Ways to Avoid Studying and Help the Blind

I have a criminology test tomorrow that I should be studying for. Therefore...blog time! 

I really should study thought. Criminology is a class that I never, ever pay attention in. It's not my fault, though. The professor is probably the worst lecturer ever. Seriously. Watching cartoons for an hour would probably be more informative. Or listening to the lecture in German or something, I don't know. I do know that she, my professor, likes to copy things word for word from our book onto powerpoint slides in point 12 font and read them to us. Word for word.

If we were a class full of blind people, then that would be awesome. As it is, we only have one blind person in the class and, while I'm sure he's getting a lot out of it, the rest of us can read those slides faster than she can and with fewer pronunciation errors. 

It's usually cool, though. 

I'm just on pintrest the whole time pinning things to my two wedding boards. Yes, I know I'm perpetually single. It's not weird that I have two wedding boards and no boyfriend to love me. I just want to wear a pretty dress and have a whole day where everyone is required to look at me. 

Shut up. 

Anyway, my latest attempt to learn another language has been foiled. I guess I can add Japanese to the pile of languages I tried and failed to learn. That pile already has Latin, French, Russian, Farsi, Pig Latin, Elvish and Spanish three times. I seriously hate myself for being unable to speak anything but english. And I don't even speak english well. 

I think the language-learning part of my brain had to be discarded to make room for all the awesomeness that I just naturally contain. That or it was broken during the "stroke-like- event" that I had last year. 

That was fun. 

Ugh. My notes from my criminology class are just sitting here, staring at me. Get off my back, criminology notes! I'm busy right now! 

Okay, so other class that I hate is walking. You're probably shaking your head and saying something like, "Walking? Really, Danielle? I knew you were impressively lazy, but are you really going to complain about walking class?" 

You don't even know. 

You don't even know what I'm going through. I never knew that people could walk so fast. It's like...sprint-walking or something. I keep almost tripping over my abnormally large feet. (cool story...I had to buy my new shoes in the men's section. They're a size 11...in mens. That's like a 13 in women's.) 

You'd think that having freak-feet would make walking long distances easier. Lies. They just make you flat-footed so you have to stomp around the place like an arthritic godzilla. Or a heavy-set camel. Or an obese third-grader. Or a fish that spontaneously grew stumpy legs. 

So, yeah. My feet. They're stupid. 

Also, I think that my fitness teacher has decided to make me her "project." Like, if she encourages me enough, I will spontaneously become an expert at fitness walking. I'm sorry, but that is not going to happen. My feet will always be big and stupid and I will always be lazy and unmotivated to do anything but watch netflix and eat pizza. 

Mmmm...pizza. 

Pizza bagel bites are awesome, by the way. Not that it has anything to do with anything...but the fact still stands. Pizza bagels kick ass. 

This blog feels fairly boring. Sorry. I can't accidentally sexually harass boys every week. Somebody might get wise and report me to university PD. 

Ha...like they're real cops of something. Plus, I'm a criminal justice major. We're all on the same team, bros. 

I should go. My criminology notes beckon. 

Sociology for Dummies

So, I'm thinking of starting a new blog (or at least retitling this one.) My new/renamed blog would be called Weird Places I, Danielle L Renckly, Fell Asleep and Also Why Does My Hall Have So Many Damn Fire Drills?

It's a working title. 

But seriously. Those two things combined basically comprise my entire life at college so far this year. For one, the sleeping in weird places should really not be an issue. I have a single dorm and two sets of furniture. Two beds, two chairs, four perfectly good places to nap!  

Apparently, whatever instinct controls my sleeping habits would beg to differ. A list of the places I have fallen asleep in the last two weeks is as followed: 

the floor, the floor, the floor again, the shower, the floor, under my bed, the floor, the floor, the shower again, the floor, inside a box, the floor, the floor and, oh guess what? THE FREAKING FLOOR. 

For some reason, I keep waking up on the floor of my dorm. Sometimes I'll wake up on the floor and not remember how I got there. 

You know, this all plays pretty well into my "I'm secretly a werewolf" theory. 

But, moving on to the fire drill thing. I've been at school for about a month now. Four weeks. Not that long. In that time, my stupid building has been through four fire drills. That is literally a drill per week. Not, of course, that they've been spaced out that nicely. No, they happen without warning at the most inopportune times. Like at midnight. Or when it's storming in a torrential fashion. Or when I was very busy watching the Vampire Diaries, thank you very much! 

