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.

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. 

The Ballad of me, my xbox and the Spider-People

So...screw college.

That is how I'm feeling right now. Mostly because I'm in the middle of a three-hour night class and three-hour night classes are no fun. I'm not even kind of paying attention.

It's a "myths and legends" class. I hate it. I know what you're thinking. "Danielle, why are you in a myths and legends class? You're a criminal justice major! Oh no! Did you change majors again?" 

No, I didn't change majors again. I just have to take this class because Ball State is the worst and wants to make me take stupid classes about things that aren't criminal justice related. All I want to do is bring justice...to criminals...

A working knowledge of myths and legends will not help me do that. I highly doubt I'll ever need to know anything about creation myths in my career. Unless I'm after a serial killer who is obsessed with creation myths and legends.

I don't know. It sounds like an episode of a network crime show. Like SVU or NCIS or CSI or DMV or some other acronym.

I want to go home...to my dorm...where my xbox is...

I've gotten a bit...umm...obsessed with that lately. I went on Friday and bought a new game. I spent all weekend inside my dorm and beat it by Sunday. Now I'm replaying it on a higher difficulty. At the rate I'm going, I'll have it beat again by tomorrow.

I have a problem.

Speaking of problems, these creation myths are messed up. The world was a weirder place when there were no drug laws. All these ancient people were probably all hopped up on meth and LSD and whatever.

I know they didn't have the resources or technology to make crystal meth back then. Don't tell me that. I'm a criminal justice major for God's sake. I've seen Breaking Bad. I know what I'm talking about. 

The professor just said the words "cat-people" and "evil magic" in the same sentence. I really don't think I can take this level of ridiculousness much longer. I mean, I'm wacky enough on my own. I don't need your assistance, random professor. 

So, I've been looking at apartments for next year. It's stressful. Living in a dorm, I don't really think about all the money I'm forking over. It's one big stupid payment. But with apartments, everything's about rent and me paying it and that's not cool with me. 

I am excited about having a kitchen, though. I'm pretty sure I'll end up eating nothing but grilled cheese sandwiches and popcorn, but in my head I become a five star chef. Eh, whatever. I like grilled cheese. 

Good lord, this story just got weirder. There are spider-people, a water-monster and wind what speaks people language. I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with this. I don't claim to know how the world was created, but I'm pretty sure that spider-people didn't have anything to do with it. 

Well, I should go and listen to this drivel. Eventually, I'm gonna be tested on it and be expected to know why the spider-people created the world and what the cat-people's evil magic had to do with it. 

I swear I'm not on drugs. This is actually happening. 

Day 167 of College: Ready, Set, Debt!

Today...


I almost bought an ENFORCER on ebay! 


Then some jerk outbid me. Jerk. 


I have about, eh, $900 in my bank account right now. And while that may sound like a lot for a poor college student to have in her bank account...it's student-loan-money. So someday I'm going to have to pay all that money back. Also, interest. Lots and lots of interest. 


I had to take debt counseling classes online this summer. I'm totally serious. It was terrible. I'm already in thousands of dollars of debt...now you're going to make me take classes about being in debt too? 


Jerks. 


Anyway, if you wanted to see a fully compiled list of the annoying bitc...ahem, girls you meet at college, you can find it here. 


Moving on to other things...


Guess who has two oddly short thumbs and no boyfriend? 


...don't make me say it. 


Oh, fine. THIS GIRL. 


This girl is also coming up on the worst month of the year. February. 


I hate February for three very justifiable reasons. I also hate it for about three-dozen non-justifiable reasons, but I won't bore you with those. 


1. It can't spell February. So far, google chrome had corrected my attempts at spelling February to "fur brewery" and "fib rarely." So there's that reason. 


2. My birthday is in February. The 11th, to be exact. I am not someone who enjoys getting older. Not one bit. Because, really, every year I have to say I've spent another year of my life single. And, once you tell people you're 19 years single...they're going to start to ask what's wrong with you. (Beyond the obvious, of course.) 


3. Need I even type it? Valenti...ahem, SAD day is in February. (For those of you not in the know or in happy relationships, SAD day is Single's Awareness Day...day.) 


On the bright side, that is the one day a year that I can lie in bed like a slug all day, eat an entire quart of cookie dough ice cream, and listen to "I Can't Make You Love Me" on repeat and none of you are allowed to judge me. 


People will look at me and say "What the hell are you doing?" 


And I say, "I'm single." 


And then they flinch sympathetically and skip off to have a day filled with candy hearts and happiness. 


I know I'm starting this whole "countdown to Single's Awareness Day day" thing pretty early...but I'm pacing myself. We're gonna build up slowly, don't you worry. 


Anyway. There's homework and SAD day prepping to be done. 


Danielle OUT.