Non-Fruit Ninjas, Dragons, and Cake

I'm baaaack! 

Well, not back so much as...writing again. I don't know. I've always been, like, around. I didn't go anywhere. I just didn't do any blog writing of late. Anyway. Things. 

I've got, like 16 days of school left. I am not excited. I like school...well, not school so much as my dorm room and not living in my house with lots of different people. There are lots of people at my house. Lots. I think we could be our own tiny nation, if we so desired. 

My dorm room is small and safe and clean and mine. My house is literally none of those things. Meh...I will miss you, room 336...

Anyway. I've decided I want a snake next year. Or a cat. One of those two creatures. Maybe both, I don't know. Pope John and I agree that I've gotten to the age where I can start filling my loneliness with animals. And cake. 

But back to my snake. His name will be something clever and he will eat dead mouses and everything will be fabulous. Unless he sneaks out of his cage at night and kills me. That would not be fabulous. That would actually suck. But...back to his name! I'm thinking Vincent Van Gogh. It could call him Vinny for short!

 But then people would think I named him after the Jersey Shore...

Hmmm. That would not be acceptable. I've never even seen the Jersey Shore (the place or the television show...) 

I'll keep thinking. 

So I went and saw a bodybuilding competition yesterday. It was weird. There were a bunch of really fit guys on stage (which I liked) and a bunch of really fit girls (which I did not like so much). They were all either really tan or painted orange. 

It was SO WEIRD, you guys. SO WEIRD. 

I was kind of disgusted, but also kind of fascinated. They were all so ridiculously in shape. I just wanted to tell them that there is a point where you stop looking attractive and start looking like an alien. 

Or a collection of balloon animals. 

The winner got a sword, though. I really want a sword. I could play real-life fruit ninja. But, with my terrible coordination and poor vision, fruit ninja would most likely turn into actual ninja. 

Because I would accidentally stab and kill someone. 

So, less ninja and more accidental murderer. 

Manslaughterer. 

I should know more about this. I am a criminal justice major, after all. 

Oh! In major news (ha, get it? because it's major news, but also news...about my major...oh, puns...) I added a second major. 

I am now a criminal justice-slash-sociology major. Hoorah! My life didn't feel quite useless enough for me.

 No, but I'm actually really excited. I love sociology and the only reason I wasn't already majoring in it is because there is no such thing as a job for someone with a sociology degree. 

But! With a criminal justice degree, I am somewhat marketable! So I can write more papers about how the emergence of the hipster subculture represents the breakdown of traditional gender norms, but still eventually get a job! 

Yay! 

So, the weather kind of sucks today. I know, I know...I'm talking about weather, but bear with me. It's hot, but it's also wet. It's like the inside of a dragon's mouth. 

If dragons were real and had mouths instead of, you know, no mouths because they are make-believe. 

But, I digress. I've changed clothes three times today, because I can't deal with it. I have no dragon-mouth temperature suitable clothes. I don't know if they even exist, what with dragons themselves not existing and all. 

Yeah. I should go before unicorns and basilisks get involved. 

Everything would just get weird if that happened. 

Day 226 of College: Thinking is the WORST

Today...


Blogger changed its format. Only very slightly. They added a spell-check button. 


I hate it. 


I'm freaking out. It's like chicken little up in here. The sky may or may not be falling. It is yet to be seen. 


And, come on Blogger..We both know that Google Chrome does my spell checking, thank you very much. 


Though, let's be honest here...Google Chrome does a really, really terrible job. 


So maybe it's best that there's now an alternative. 


Whatever. 


So...I'm being indecisive again. (It's kinda my thing. That, blogging and being really, really poor.)  I keep changing my major. Stupid college. Why can't I just major in eating, sleeping and, you know, thinking and stuff? 


Oh wait...I could...it's called philosophy! (Ba-dum, ching!) 


Ball State really does have a philosophy major. You can major in...thinking. Then again, you can also major in psychology which is like majoring in thinking about other people thinking. 


Meta. 


My unreasonable hatred toward thinking aside, I really do hate this whole "choose a major" business. Why can't they just, like, pull a China and assign us careers? I'd be more than cool with that. Unless, of course, my career was something math-related. Or spanish-related. Or thinking-related. 


Whatever. Once they build time machines, I'll transport myself back to the pre-Cold War Soviet Union and be a wheat farmer. I'd be such a cool wheat farmer. They'd call me Danielle, the slayer of all that is wheat and...


I think this is getting out of hand. 


Also, I had a fish die last week. So I'm allowed to be mostly insane and rambly. 


