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. 

Day Forty-Nine of College: Rantings that Actually Border on Insanity

Today...was spent mainly in the library. Cause, who woulda thunk it...but college has ACTUAL WORK involved. At least to an extent. I had to do all this grammar nonsense for my journalism class. It was dumb. Journalism is dumb. Journalism is....well, I think the video portion of my blog puts it better.


Watch this....

So, as you can see, there is no lost love between my most un-favorite acquaintance and me (journalism being the stupid-evil-dumb acquaintance). 


Gah...I'm conflicted. I don't like being conflicted. I like a simple life...food, water, a nice wheel to exercise in...That's it! I'll just be a hamster. 


Problem solved. 


Except...I'm not a big fan of wood chips. 


Damn. 


Problem un-solved. 


I have more holes in my problem-solving-logic than the Titanic had after it hit that iceberg....Oh, that movie just killed me (LET HIM ON THE STUPID PIECE OF FURNITURE, ROSE YOU STUPID FAT COW!!) Anyway. My irrationally angry inner-voice is out again. 


I swear I'm not crazy. 


It's just that journalism is an evil wood nymph that crawls inside your brain and steals your hopes and dreams and uses them to buy crack cocaine. Then he sells crack cocaine to baby harbor seals. And, once they're all addicted...he uses them to form an army. An army of crack-fueled-harbor-seals. 


That got dark. 


I apologize. 


Maybe I should major in writing children's stories. 


Danielle Out