Stupid college. 

Speaking of stupid college, I had a test in Sociology today. 

It did not go well.

 Have you ever read something that was in English, or whatever language you happen to speak natively, and have just not understood it? Like even a little bit? 

That had never happened to me before this morning. And let me tell you...it was terrible. Awful. I almost cried. I was taking my exam and I looked at the first question and I...

I...

I DIDN'T GET IT. 

It said something along the lines of "looking from the perspective of Muller's theory on differential association, how does the ruling class assure its hegemony through constructing and diffusing a proper ideology of crime?" 

Ummmm...yes? 

 Is this what stupid people feel like all the time? IS IT? 

I feel like I'm in Latin/Spanish/Math class all over again. I hate being not awesome at things. 

And with that improper segue...(spelled that word right on the first try, I did) 

I'm currently in mourning. I've had a dear friend fall gravely ill. And by dear friend I mean my macbook and by gravely ill I mean it decided that it wanted to stop turning on. 

My computer is quite the hipster. Apparently, working when I needed it to work was too mainstream. Now, I'm stuck doing all my homework/facebook stalking/blog typing on a computer in the library. When I am struck with my own hilariousness and start to laugh like a moron, the people all stare at me.

Peasants. They're all jealous of my overwhelming awesomeness.

But, seriously...I know nothing at all about computers. I know that they're the special magic boxes that let me watch my shows and type my snark-tastic blogs, but that's pretty much it. So, my attempts to fix my lovely macbook began and ended at hitting it, yelling at it and then cussing it out. 

So, I'm probably going to need to contact a professional. 

I'm gonna go stand outside the library and stop the first dweeb in a Doctor Who shirt. Sound plan, I think. 

I'll let you know how it all pans out.

Hell is Other People (And Big Feet)

Hey there...Danielle in Sociology class here.

I'm so bored. So, the other day my biology professor just said that there's "no way to escape learning." For one, that sounds rather frightening. Are you going to hunt me down and force me to read a textbook at gunpoint?

 "You will learn, defiant student!" 

"No, no, please! Anything but that! Anything but learning!" 

"Learn or I shoot!" 

"Give me ignorance or give me death!"

 Two, I so totally can. Haha, I defy you, biology professor! I should be listening to the lecture...instead I'm writing a devilishly amusing blog! Learning, ha...school is for chumps.

So...my ongoing quest for college-friends has hit another tiny bump. This bump, unlike the others, is not due to my undeserved sense of superiority or my unwillingness to ever leave my room. This bump is made entirely of social awkwardness. And also feet. 

It happened this morning. I was on my way to class, listening to my music, just as chill as you please. I was like a normal human for five seconds almost. Then I tripped over my stupid feet. A boy who was walking near me glanced over and said something along the lines of "are you okay?" 

Now this is the point where most normal humans would nod and laugh or thank the kind stranger who had taken in interest in their present predicament. Not me. Nope. I will not settle for normal, comfortable social interaction. Instead I shouted the words, "Big Feet!" at him. 

Smooooth. 

I do have fairly large feet. They're size 12. My feet are not petite. When he looked confused and a little embarrassed, I decided to do the idiotic thing and keep talking. "I have big feet...I was, I was talking about my feet. They making walking a rather difficult endeavor." 

When he remained silent, I assumed that I should keep going. "Yeah...so I was talking about my feet. Not your feet. All thought, you know what they say about guys with big feet!" 

Once time travel is invented, I am using it to go back to that moment and shoot myself. I'm not kidding. 

Keep in mind, that I had headphones in for all of this so I was practically shouting these things. It was suuuuper. 

After an awkward half-bow half-curtsy deal, I scrambled up and used my big feet to get the hell out of there. So...that was my Tuesday.

Anyway, I've updated my blog. It's now DDB 2.0 (Danielle's Depressing Blog Two-Point-Oh). No gonna lie...it's pretty bitching. (I'm going to bring back the word bitching. I feel like it's going fairly well at this point.)

So...this school's temperatures are Dante's Inferno-themed today. My dorm room is literally the hottest place I have ever been. My Bio class is about the same temperature. But my sociology class decided that it was going to be different. My Bio class decided to be the ninth circle of hell today. For those of you not in the know, that means that my bio class (and the ninth circle of Danielle-hell) is really, really, really cold.

