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 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 213 of College: Attack of the Frisbees

Today...


I walked aimlessly around campus for a few hours. I did this because the weather was nice, so I wanted to be outside, but I didn't want to sit in one place lest I be mocked or hit with an ultimate frisbee (how are they different than regular frisbees? I mean, really.) 


I don't know why someone would mock me. But, walking around campus, I'm already half-convinced that everyone is laughing at me. Again, I have no idea why. 


But, anyway, I wandered campus aimlessly. I call this "pulling a Danielle." There are 3 distinct rules that you must follow when pulling a Danielle. 


1. Don't meander. Walk sort-of quickly, like you might be heading to class or something. This dispels suspicion that you aren't actually going to someplace. 


2. Have a "destination" in mind. My destination is always Starbucks, mostly because Starbucks is hella far from campus. Walking there takes, like, ten minutes (At Ball State Strip Mall, ten minutes is far). Seriously, Starbucks is the Pluto of the Ball State Universe-ity. 

3. Don't make eye contact. For me, this is a life rule in general. Eye contact leads to awkwardness. And bananas. 


Anyhow, time for some cutting observations about other college-goers. 


So, this week has been warm. On some levels, this is neat. On some levels, this is not-so-neat. The not-so-neat level consists mainly of whores. 


Let me explain. There is no dress code in college. Apparently, that means you dress like a street walker on the first day of non-frigid weather. Seriously. Sometimes, I can't tell if girls are wearing "shorts" or denim-colored-thongs. 


Some of them are wearing homecoming dresses. I'm not kidding. Throw a cardigan over that sucker and apparently your homecoming dress is like the same thing as a sundress. 


Also, the girls in my building think that sunbathing on the sidewalk outside is a good idea. I almost tripped on one in a straight-up string bikini yesterday. 


It's been making me seriously uncomfortable. 


On a related note, the boys in my building are getting ridiculous. And clever. But mostly ridiculous. 


They've figured out that you can sit on the lawn outside and just stare at girls. It's like Playboy with marginally more clothes and marginally less money. And marginally the same amounts  of skeeviness. 


And people wonder why I want to drop out of college...


(Is it like this at all colleges? Or is it just marginally-better-than-community-college-Ball-State?) 


Whatever. I'll just keep my clothes on and remain ridiculously pale. We'll see who's laughing when we're all thirty and they all have skin cancer...and probably husbands. 


At this rate, I will most likely still be single. 


Danielle OUT. 

Day 205 of College: Gossip Girl and the Flu Stole my Title

Today...


Was basically the worst. Actually, this whole week has been the worst. So...you know how I have "spring break" this week? You don't? Your life has more important things in it than my school schedule? 


Ha, right. 


But, anyhow, this week is spring break for me. And this week my entire family, literally all of them, decided that it would be ideal week to come down with a crippling case of the stomach flu. Awesome timing, family. Really, really AWESOME TIMING. 


Apparently, I am immune to this particular strain of flu. And you'd think that it would be a good thing, me not getting all pukey like rest of the Renckly clan. That is a hideously erroneous assumption, blog readers. I'd much rather be throw-up-y all week than forced to play nurse for my entire freaking family. 


My family are all stupid whiners. 


And I have exactly zero maternal or caring instincts. Those things are for wussies. 


So, in conclusion, my spring break has equaled up to a huge, festering pile of suck so far. Mostly, when not caring for the sick and whiny, I've been sitting on my couch watching the entire first through fourth seasons of Gossip Girl and eating unhealthy amounts of ice cream because it's my spring break and I deserve to have some fun, dammit. 


Don't ask me why I thought watching Gossip Girl of all things would be fun. I don't know. And it wasn't. 


It mostly made me painfully aware that I am nineteen years single and none of the characters on Gossip Girl are. Also, that I hate the rich. Stupid, selfish one percent. 


Speaking of my struggle to remain in the lower middle class, I've decided that I'm going to say screw it to getting a useful college degree and major in writing. 


Goodbye, last leg to stand on when taunting art and psychology majors! 


But, anyhow, that's happening. I'm basically an idiot! Yeah! 


But, we already knew that, didn't we blog readers? 


Yes, yes we did. 


Well, I'm off to ignore the calls of my unwell family members and watch the fifth season of Gossip Girl. 


I hate Gossip Girl. 


