Modifications and Mediocrity: The Danielle Story

I didn't have to wear a coat today, guys. 

It was a strange experience. I felt like one of those slim fast adds where a person loses a bunch of weight, but in this case it wasn't a bunch of weight. It was two jackets and a coat. 

I don't know. I'm pretty sure the weather is lulling me into a false sense of security. I'm going to get used to wearing short sleeves and then BAM! zero degrees again.

Indiana is sneaky like that. It lures you in with promises of corn and high obesity rates, but before you know it you're walking to work in zero degree weather and the sidewalks are super sub-par because Muncie is literally one of the worst places on the planet. 

Living here is kinda funny in the way that women comedians are funny...so, not actually funny and more just uncomfortable. And there are lots of jokes about "that time of the month" wink, wink, nudge, nudge. And you keep looking at the clock and wondering if you should leave or just stick it out and get sloppily drunk because, let's face it, there is no way you are getting through this evening sober. 

And...that metaphor got away from me a bit. Moving on. 

So, I saw some people from high school this weekend when I was judging speech state this weekend. While I was there, I crushed the dreams of like a hundred children. It was a super rewarding experience...five out of five, would recommend. But, no, I saw a bunch of people who go to places like IU and Purdue and they're super proud of their colleges and their life choices. 

And whenever somebody asked them about school, they had exciting things to talk about and large amounts of school pride to display. Whenever somebody who went to Ball State was asked about school, they would sigh rather sadly, look out a rain-streaked window and shake their head slowly as they thought about the long past springtime of their youth. 

Spoiler alert...that was me. I was the one staring despondently out the window because Muncie is secretly a gateway to the underworld. 

Moral of this really stupid and rambling story: Do not trust Indiana or its weather. Do not trust.

But, no. There are so many things I was supposed to do this spring late winter break. And somehow I managed to not do any of them. Literally none. I am a winner. At life. And at making terrible choices.

Spring late winter break was weird guys.

So I bought skyrim for my computer. And...Welp. That sentence pretty much sums up my whole break.

For those if you who are woefully uniformed, Skyrim is a video game (or, let's be real, beautiful, cinematic adventure that is a landmark in both storytelling and awesomeness) where you get to fight dragons. 

What's better than fighting dragons? 

Oh, that's right. Literally nothing.

But, yeah. That's what I spent my break doing...exploring Skyrim and murdering dragons. 'Twas an epic quest, let me tell you. 


And that would be fine and all but, I get way too into things. 

It's a pretty basic component of my personality. If there is a normal-person level of liking things, I will at least triple that. If I has just a tad less self-awareness and a tad more money, I would buy or fashion skyrim armor and wear it on the daily. 

(I get like this about a lot of stuff, guys. Like, a lot of stuff. I am not a well-adjusted adult. I named my cat after a fictional space marine.) 

But...yes. I am way too into this game right now. Unhealthily so. There are these things called mods that make pretty minuscule changes to the game. I've downloaded like five dozen, just, graphics mods. They change completely random things like making the colors slightly more vibrant or the stars a little brighter or the texture on the grass more dense.

I have wasted hours on that shit. And that's not even starting in on the stupid mods that do stuff like make the enemies curse when you punch them. I found one that puts monocles and tophats on all the mudcrabs.

They are hella classy, yo.

And speaking of things that are hella classy...

I finally finished all of the apple juice wine in my fridge. So...I no longer have to triple check my apple juice before being sure it is in fact apple juice and not wine. 

Ugh. Guys, I hate wine. Even apple juice wine. It is just gross. 

Also, it seems that "apple juice wine" is a legitimate phrase that I am using. I am at a point in my life where I say that and I am referencing an actual thing.

I am...a hot mess. Cold mess? Lukewarm mess. Feels about right. 

Speaking of my appearance and its temperature, I am about five-hundred percent done with, like, having hair. I hate my hair. It is stupid and too long and, like, four different colors because of all the times I've dyed it. 

Maybe I should just shave my head and be done with it. 

Would I look good bald?

No.

Would it be worth it anyway?

Possibly.

Ugh. Life is actually horrible. I hate college and also Muncie. I hate dealing with people and things. People and things are terrible. I just want to become a professional writer and make up stories about people who are way more together than me.

Real life is so dull.

The mud crabs are tiny and they have no top hats. Also, the only way to improve graphics here is to wear my stupid hipster shades.

Ugh. Modifications needed guys. So needed right now.

Late Winter Break, Major News and Master Plans

Ugggghhhh. 

Guys. 

