Everybody Have a Taquito

Summer's already more than half over, guys. This sucks. 

This sucks because school is starting soon and school usually equals work for me. Not, like, a lot of work because I am a champ at doing as little work as possible. 

But presumably some amount of work will need to be done in order to obtain my stupid college degree. Ugh, effort. Effort is the worst. 

But, yeah. Summer. I have had various adventures so far, each as wacky as the last. 

(I will level with you. That is a lie. There has been minimal wackiness. Most of my adventures have involved me being by myself and watching a lot of cartoons. Like...my little brother and I watched every episode of Ninjago. The fact that he was there makes it a tiny bit better, maybe, but I was legitimately invested in it after a while. I'd give it three out of five ninja stars. Watch it if you have a small child and are not allowed to play video games with the small child in the room because of "blood" and "violence" and "no, Danielle. Just no." Anyway.) 

A little while ago, my sisters and I had a girls day for my little sisters sixteenth birthday party. Unfortunately, this involved pedicures. I really really really do not like it when people touch my feet. Like, I'm weird about it. Or weirder than usual, I guess. It's like going to the dentist but for feet. They even have the same lil drill and stuff.

So, when I was there, instead of getting a pedicure and biting back screams of horror the whole time, I spent the whole time chilling in the corner. Like a boss. A really awkward and uncomfortable boss. Yeah.

Anyway. My last year of school is coming up. The fact that I have no life plans after that is probably kind of concerning. Like, I'm legitimately concerned. I'm being serious about this. I am seriously worried about the lack of plans I have after college.

Am I going to do anything to combat this problem? Probably not. My usual problem solving philosophy is to ignore things until they go away. Sometimes it works, sometimes my water gets shut off. So, you know, pros and cons.

Speaking of problems, my parents had a talk with me about my drinking problem the other day. And by drinking problem, I mean my problem with drinking way way way way too much apple juice. 

I just really like it okay? I can stop any time I want. I don't have a problem, YOU HAVE A PROBLEM. 

Yeah. Between this and all of the cartoons, I think that I might actually be five years old. 

But, legit, like the only place's I've driven myself anywhere this summer were various grocery stores to get juice and literally nothing else. And yes, before you ask, it was necessary to go to different stores every time. Do you know what happens to people who become "regulars" at grocery stores? You don't?

Well...neither do I. But I don't want to find out! 

I know how working at boring, minimum wage jobs is. It involves a lot of standing, staring and judging people. There is so much judging at grocery stores. So much. And I don't want to be that weird girl who buys gallons of apple juice. That girl is going to die alone in a house full of cats who will eat her corpse. 

I don't even like cats that much.

Urgh. My life, you guys. My life. 

Oh, adding to the things that make me a literal five year old, I have been stupid obsessed with laser tag lately. I have like no money and I have been spending all of that no money on laser tag. 

I REALLY LIKE IT YOU GUYS. 

It's like a video game but in real life. I'm actually reasonably good at it. I mean, most of the people that I'm shooting are in elementary school, but they're littler than me so they're smaller targets! They have the advantage! I am almost positive that the average elementary schooler is smaller than me. 

They also play a lot more Call of Duty than me if the way they were swearing was an indication. Also, they called me a n00b like three times (the l33tsp34k was implied). 

Also, they were super mean. I told off one of my friends for, like, relentlessly attacking this little guy. "Don't shoot five year olds!" Was my precise phrasing. I remember this because after I said it, the kid I was talking about turned around with this completely disgusted look on his eyes and shouted, "I'm seven and a half!" with so much disgust in his voice that I was surprised I didn't spontaneously combust under the sheer force of his hatred. 

Then he called me a bitch. 

So I shot him. 

I don't like that word, kid, unless I am the one using it. 

But, yeah, other than being called mean names by seven and a half year olds, laser tag has been a huge success. Five out of five. Would recommend. 

Hmmmm. 

Well, that's pretty much all I got for y'all right now. I could go on, of course. I could always go on. I have a problem with over-sharing and also I am pretty sure I have some form of attention-deficit-ness that makes long, unconnected rambles a thing that I am very excellent at. 

But, I figure you have loved ones or at least taquitos to get back to. 

But, real fast, while we're on the subject of taquitos, does anyone want a box of 57, wait, 52 frozen taquitos? I meant to buy a box of twelve and I got a box of 57 instead. Who even needs that many taquitos? I certainly do not. I mean, I've had them since, like, February and I've eaten five of them. 

I'd have a taquito party or something, but that would involve effort and we all know how I feel about effort! 

I like taquitos more than effort. And I freaking hate taquitios. So, so, so much. 

I should go. I'm getting unreasonably angry about the money I wasted buying that many stupid taquitos. I'm probs going to go shake my fist at the sky and shout "TAAAAAAAAQUUUUUIIIITOOOOOOOS!" In a dramatic fashion. 

Shut up, it is totally justified. 

Laters. 

Day 218 of College: Near Misses and Nervous Breakdowns

Today...


A swarm of vicious wood bees almost killed me. It was thisclose. 


For those of you not in the know, wood bees are the huge black ones that are approximately the size and shape of my big toe the time that I dropped my laptop on it. 


