatever. 

But, yeah, the car ride there and back sucked. I made a really obnoxious roadtrip playlist involving hipster tunes, movie soundtracks, techno music and showtunes. I enjoyed it. My driving companion did not. We compromised on listening to weird podcasts. 

Still, it was like an eighteen hour drive. Eighteen hours is a really long time to be without wifi. 

I also went to the beach and refused to go deeper in the water than, like, three or four feet. I am terrified of sharks. Also octopuses. As you can guess, the SyFy original movie Megashark vs. Giant Octopus was a veritable horror show for me. 

And before you accuse me of making things up again, let me assure you that Megashark vs. Giant Octopus is totally a real movie. I have it on DVD because of reasons. 

Most of those reasons involve high school Danielle spending money on stupid stuff instead of saving it for college like an intelligent human. I have all five seasons of Fringe because high school Danielle was a moron who had apparently not heard of netflix. 

And because high school Danielle was such a moron, I am now in the uncomfortable position of not having enough money to pay my rent next month. I need to get a job, guys. UUUUGGGGGHHHHH. 

Not having a car really sucks when job-applying, let me tell you. I can only apply to places within, like, a reasonable biking and/or walking distance because I would rather die than set foot on a bus. Buses are terrible, awful places. 

So, my choices are, like, work at the Pizza King or work at the liquor store. I kinda wanna work at the liquor store. Granted, I'm pretty sure that an employee discount on apple schnapps and other apple-flavored alcohol would end with me becoming an alcoholic. 

I just love things that taste like apples. It is the best of all the flavors. 

Anyway. 

I am slowly but surely attempting to become computer-literate. This is motivated purely by video games. Like, I'm not even going to pretend I care about the practical applications of coding or whatever. I just want to be able to run a ridiculous number of texture and lighting mods on skyrim without, like, breaking my computer. 

I love my computer. 

So, yeah, my normally completely embarrassing search history has been made all the more embarrassing with the addition of queries like "what even is RAM" and "PC gaming for complete and utter morons." I'm not going to lie, there are a lot more searches filled with angry expletives and creative cussword combos. 

I don't like being bad at things. It makes me feel like I'm back in math class. Math class was also filled with creative cussword combinations, but most of those were muttered under my breath or written on my desk next to unflattering caricatures of prime numbers. 

I don't know. Math sucks. That's the point I think I was trying to make. 

So today I realized that I may be spending too much time hanging out in my apartment with my cat. 

Apparently there is a point in time when even I crave the company of other people. Today I realized that the faintly unsettled feeling I've had on and off for the last week is loneliness. Like if I was a sim my social interaction meter or whatever would be at zero.

It's probably really weird that it took me over a week to realize that I'm lonely. Then again, I really haven't been lonely in, um, a very long time. My personality type kind of means that I hate other people and spending time with them like most of the time. INTP, bitches. I hate people...look it up. 

Luckily, my sister took me to get ihop this morning, so I feel better. I got to ramble and I also got bacon, so it was a win all around. 

I should be good for another week at least. 

At least. 

Ugh, I should go. I places to be and jobs to apply to. 

By that, I mean I'm going to mess around on my computer for the rest of today. I am excellent at priorities. 

Welcome to the Dark Side

So I wrote a paper last night. 

It was pretty spectacular, guys. It had a lot to do with murders and murderers because I am a criminal justice major and those are things that we write about. I finished it before dawn this morning, so that was a nice change of pace. Got like five whole hours of sleep. 

It was awesome. 

But, anyway, now my internet history is full of searches for murderers. I downloaded pictures of murderers to use on my powerpoint. I'm really glad that no one is sneaking peeks at my internet history. Not just, like, last night, but like always. 

My internet search history is just so embarrassing. 

And it's not even embarrassing for the usual reasons! It's just...ugh, let me give you an example. My last five searches are like "murderers who were under 18," "which alcohol tastes the least like alcohol?" "are colorblind people allowed to drive buses?" "hairstyles for people with glasses" and "best grad schools for writing, sociology, law, criminal justice..." and that list goes on for a while. 

My internet searches are not internet searches. They are stories. Each one has some weird incident attached. 

There's also, like, time stamps involved so you can see just how much time I spend on certain websites. It's embarrassing to admit that you spend, like, three hours a day on pinterest. Or to realize that you spent four hours last night reading dumb internet comics. 

It's bad, guys. I really hope that no government agencies are looking at my internet history. I bet they'd just look at each other and be, like, "Wow. This person is such a loser, I bet she has no friends." 

Preach it, government agents. Preach. It. 

So I have to give a speech in a little while over that paper I wrote last night. I'm excited. There is a room of people who have to listen to me talk for like twenty minutes. And they are not allowed to leave. 

Hehehehehe. 

It's great because I don't measure the success of my speeches in grade-form. I measure it in the number of times I am able to make a room full of people laugh at me. Or with me, whatever. I'm not really all that picky. 

I don't know why. I doesn't make any sense. I don't talk, like, ever in this class that I'm giving the presentation for, but give me a reason to get up in front of the class and I transform into a stand up comedian. And I'm a girl, so that's no good. 