It is still so cold outside. It is March. It is not supposed to be cold. There is not supposed to be snow on the ground right now. 

Spring break is next week. This is the opposite of okay. I refuse to call it spring break. It is late winter break. 

Ah, well. It's not like I'm going anywhere or doing anything for spring late winter break anyway. I plan on chilling in my apartment and maybe replaying Mass Effect for, like, the eight time. I don't know. I should try to do something productive, like work on the book I'm writing or, I don't know, homework or something. 

I guess I can go to the bars? Or something? I am 21 now. That is a thing I can do. 

Speaking of my whole being-21-thing, I went to the casino again this weekend. I went in with twenty bucks and left with fifty! Yay! I now have enough extra money to either pay, like, half of my power bill or to buy two pizzas! 

It's really hard to order a pizza when you live alone, though. Because when the delivery guys comes to the door it's like I'm admitting, yes I do plan on eating literally a whole pizza by myself. Do you have a problem with that? There's a negative stigma that comes with eating a pizza by yourself, guys. 

Usually, I'll do something like play netflix loudly in the other room or turn the shower on or something and yell "oh, pizza's here!" to make it seem like I have another person to assist me in my pizza-eating. 

It's a lot of effort just to get a pizza. Usually, I just don't order pizza and instead eat lots of cereal. And waffles. And french toast sticks. I live primarily off of breakfast foods. 

Meh. 

I'm still disappointed about my super-lame spring late winter break plans. All of the other college kids are like "I'm going to Florida!" or "I'm going to some island somewhere!" And I'm over here in my stir fry corner like "I'm going to Fishers...maybe...if I can get a ride..." 

I need a car. And money. And also friends. I feel like all three of those things would be me improve in the long run. As a human. 

In Major news (see that's a pun because it's important news and also news about my major), I've been considering several different things to do. I need to finish this degree first...duh. I've sunk three years and several thousand dollars into this stupid thing. But once I'm done...I don't know. I don't particularly want to work with criminals? And also sociology isn't a degree that I can actually get a job in. 

So...I need a Master Plan (see that's a pun because it might involve a master's degree). A Master Plan that involves knowing what I actually want to do. My Master Plan most likely involves going to...wait for it...grad school! Or law school. One of those two things. 

Or I could just say screw it, drop out now and go to live in Canada. I had a dream I moved to Canada. It was pretty happy there. Maybe I should move to Canada guys. Maybe it's a sign. I love breakfast food, they have maple syrup. 

Granted, it's cold there literally all the time. 

So...maybe that isn't a thing I should do?

You know, I've typed rather a lot over basically nothing at all. I'm excellent at talking about nothing. I babble. And annoy. And irritate. And chatter. And ramble. 

I'm sure that there are other synonyms I could come up with. 

We've established...I'm loquacious. 

I'm also in the middle of a class. So...I should probably go attend to that. 

A Danielle by Any Other Name...

So I found out last night that all of the football players who I so kindly made stir fry for all year think my name is Jess. 

Jess? Really guys? I THOUGHT WHAT WE HAD WAS SPECIAL! I have cooked you dinner, like, a hundred times and you don't even know my name. My feelings...are so hurt right now. 

Not actually. 

Because it's not like I even kind of know any of their names. I know them by their orders. Oh, that guy? Sure I know that guy! That's beef, teryaki sauce, no veggies and white rice guy! And him? Oh, he's all three meats with General Tso's and noodles! 

But it was kind of funny, because when I told them my name wasn't Jess they were all surprisingly distressed about it. They made me tell them what my name started with so they could guess what it was. 

They guessed several very outlandish words that started with D before I took pity on them and told them my name. 

They got through Diamond, Dave and something that sounded vaguely like Dorkle before guessing Danielle. 

I kind of wanted to say yes to Diamond, though. Diamond is a kickass name. I would be really okay with someone thinking my name was Diamond. 

It's better than stupid Jess. 

In other news about my name and my job, everyone there has slowly but surely taken to calling me Dani. I'd just like to point out that I never asked them to call me Dani. I never referred to myself as Dani. The word Dani has never come out of my mouth other than following the words "Don't call me..." 

I have no clue why it's happing. 

And I don't know how I feel about it? 

I mean, I have always disliked the name Danielle. The name Danielle is stupid. I'd go by my middle name if I could, but my middle name is even stupider. 

So...Dani is a thing that's happening? I guess? We can see where it goes? 