Also, Judas might be here. I don't know yet.

How am I supposed to dress for these ever-fluctuating temperatures? Wear short shorts and a parka? Snow pants and a tank top? 

Maybe the hipster I saw the other day with jeans, no shirt and a beanie had the right idea. Ha, as if. Hipsters never have the right idea. Expect being hit by buses. That's a right idea, all you hipsters out there. Think of the volume of people who get hit by buses. Not very high, right? Right. So, you'd be super un-mainstream. 

You're welcome, world. Thanks to me, Danielle L Renckly, there are no more hipsters. They were all hit by buses...and died. 

I should go...there are probably a dozen or so people left on campus who I haven't made uncomfortable yet. That needs to be remedied.

The Adventures of The Snark: The Sarcastic Crusader

Hey there, blog lovers. 

 

(That makes you all sound weird. Sorry.)

 

 

So...I'm bored. Once again, I am at work, failing to sell lawn mowers. Who cares? Lawn mowers are stupid. When the zombies rise up, no one is going to care about lawn mowers.

 

Though those really big ones with the giant blades would make pretty good weapons. Hmmm. This is an idea. Me with my lawn mower and maybe a machete of some kind. Suck it, zombies! I'm the white, female version of Will Smith! You'll never get me!

 

Ha, we know that's not true. I'd be dead after five minutes in a zombie apocalypse. Or I'd be the one to start the zombie apocalypse by inadvertently knocking over a vat of zombie-juice or something. I don't know. This example got unexpectedly long and rambling.

 

Still, using lawn mowers to kill zombies. My idea. If that pops up on The Walking Dead or in a crappy horror movie, I'm suing. Intellectual property and all that.

 

Anyway, I'm back up to Muncie next week. Back to the land of me having no friends and also an unfortunate abundance of majors. I'm Criminal Justice right now. I honestly have no idea how that happened or why I thought it was a good idea. My skill set of being snarky and lying on a couch watching The Vampire Diaries does not go well with a career in bringing justice to criminals.

 

Though I would like to be a superhero. I could wear a cape and call myself The Snark (again, intellectual property of Danielle L Renckly). Would I have a superpower? Nah...Batman doesn't have superpowers. And Batman is badass.

 

Evildoers beware the Sarcastic Crusader!

 

Yes. I'm going to get my criminal justice degree and somehow use it to become The Snark/female-Batman. I'll be the hero that the greater Indianapolis area deserves...but not the one that it needs.

 

Or maybe I'll just change my degree to glass blowing. Or have a nervous breakdown. All three are equally as likely at this point.

 

So, yeah. That's where I'm at right now.

 

Also, we're t-minus (or teeth-minus) 5 days to shark week.

 

I love shark week. I've covered it before here, but you really cannot understand my depth of affection for it. I'm not being hipster-y and ironic. I genuinely love shark week. I follow it on Twitter. (P.S. I got a twitter. Follow me!)

 

I don't know what it is. It's just the best week of the whole year. And thankfully I have a single dorm this year so I can watch my Shark Week in undisturbed peace.

 

 

Except for, you know, school and all that.

 

Anyway, I should go. These lawn mowers aren't going to not sell themselves. (Double negative! Ick...but whatever) Wait...wait just a second...these lawn mowers are going to not sell themselves!

 

Haha!

 

But really.

 

I should go. My boss keeps walking by and glaring at me. I keep doing cross-eyes at him though, so that might be part of it.

 

Sigh. I miss Hot warehouse boy Ethan.

 

Later.

 

-The Snark (aka, Danielle)

Tales from Fort Danielle

So…Danielle here.

Let’s admit it. I’ve been lax this summer. There have been no blogs. No blogs at all.

But, come on…lawn mowers don’t sell themselves (I, in fact, don’t do so well selling them either. That’s a thing lawn mowers and I have in common, apparently.)

But, I’m bored.

And I’m out of things to do again. Out of all the things. And now I have…let’s see…four and a half hours to kill. AND NOTHING TO KILL THEM WITH. I’ve worn out the sword that was busy work. I have done all the busy work. I am no longer busy.

This is TERRIBLE.

Four more days of work, people. 32 more hours (well, 36.5 hours if you count the rest of today.). 2,190 more minutes to kill.

DIE, MINUTES DIE!