Women comedians are the opposite of funny. 

I'll let you know how it goes. It might be great. It might be awful. It might be a little of both. I don't know. It's for my ethics class. Ethics are dumb and boring.

Boo ethics. 

Anyway, I'm in class right now. It's boring, hence the blogging. And  there is a random girl in here who just won't stop talking. The class has devolved from a lecture into a dialogue between this one student and the professor. 

The whole class is just sitting here watching the two of them with vaguely bemused expressions.

Some people...they have no self awareness, let me tell you. I am flawed, I am like super flawed, but I'm more or less aware of it. I know that I have issues. I know that I will monologue at a class today and get, like, zero of my points across. I know that about myself. That is a thing I know. 

I could go on. You know how all heroes have a dark side? Harry Potter had the fact that he was a horcrux. Frodo wanted to keep the ring. Batman has dead parents. You know, dark side stuff. 

Well, I too have a dark side. A dark side called Group-Leader-Danielle. Group-Leader-Danielle is everything bad that has ever existed about my personality. GLD (that's the acronym we're going with, okay?) emerges whenever there is a group project. It doesn't matter if it's like semester-long or ten-minutes long. GLD will emerge and do her best to seize control. 

It is so bad. 

I hate group projects. You can't even understand how, just, completely terrible I turn when group projects are on the table. 

This paper I wrote was supposed to be a group project. I went to the professor and asked him very nicely if he would let me do out by myself because I didn't want to subject anyone to the horror that is doing a group project with me. 

The only valid ideas? My ideas. The way we're going to do the powepoint? My way. No one ever tells me to be group leader, I just seize control. I am the Vladimir Putin of group projects. I will use whatever underhanded tactics I deem necessary to get my way. 

I like to think that I've become fairly chill since high school. My temper is manageable now. I barely ever throw foodstuffs at random passerbys in fits of insane and uncontrollable rage nowadays. I've injured, like, only four people in angry slap-fights this year. So...chill. It is a thing I am. 

Group-Leader-Danielle is not chill. GLD is the opposite of chill. GLD is about as chill as Krakatoa. If anything goes wrong, an eruption of hate and name-calling and possible physical pain is going to occur. 

And I can never admit that I might be the one it the wrong. I aggressively argued that there were five ninja turtles, not four, because I made a typo one time. That's a real story. That's, like, an actual thing that happened. 

So its bad. Its one of the reasons that I should never be in charge of anything ever. Like, ever. 

The fact that I'm aware of it changes nothing. I can't stop it. No one can stop it. Group-Leader-Danielle will not be contained. 

Anyway. 

In stir fry news...I will be stirring the fry again next year. I just signed up for my shifts. And because I've worked there for over a full semester now, I get like a five cent pay increase! So now I won't be making minimum wage. I will be making five cents above minimum wage. 

I am moving up in the world. 

But, in order to fulfill my basic needs like summer, like food, rent, power, wifi and netflix...you know, Maslow's hierarchy stuff...I am going to need to find some sort of job. 

Ugh. 

I do not want to get a job other than stir fry. I like doing stir fry. Stir fry is fun. Plus, I only have to work twenty hours a week. I do not want a real-person job where I have to work forty hours a week. 

I might just see if I can live this summer on my leftover money from this year. I might have to cancel my wifi and eat literally nothing but bread and ramen noodles, but I could do it. 

I'm going to go full Walden, guys. Be all isolated. Don't use the internet. Eat ramen and cheese sandwiches. That was Walden, right? The one with the ramen? 

 Sometimes I think that I'm one like or as short of a simile. I'm a metaphor, guys. And no one wants to be a metaphor. 

No one.

Late Winter Break, Major News and Master Plans

Ugggghhhh. 

Guys. 

It is still so cold outside. It is March. It is not supposed to be cold. There is not supposed to be snow on the ground right now. 

Spring break is next week. This is the opposite of okay. I refuse to call it spring break. It is late winter break. 

Ah, well. It's not like I'm going anywhere or doing anything for spring late winter break anyway. I plan on chilling in my apartment and maybe replaying Mass Effect for, like, the eight time. I don't know. I should try to do something productive, like work on the book I'm writing or, I don't know, homework or something. 

I guess I can go to the bars? Or something? I am 21 now. That is a thing I can do. 

Speaking of my whole being-21-thing, I went to the casino again this weekend. I went in with twenty bucks and left with fifty! Yay! I now have enough extra money to either pay, like, half of my power bill or to buy two pizzas! 

It's really hard to order a pizza when you live alone, though. Because when the delivery guys comes to the door it's like I'm admitting, yes I do plan on eating literally a whole pizza by myself. Do you have a problem with that? There's a negative stigma that comes with eating a pizza by yourself, guys. 

Usually, I'll do something like play netflix loudly in the other room or turn the shower on or something and yell "oh, pizza's here!" to make it seem like I have another person to assist me in my pizza-eating. 

It's a lot of effort just to get a pizza. Usually, I just don't order pizza and instead eat lots of cereal. And waffles. And french toast sticks. I live primarily off of breakfast foods. 