I'm not over his passing yet. 


I tried to use "my fish died" as an excuse to not turn in a paper. It did not work. I had to write the stupid paper. 


I tried to use "Captain America died" as an excuse not to take a test (because Captain America was my fish's name and all). It did not work. And now my history professor thinks that I'm a lunatic. 


So, now only Archduke Franz Ferdinand remains alive in the tank that was once also home to Batman and Captain America. Sigh. Why do all the fishes I love leave me? 


I should buy a shark. Sharks never die. Well, I mean, they do...but I understand they are much more hardy than, you know, goldfish and the like. 


Most things are more hardy than goldfish and the like. 


But, sharks. I would buy a shark and name him or her Fredrick Douglas. Because my whole "name-all-the-animals-after-only-dead-historical-figures" thing. And also my blatant disregard for the animal's actual gender (as can be evidenced by my naming a girl turtle Pope John Paul). 


...I miss Pope John when I'm a college. If only he was allowed here with me. Oh, all the wacky escapades that we would have together. 


Danielle OUT. 

Day 184 of College: Russian Super Tortoises

Today...


It's a study day. And, because it's a study day, I'm sitting in the library and typing a blog to avoid doing actual work! Huzzah! 


This seems to be a pattern for me. Most of the blogs you read were, in fact, written during my anthropology class or during my "study days." 


But, today, I actually should be studying. Because, my first test in my anthropology class is tomorrow and, as I've previously stated, I am rarely listening in my anthropology class and more often am just typing a blog and nodding thoughtfully if the professor happens to look my way. 


So, I literally know nothing about anthropology. Other than the fact that it's a particularly long word. I only took the class because I need a science class to graduate and someone told me that there was no math involved. 


Math is the worst. Also, morning classes are worst. Guess who has a math class at 8 am on Tuesdays and Thursdays? 


I'm not even going to bother typing "this girl" because we all know that it, in fact, is. My 8 am math class also happens to be my only class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and, due to my intense love of napping and my crippling facebook addiction, I don't get a lot done on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Hence today's study day. 


Anyhow, the major question has once again come up. Stupid major question. It's like a greedy drunk ex-boyfriend, always showing up when I least expect it. Granted, I have never had an ex-boyfriend, greedy, drunk or otherwise, so I'm mostly going off of blind conjecture and lifetime movies. 


But, yeah. I'm thinking criminal justice because 1. I would be a kickass lawyer and 2. I would be a kickass cop. 


The world would be a safer place if I had a law degree, a gun and a police car. Don't you agree? 


Who cares if you agree? I'm going to go and get a stupid college degree just so I can fulfill a petty, childish whim. It's almost like I'm a musical theatre major! Boom.


(Seriously, though. I love you, musical theatre majors. If I had parents to pay for my college or the brains/talent/political clout needed to get a scholarship, I'd totally be a musical theatre major too. Or a glass blowing major because, what the hell.) 


My attempts to learn Russian are, sadly, not going all the well. The un-english looking letters are seriously hard to pronounce. I try and sound like I have a frog in my throat. And I don't mean that as a figure of speech. I mean that as I sound like I am literally choking on a live amphibian. 


I had a pet frog once. His name was Lysander. He ate a cricket that was bigger than him and died. 


All my pets seem to die horrible deaths. 


Except Pope John Paul, of course. Pope John Paul is immortal. And he has super powers. He's the Russian Desert Tortoise version of Superman. 


True story. 


Danielle OUT. 

Day Ninety-Nine of College: Fat Turkeys

Today...


Well, first let's just be happy that it's the 99th day of college! Ninety-nine days of collegey-ness and I have yet to drop out! Woohoo! Go me!!


But, yeah, I'm on break right now. Happy almost-Thanksgiving and all that. It's Thanksgiving-Eve-Eve. 


So, today was my little brother's Thanksgiving feast in his preschool class. Cause my parents are teachers, they couldn't go. Because I was on break, apparently that meant I had to go. Lots of preschoolers and their parents. A recipe for FUN. 


That is if by fun you mean lots of forty-year-olds giving you disapproving looks and making tsk-ing noises. HE'S NOT MY KID, FORTY-YEAR-OLDS. DESPITE POPULAR BELIEF, HE IS NOT MY CHILD. 


Also, when they weren't berating me for being a single, underaged teen mom, they were making sure that everybody else there knew that their kid's handprint turkey was the BEST handprint turkey. 