Well, I suppose I could go ask my supervisor if she has anything else for me to do…

Nah. I’ll probably just take some old invoices and make more paper airplanes. I’ve gotten rather good at paper airplanes this summer.

In fact, my paper airplanes are bitchin.

So, be jealous. I’ve wasted my whole summer and only got a lot of money and bitchin paper airplanes out of it.

So, moving on to some unfortunate tidings.

I’ve had to decommission Fort Danielle.

It was a sad day. Hot warehouse boy named Ethan went back to Illinois to be with his fiancée (she’s ugly. I bet she’s ugly).

See, Hot warehouse boy named Ethan was really the whole reason Fort Danielle came to exist. See, I saw hot warehouse boy named Ethan and hid in the top part of the warehouse to watch him and his sexy, sexy self. As the days passed, I created a fort with boxes, broken file cainets and an unused go-kart. It had a chair and a box for foot-resting and a peep hole for Ethan-stalking.

It was a dream. A beautiful, impossible dream.

Ethan thought my name was Jennifer. Seriously. Like, the first day we met he waved and said "See you tomorrow, Jennifer!" I was so amazed that he acknowledged me that I kinda didn't bother correcting him on the whole my-name-is-Danielle-not-

Jennifer bit.

And they say it's not good manners to correct your future husband anyway. So, it kinda spiraled out of control from there. I would go out of my way to keep people from addressing me as Danielle (you know, my name) in front of hot warehouse boy Ethan.

It got real complicated real fast.

I would have changed my name to Jennifer if we got married. Seriously. And I don't even like that name.

Anyway. Ethan's gone now, back in Illinois with his one-eyed, acne-faced finacee. So I no longer have to fear my name. I was thinking about pulling a Voldemort. Going by an intimidating moniker. She-who-should-not-be-poked or something. I dunno.

God, I'm tired. This job requires like an hour of driving to get to and the day starts at 8 for me, so I have to wake up at 6. It's like high school. Only with lawn mowers.

I fell asleep at my desk the other day. I mean, I doze sometimes, but this was hardcore sleeping. I was out. I may have snored. I don't know. I did drool. I know because the expense reports I was supposed to be filing were sticking to my face.

Anyway, my least favorite office mate walked by my office. I sprang up from the desk and shouted "I HAVE A HEADACHE!" in my best project-around-the-whole-

auditorium voice from high school. 

My whole office was actuely, painfully aware that I, Danielle L Renckly, had a headache, dammit. I was not going to stand for this. I was going to shout about it and make sure eveyone else had a headache too.

Thing is, I didn't have a headache. My head felt fine. My head was awesome. I have no idea why my subconcious mind thought the best thing to shout at that particular moment was "I have a headache!"

It's okay if you don't understand. I don't and neither did the rest of my office. For the rest of the day, they all treated me like a bomb that might shout mean words at them if they looked at me funny. They don't seem to realize I'm like that all of the time.

Anyway, I should. This blog has sucessfully managed to gobble a half hour of my life.

36 left.

...I could write 72 more blogs...

No.

No.

Be strong.

Okay.

Jennifer...ahem...Danielle Out.

Summer Blog 1: To Hell (or New Mexico) and Back Again

Okay....

 

So, I wasn't planning on writing any blogs this summer. I thought I'd just do a blog-haitus until school starts again. With an awesome internship and a vacation to California on the way, what did I even have to complain about? Plus, I wanted to be a network tv show...not a soap opera.

 

Turns out my life is soapier than I dare admit.

 

I just got back from what has to be the stupidest series of events that have ever happened on a vacation. Seriously, the National Lampoon Family has nothing on me right now.

 

First, our car ride there was the worst thing ever. At one point, I was convinced that we'd slipped out of New Mexico and into Hell. So, in other words, we stayed in New Mexico (thereby implying that New Mexico is hell. Bam. Joke landed.) The ride was supposed to take us 28 hours. It took us 38. Imagine 38 hours in a cargo van with seven other people who you don't particularly like all that much.

 

New Mexico. 

It was terrrible.

 

Next, I blew up my thumb. Like, not blew up like a balloon. Blew up like a damn explosion. Long story short, my uncle makes model airplanes. Like, the big ones that apparently require stupidly huge batteries. I was sitting at a table and I saw some wires. I didn't know what they were attached to nor did I really care to find out. I was bored, so I started sticking them into each other.