I don't understand how they fly. I really, really don't. 


My problem with wood bees aside, I have had a very odd week. It's just been all-around weird. 


We'll start with this weekend, shall we? We shall and you get no say in it. Ha. 


Anyway, I went to Cinciatti this weekend (yes, I know I misspelled that. Google Chrome had informed me.). While in Sinsenatty (at this point I'm juts being a smart ass) I visited Ikea. 


My mind was blown. 


If there's ever an zombie apocolypse, I'm headed straight for Ikea. There's enough food/couches there to feed/sit an army. Despite my Ides of March resolution not to spend any more loan money on stupid stuff, I bought a whole ton of stupid stuff. 


Those purchases included but were not limited to a pair of shark-flops (flip-flops with sharks on them), a tiny little wooden man and an aloe vera plant that I named Vladimir Putin. 


...I can spell Vladimir Putin right on the first try, but not Cincinattii. Mine is an odd sort of mind. 


Anyhow, it turned out that my Ikea escapades were just, like, a set up for the wackiness that would ensue in the rest of my Cincinatty trip. 


I would spend paragraphs upon paragraphs describing what led up to this particular incident, but I really don't think I can honestly justify it. 


I had a nervous breakdown. In the middle of a Ralph Lauren. 


I'm not kidding. 


I shouted at my shopping companions that they were "spending too much effing money" and that their Ralph Lauren clothes were "the stupidest things that I had ever seen." 


I almost threw a vase out the window. 


There was a lot of uncomfortable silence and staring in Ralph Lauren after I was through. Also, apparently, I've been saying Ralph Lauren wrong for my entire life. Lauren is not pronounced "Lauren." It's apparently pronounced Ralph Lau-REN. There's a straight-up nonsensical emphasis on the REN. 


Of all the douche-baggery in all the malls of all the worlds...Ralph Lau-REN is the freaking worst. 


Hold me back. I may just burn down a country club. 


I hear buzzing...


...the end is nigh. The wood bees have found my super-secret hiding place. 


Danielle OUT

Day 137 of College: Resolutions and Recaps

Today...


Happy New Years Eve and all that. Apparently the word will end in 2012. Hm. It would save me the trouble of having to pick a stupid major...


Moving on. 


This whole week has been filled with pain and general oddness. Let's do a day by day playback, shall we? 


On Monday...I chase my family's new kittens with a remote control car. I drive the car off the edge of the stairs. The car breaks. My little brothers both cry. 


On Tuesday...I stay in bed. ALL DAY. Seriously. I don't get up once. I give my siblings quarters to fetch me refreshments. 


On Wednesday...Not much happens. 


On Thursday...I walk in the dark, trip over the carcass of the remote control car I killed on Monday and drop my laptop. My laptop costed me pretty darn close to a thousand dollars. So, in the .8 seconds before that sucker hits the ground, I have a choice to make. My laptop or my foot. I chose my laptop. 


On Friday...My big toe is almost definitely broken. It is twice the size of a normal toe. Also, it's purple. It looks like a poisoned cocktail weenie. But my computer is fine!


On Saturday (also known as today)...I go shoe-shopping. With a BROKEN TOE. In summation, I now believe that shoe-shopping with a broken toe is a punishment for the most terrible people in Hell. You know, the murderers and the rapists. And the people who cut me off in the checkout line at Wal-Mart. 


According to Google Chrome, Wal-Mart is totally legitimate word. Really, Google Chrome? Wal-Mart is a word and Zealand isn't? Oh, you wacky internet server you. 


Anyway. It's been a delight blogging for all of you this year,  my loyal followers. It's been almost like having friends!


...And what's my New Year's resolution, you ask? Why to be more positive, of course! 


Hahahahahaha. No. 


Danielle OUT. (See you all in 2012!) 

Day Seven of College: Buried in Chickens

Today....


My feud with all pizza-service-related-people began anew. For those of you who don't know(which can't honestly be many at this point) let's skip back ten months and visit the scene of my first accident (or second if you could that thing with the round-a-bout...) where I ran a blinky red light and hit a pizza person. The pizza person (I could not confidently determine if it was a girl or a boy) was very, very upset that I had jostled his/her pepperonis. 
    Apparently, some of his or her pizza delivering brethren up here in Muncie have gotten wind of my pepperoni jostling. Today, one of them tried to run me over. I was innocently jay-walking (or jay-riding) my bike across the street when a pizza-jerk almost nailed me. Stupid pizza-jerk. I fell off my bike and possibly broke my one non-broken big toe. 
    I broke the other one in an unfortunate stair-falling-down incident earlier this week. Anyway. 
    I think that pizza people everywhere may be out to get me. Perhaps there is a pizza mafia network all over central Indiana...we must act against them quickly lest they spread to (gasp) upper Kentucky! They get to Kentucky...we're all going down. Kentucky Fried Chicken is toast people...TOAST. And without KFC to fry them, chicken populations with soon quadruple. We'll all be buried in chickens. 
   So, I think the pizza mafia presents a significant problem. Maybe. Okay, probably not. 
   But still...my toes both hurt. 


  Danielle Out