In my opinion, all the handprint turkeys looked exactly the same. Except for the one really fat kid's turkey. His turkey looked less like a turkey and more like a blobby brown whale. 


I'm going to hell. 


Anyway, I'm pumped for Thanksgiving. A day dedicated purely to FOOD. Talk about a holiday in my wheelhouse. 


My family always fights on holidays. Seriously. Christmas, birthdays, Valentine's, ahem, Singles Awareness Day, Easter, Arbor Day. ALL HOLIDAYS.  At first, it's all amusing because it doesn't, like, effect me. But, bit by bit, it will get more annoying. And more insulting. And then somebody talks about me or my turtle in a demeaning fashion. After that, SOMEBODY'S GOING DOWN. 


So, yeah. Thanksgiving and whatnot. 


Danielle OUT. 


PS. I'm THANKFUL for you, blog-readers!!!

Day Fifty-Eight of College: Much Ado About Animals

Today...


I skipped journalism class. Mostly because I just hate journalism. But also because I needed to write papers for my Music History class. And yes, you read that right. Papers. As in the plural. One paper wasn't good enough, no. I've got to write two. 


Speaking of two, that's what time I was up to in the morning last night (or is it morning? I can never be sure). Hardly an uncommon thing for a college student to be sleeping at unusual and unhealthy hour, I know. But, seriously, I'm wicked tired. And because I've got those Music History papers to finish, I assure you that I will be up at least that late tonight. 


Homework is the devil. I'm forty-three percent certain. 


Moving on to other things...my fish died today. It was depressing and awful and I cried over his lifeless little fishy corpse. And then I flushed him. It was all very sad. 


May you rest in peace Captain Morgan. 


I'm thinking that I should get a boa constrictor next. I could name him Winston and we would have the best of times together! But...boa constrictors are notoriously picky eaters. According to this website that I saw this one time, they only eat pine cones, extra virgin (like me!) olive oil, partially-frozen deer meat and small children. And while I have small children in no short supply...the rest would be difficult to obtain. 


Damn. All these plans for naught. 


Also, Pope John (who I recently found out is a girl turtle, not a boy turtle) would probably be jealous. He/She was already jealous or my fish...I suspect a poisoning plot perhaps (oh, allitteration!). But, no seriously, now that I've discovered that Pope John Paul is a Popess should I rename him/her? Should he/she now be Popess Jean Penelope?


Nah...that's idiotic. He/She should remain Pope John Paul. All the coolest girls have boy names anyway. Like...Charli (my sister) and DANielle (that's me). So...PJP he/she shall remain. 


I still feel weird about the whole thing. Seriously. It feels like my turtle got a sex-change. I failed as a mother. 


And that seems like a good place to stop. 


Danielle Out. 

Day Thirty-Nine of College: Creepy-Weird-Hand-Flippers

Today...


I hate feet. Specifically, my feet. Well, that's not true. I hate all feet really. They're like creepy-weird-hand-flippers. But, back to my feet. My entire family has creepy-long finger-toes. Seriously. Most of my toes are longer than my pinky. I hate looking at them. Can you get toe-related plastic-surgery? I bet you can. People with freaky long noses can get normal noses. Why can't I get normal-length toes? 


Also, why can't I have naturally blue hair? Is that too much to ask? 


Stupid laws of nature. 


Also, I'm still single. Just throwin that out there.


I also hate doing laundry. Laundry sucks. I mean, college-laundry sucks worst of all. You have to lug all of your stuff down the hall and into the laundry room and then you realize that, of course, you forgot quarters and laundry soap. And then you go back to your room and realize that you have no quarters and no laundry soap. What are you supposed to do after that unpleasant realization? Drag your dirty laundry back to your room and shove it back into your closest? Beg random strangers for soap and quarters? Try to hot-wire the washer? Cry? 


Well, I've tried all of these things. None are all that effective. 


Also, who liked my video-blog? Huh? I did. Mostly cause I'm vain and like to hear the sound of my own voice. It's one of the reasons that I talk to myself so much. The other reason is that my beta fish is much less friendly than my turtle. And my turtle wasn't all that friendly. 


I miss him. 


Also, I'm supposed to be writing a speech right now. But...speeches are for chumps. Ha...I was never on speech team...speech team is for nerds... Moving on. I don't have a topic picked out. I thought about talking about how emerging media was changing the way that we get news...but researching that felt suspiciously like work. I never research stuff unless it sounds like fun. Or do anything unless it sounds like fun. 


Maybe I should take a look at my decision-making process. 


Nah. 


That'd be work. 


And I hate work. 


Danielle Out.