In other news, I'm judging a speech meet this weekend. It sucks because I have to wake up early. Like, insanely early. Like, early as in "I usually go to bed like an hour after this" early. Whatever. It's worth it though because it gives me, just, an insane amount of power over a group of high schoolers. 

With a stroke of my mighty judging pen, I get to decide if their day is good or terrible. I am the decider of things and scores and whatnot! 

I'm quite excited, guys. It almost makes up for the insane earliness that I am being forced to deal with. I might just not sleep. I do that with alarming regularity. 

I like to claim I'm an insomniac. What I really am is a person with incredibly poor decision-making skills. 

Look at my track record. Look at all of my majors. 

There really is no arguing with those kinds of results, guys. Or, I mean, there could be arguing but it would be really futile and useless and blah blah blah. 

Speaking of lack of sleep things, I had a midterm essay due this morning. I'd like to claim that the account of me writing the essay that follows is due to the fact that I forgot about it or something, but that would be a lie. 

I didn't forget. I was super aware of the fact that I had a midterm essay due for several days beforehand. But because I'm a moron, I didn't start until two in the morning, like, eight hours before it was due. 

Professors really need to stop referring to assignments as things I "can't finish the night before." Some part of my special-snowflake-Danielle-brand of crazy takes that as a challenge. Don't underestimate me, professors. I once wrote a twenty page research paper the night before it was due. 

I'm impressive in the worst possible way. 

Honestly, my grades on my slapdash awful papers are usually pretty good. Better than grades people who actually spend time on their assignments and, I don't know, try. 

Imagine what I could do if I spent more time on my assignments. If I started actually writing rough drafts and editing...I might actually be able to take over the world, guys. 

But, then again, there are some pretty interesting documentaries about sharks I've been meaning to watch...

So I should probably do that before I get on with my world domination. 

You know. Priorities. 

Bars are Weird, Casinos are Depressing and So Am I

Guys, this weekend was weird. 

I turned 21. Went to bars. Drank alcoholic beverages. 

Refused to dance beyond awkward hand motions. 

You know, the usual. 

So, I accidentally hit my friend in the head with my, admittedly rather large, nose. It was pretty hard. There was blood involved. Coming from my nose, not her head. My nose is large, not sharp. 

Anyway. 

I didn't actually drink that much, for turning 21 and all. I'm kind of super lame when I'm drunk too. Mostly I wanted to go home and take a nap, but that is kind of my default setting so no one was actually surprised. 

I get really weirdly pretentious, too. I kept quoting Oscar Wilde for some reason and talking about obscure bands. I don't know. I just wanted to let everyone else know I was better than them. Because of this, I sang really loud when songs I knew were on. I also sang really loud when songs I did not know were on. 

Also, I was really cold, but refused to wear a coat because I didn't want anything obstructing the view of my very sparkly shirt. 

It was real sparkly, guys. Fishing lure sparkly. Intense amounts of sparkle. 

And for some reason, I kept calling everyone dude. I don't know why. I really, really don't. 

So, you know...shenanigans. 

But the fun doesn't stop there, oh no it does not. The drunk Danielle fun train is just leaving the station. Lots of embarrassing stops coming up, folks. 

I'm going to tell you something and you're going to think I'm lying, but I'm really not. 

A midget hit on me. And I ran away. 

And before you yell at me, I mostly ran away because a boy was talking to me. Not because he was a midget, specifically. And look, I know that "midget" is probably not the most politically correct term or whatever. But if I'm being honest here, "little people" seems way more offensive than midget. Little people is what my mom calls her kindergarteners. 

But back to my story. I was hit on. By a little person midget whatever. It wouldn't be all that extraordinary, but he was literally the only guy who hit on me. All night. Have I just been looking in the wrong niche or something? Am I, like, just attractive to midget little people whatevers? 

This is going to require some soul searching. Also, some more trips to bars in the name of scientific inquiry. 

I am nothing if not respectful of the scientific method. 

Speaking of things that are weirdly sad and smell like smoke, I went to a casino! 

It was super depressing, guys. Incredibly depressing. Depressing all around. Most of the people there were old or looked old because their skin had been exposed to lots and lots of cigarette smoke. 

It was a hotbed of sin and debauchery, let me tell you. 

I spent thirty dollars. 

And won nothing. 

I also learned that I suck at blackjack. Did you know blackjack was a thing you could, like, hardcore suck at? I so did. It was really sad. Took me like five minutes to lose twenty bucks.

My favorite machine was an under-the-sea-themed slot machine. There were sea turtles and it make a do-do-do-do sound whenever I bet anything. 

It was all very exciting.