Meh. 

I'm still disappointed about my super-lame spring late winter break plans. All of the other college kids are like "I'm going to Florida!" or "I'm going to some island somewhere!" And I'm over here in my stir fry corner like "I'm going to Fishers...maybe...if I can get a ride..." 

I need a car. And money. And also friends. I feel like all three of those things would be me improve in the long run. As a human. 

In Major news (see that's a pun because it's important news and also news about my major), I've been considering several different things to do. I need to finish this degree first...duh. I've sunk three years and several thousand dollars into this stupid thing. But once I'm done...I don't know. I don't particularly want to work with criminals? And also sociology isn't a degree that I can actually get a job in. 

So...I need a Master Plan (see that's a pun because it might involve a master's degree). A Master Plan that involves knowing what I actually want to do. My Master Plan most likely involves going to...wait for it...grad school! Or law school. One of those two things. 

Or I could just say screw it, drop out now and go to live in Canada. I had a dream I moved to Canada. It was pretty happy there. Maybe I should move to Canada guys. Maybe it's a sign. I love breakfast food, they have maple syrup. 

Granted, it's cold there literally all the time. 

So...maybe that isn't a thing I should do?

You know, I've typed rather a lot over basically nothing at all. I'm excellent at talking about nothing. I babble. And annoy. And irritate. And chatter. And ramble. 

I'm sure that there are other synonyms I could come up with. 

We've established...I'm loquacious. 

I'm also in the middle of a class. So...I should probably go attend to that. 

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. 

How (Not) to Make Good Life Choices

The weather's up to double digits, you guys.

 #heatwave

There is supposedly a giant monster storm headed my way next week. So...that sucks. I almost want to have kids someday for the sole purpose of telling them I walked miles uphill in the snow to go to school and work. 

Because I legitimately do! There are hills involved in my walk. I have a hole in my favorite pair of shoes. I own a newsboy cap. I am essentially an orphan in the 1930s. 

So...valentines day is coming up.

Ugh.

I happens to be the weekend after my birthday. I plan on going up to Purdue and going to the bars with my friends. It's probably really sad that going to bars is less unhealthy than my usual coping methods. They involve me literally hiding under my bed and eating a pint of ice cream while listening to I Can't Make You Love Me on repeat. For hours.

Eh...I actually care less about the whole perpetually-single thing than I used to. I mean, even if I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't know what to do with him. I'd be like, "hey there, significant other! is it cool if we only see each other three days a week or whatever? and when we do see each other, is it okay if I mostly ignore you?" Because seeing the same person every day of the week for hours at a time...ugh. 

That sounds all kinds of horrible. 

Moving on...I made the executive decision last night to not sleep. I had to read, like, twelve court cases for my sociology of law class and write summaries and critiques on them. You know, it would have been fine if I would of started right when I got off work at 9. But I decided that watching a documentary about killer whales on netflix was something that I had to do before I could start. 

I don't know. It wasn't a good life choice. 

But, yes. I didn't finish until like 6 in the AM, so I just didn't sleep. Again, I don't know why I did that. It was another poor life choice. 

When I got home from classes at 1, the coffee wore off  and I just crashed. It was almost embarrassing. I don't think I've ever been as happy to see anything as I was to see my bed after I got home. And when I say I completely crashed, I mean it. I slept for seven hours with my coat, hat, gloves, shoes and backpack still on. 

When I woke up, I was very confused. I didn't know where I was. My scarf was sort of choking me. I was sort of sure I'd been kidnapped. 

I don't know why anyone would want to kidnap me, honestly. I have no money and no marketable skills. Other than my ability to cook stir fry. Someone might kidnap me for my stir fry skills. 

Anyway, speaking of my job...when I get bored at work, I like to do weird stuff with the food in my line. It's not creepy weird, it's just strange. Like, I'll make towers out of country fried steaks or see how many frozen shrimps I can stack on top of each other. 

(My record is five.) 

But, no. Yesterday I built a tiny and adorable little city out of corn on the cobs. Or, erm, corn cobs, I guess is what normal people call them. Whatever. I had my corn on the cob city and it was great. I decided that its name was Cornatopia. And, I don't know, I thought that was really, really, extremely funny. 

I had to go sit down in the store room for a little while because I couldn't stop laughing and it was alarming people. Nobody else could seem to comprehend just how funny it was. Cornatopia. It's just...I don't even...it's so funny! How can you not laugh helplessly about that for like a quarter of an hour?

I'm not the weird one here. 

This isn't the first time my emotions at my job have succeeded at making others uncomfortable. Sometimes, when I cook things that have onions in them my eyes will water. My customers, who are mainly high schoolers, always get really freaked out and try to talk to me about my feelings. 

Sometimes, I tell them about the onions. Other times, I just roll with it and let random sixteen year olds go all therapist on me. 

I am not a good person. 

I am also a person who really needs to go make some circus waffles with my circus waffle maker. You see, I was far too busy sleeping today to eat. So...yes. I'm off to do that.