 

Turns out you shouldn't randomly stick black and red wires together. Beacuse they'll freaking explode.

 

I saw the fire (because there was some. And sparks. And smoke.) and I was convinced that I was straight-up going to die. I said my prayers, I was ready to go. It was the end. I had accepted it.

 

Then the fire stopped and I started to laugh because I was alive. But I also started to cry because I was terrified and my thumb freaking hurt. So, I was laughing and crying at the same time. My sister informed me that she had never been so scared of another human before.

 

So many emotions.

 

Anyway, I'd like to propose that we change the proverb from "Curiosity killed the cat" into 'Being stupid almost killed the teenage girl with 1/4 of a college degree."

My war wound. I deserve a medal. And a higher-cut shirt. 

 

We weren't even to California yet.

 

Once we got there, things got stupider.

 

For one, I decided that sunscreen was for wimps. Forget the fact that I haven't been outside for longer than twenty minutes at a time in the last six years. Yeah, that's not even a little bit important.

 

Except it totally is and, as someone who could probably pass for albino, when you don't wear sunscreen, you end up  looking less tan and more like a burn victim. All of my skin peeled off.

An anonymous burn victim. 

 

And you thought I couldn't get any more a-peeling. Ha.

 

I amuse myself.

 

Anyway, I'll skip a few of the stupid things that happened (they include my siblings informing a lifeguard that they had seen a shark, maybe, and siblings breaking my new headphones and me crying about it). Because I really need to tell you what happened at Disneyland.

 

Someone stole my new iphone. At the happiest place on earth.

 

Only me. Only me and my stupid life would get an iphone stolen on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland. I never liked you, Harrison Ford, what with your stupid hair and action-hero physique.

 

I never even got to download the app that makes gun noises.

 

It's okay. I'll just shoot y'all with this real one I picked up in Texas. 

I would have used it for good and not evil, I promise.

 

But now I have to use my money made at my stupid job selling lawnmowers to buy a new stupid phone that won't be as nice as my last one.

 

Anyway, that was my vacation. It was stupid. Like my life.

 

Danielle Out.

 

Me and my stolen phone flitting around

 and being vain in happier times. 

 

Day 253 of College: Backpacking for Beginners

Today...


Today was stupid. It was just a series of events that were straight-up ridiculous. 


It started in the morning. I woke up, went to my first class and took a test. That was all fine. But, after that, I had to sign up for classes. 


What you have to understand about college classes is that getting registered in the classes you actually want to take is rather challenging. 


And stupid. 


I had a time slot when I was allowed to sign up. That time slot happened to be during my anthropology class. I tried to be all sneaky-like and sign up for classes instead of listening to the lecture. 


Except that my computer is a tool and didn't seem to feel like letting me sign up for classes. After some loud sighs and furious clicking, I just walked out. People stared. 


I really wanted to get into a walking class, you see. Ball State students have to take a physical education requirement. I was determined that mine be walking. Not running, not jogging...walking. 


I'd take crawling if they offered it. 


Anyhow, I went to the library and found a computer that worked. The working computer informed me that no, I couldn't sign up for classes because I owed five dollars to the university. 


Really, Ball State? The small fortune you've already stolen from me wasn't enough? You need five more dollars? Okay then. 


But, wait...you don't take credit cards? 


I had to backpack-run back to my dorm and find my emergency money so I could pay a five dollar fine and sign up for walking. 


I make fun of the kids who backpack-run (that's running...when you have a backpack on). They look incredibly stupid. 


I had to backpack-run across campus. Twice. 


Who looks stupid now? ... Yeah. It's this girl. 


So...that was my day. 


Also, I'm pretty positive I'm going to fail my economics class. 


I got an A on the first test so I was all "Oh yeah, I got this. No more paying attention in lectures for me. I'm an economic genius!!!" 


That was a false statement. I am no economics genius. The first test was just easy. So now I have to learn a whole semester's worth of economics before the final next week. 


I'm gonna need a bigger dorm room. 


Oh! And speaking of dorm rooms...I have a single next year! Huzzah! I will never have to talk to anyone ever again! Agoraphobia!!! 


But not really. I'm assuming someone will try to talk to me in walking class. I did, in fact, get in. 


And who wouldn't want to socialize with me and also walk? 


It's a win-win-win-win-win-win. Win. 


Danielle OUT. 


...win.