So, so much. 


Danielle OUT. 

Day 199 of College: Taco Bell: Indiana's Fountian of Youth

Today...

My spring break starts in T-minus 3 hours. So, that's a thing. Unfortunately, my spring break will mainly consist of being at home, in Fishers, going to the dentist, in Fishers, and driving my siblings to school, also in Fishers. In case you haven't noticed, there is a recurring theme here. Well, two actually. Those themes are suckiness and also Fishers. 

After Muncie, you'd think that Fishers basically the bomb dot com. Uptown compared to Downtown, if you will. 

But...when you think of where all the other college kids are going for spring break (Florida, Florida, Florida and also Florida)...my life just looks real sad. 

Florida is warm. 

Fishers is not warm. 

Florida has beaches. 

Fishers does not have beaches.

Florida is where Spanish explorer Ponce De Leon believed the legendary Fountain of Youth was located. 

The closest thing Fishers has to a Spanish explorer or a Fountain of Youth is Taco Bell. 

My life...is the worst. 

Also, I've managed to collect another awkward moment to add the the collection of what I've started to call "Danielle's Greatest Hits." Other people call it life. That, my friends, is too simple when your life is as complex, depressing and Fountain-of-Youth-less as mine is. 

So, anyway, I was eating lunch. My lunch consisted of a piece of pizza and a breadstick. If you can see where this is going, raise your hand. 

Somehow I finished my piece of pizza with surprisingly little conflict. The trouble started with the breadstick. Specifically when I realized that I had been making very awkward and very intense eye contact with the same girl for the past five minutes. Why she didn't just look away is beyond me.

But, once I realized what I was doing, I was halfway done eating a breadstick. I felt so incredibly awkward with that stick of bread hanging out of my mouth that I just shoved the entire thing in my mouth and basically swallowed it whole. I think I unhinged my jaw a bit, like a reticulated python.

And the amazing thing is, that stupid girl kept eye contact with me. The entire time.

Sad thing is, that doesn't even break into my top two dozen most embarrassing moments. Hell, it doesn't even break into the top two dozen food-related embarrassing moments. 

Just a typical Friday, I guess. 

Danielle Out

Day 197 of College: Leap Day is Stupid

Today...


This is my first blog in a while, isn't it? I would apologize, but admitting I'm wrong about things isn't really in my wheelhouse. 


Neither is photography, swing dancing, yoga or broadsword fighting. 


But, anyhow, there is a reason, two reasons in fact, behind my two week hiatus. 


This month has been straight-up weird. That's the first reason. I could just stop there because February is basically the worst. Everyone understands that. 


But the other reason, a much more serious one, is writer's block. 


Now, as a rule, I have always scorned those who pled "writer's block" as a reason that they aren't writing. In my honest opinion, "writer's block" is for wimps. 


But still, I have been suffering from a hard core case of all-around, all-the-time writer's block. A lot of it is due to the fact that I have been composing an 8-12 (so really, 7 and a half) page research paper. When I have to write for school...the writing-related joy goes out of me and I'm as limp and as sad as a impotent jellyfish. 


...that got a bit racy. I apologize. 


But, anyhow, my aforementioned research paper is about "internet addiction." I know. Shut up. It's a stupid topic. 


(As a side note, I was originally writing a paper called "Liars, Tramps and Brothels, Ho My!: How Prostitution Shaped Modern America" and I was having a really good time with it. My professor...not so much.) 


But now I'm stuck writing a dumb ole paper on how people are addicted, not to drugs, not to alcohol, but to online shopping/gambling/things-that-relate-to-prostitution. (See, I'm getting my whores in there.)


But, I hate this stupid research paper. It's slowly draining the life out of me. Rather like Stephanie Meyer slowly drains the life out of people unfortunate enough to stumble upon her series of vampire books. 


Yeah for analogies!


In other news, I accidentally wore a see-through shirt today. And because it's warm, I don't have a jacket. I just have a shirt. That everyone can see through. And a lime-green bra. 


Isn't it awesome to not be me? 


I'm sure it is. You get to have opaque shirts, no writer's block and non-stupid research topics. 


Also, happy Leap Day. Does Leap Day count as a holiday? If it does, I need to call my family and argue with them. Cause...that's what we do on holidays. 


Leap Day is stupid. So is February. I'm SO GLAD it's over. 


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.