Until I lost thirty dollars and realized that my juice would have to be store-brand this month. That shit is just unacceptable. It is either watered down or way too sugary.  

Ugh...my life. Is so. Difficult. 

I should go. I have homework that I didn't do because I was busy quoting The Picture of Dorian Gray in a bar and singing the National and Frightened Rabbit songs over Ke$ha. Loudly. 

I'm real cool guys. I so don't blame that midget for hitting on me. 

Later. 

Juice, Polygamy, Screenplays and Appletinis

Sup.

It's a Thursday. It's cold outside.

So, you know, the usual things are happening. Bad weather, day that ends in y...check marks all around.

But, I turned 21 this week. So that is an exciting thing that happened. I drank some appletinis and bought some beer even though I really hate beer. So...I have that now. I'm not going to drink it, because it is twelve kinds of nasty, but I have it. And I am legally allowed to have it.

So suck on that, everyone younger than me. I might be likely to die sooner than you, but I have beer! Legally!

Right now I'm awkwardly lingering in a Starbucks trying to kill the forty minutes or so I have between classes and work. I figured it was write a blog or work on a screenplay, so...

Oh, you think I don't have a screenplay?

You're right. I don't have a screenplay. I have, like, a dozen of them.

But anyway, I wrote a pretty fabulous paper on polygamy the other day. And by pretty fabulous, I mean that halfway through, it turned into a self-righteous rant about how it was Perfectly Fine to be single and about how other people shouldn't force their life choices on me, oh my god Mom get off my case.

Yeah...

I probably should have rewritten it, but I didn't start it until two in the morning the night before. So really I'm just lucky I wrote anything at all. It was a bit of of a mess though, I'm not gonna lie. I think at one point I combined, like, three different sociologists into one mega-sociologist.

It worked for the Power Rangers. Why not sociologists?

I'll let you know about my grade. I wonder if it's possible to give someone a negative score for an assignment.

Anyway...time for a story.

Before I tell this story, vosotros need to understand something. I have a weirdly intense, probably majorly unhealthy, love of fruit juice. Two particular types, apple and cran-grape, stand above the rest. If I don't have a bottle of each in my fridge, my mental state is less than ideal.

I honestly think I might be a little bit cripplingly dependent on cran-grape and apple juice. They are literally the only items on my grocery list that I buy name-brand. I have money in my monthly budget set aside for juice-items.

My first alcoholic beverage was an appletini because of the possibility it might taste like apple juice.

But back to my story!

So, I turned 21 Tuesday. I had a bottle of wine that I got from my parents for my birthday and I decided that I was going to open that sucker and have a glass. I'm 21, dammit. I do what I want.

Because I am a liquor novice, me and the bottle opener got into a bit of a tussle. And by bit of a tussle, I mean I threw it at my wall and now I have a hole in my wall shaped like a bottle opener. So I gave up on the bottle opener and used a knife to cut the cork in half like a really lame ninja or something. Unfortunately, that made the cork fall into the bottle.

So now I had a bottle of wine with bits of cork floating in it. It was really, really frustrating. I laid down on my kitchen floor for a while and my cat Commander Shepurred started chewing on my toes. I needed a place to put my stupid wine. And I had ruined the stupid cork.

But...what was that? And empty apple juice container in my fridge? What luck!

And it was lucky. Until this morning when I wanted a drink of apple juice. The wine was vaguely apple juice colored and I was tired enough that it passed. So I just took a big drink of of it. Of wine. That I thought was apple juice.

It was literally the worst thing that has very happened to anyone ever. I spit wine all over my kitchen.

I had to eat, like, half a dozen waffles to make myself feel better.

Anyway, in other news, the ladies at work have started to offer me rides home. Instead of being a normal human and saying something like "oh, no thanks," or, I don't know, accepting the rides so I don't have to walk a mile and a half to get home, I felt the need to explain why I hate accepting rides from other people and that my Danielle-brand of craziness that makes me unwilling, or let's beyond honest, actually physically unable to accept help from other people.

I just really hate depending on other people for things. For anything at all. A lot of me wants to get a medical degree so I'll never have to ask a doctor for help. I hate ordering things in the mail because it means depending on another person to deliver the things to me. I hate asking my landlord to fix things because it means admitting that I can't fix the things by myself.

I have problems.

Problems that require me to go now and not twenty minutes from now because I am too stubborn to take the bus.

The snow awaits.

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. 

How (Not) to Make Good Life Choices

The weather's up to double digits, you guys.

 #heatwave

There is supposedly a giant monster storm headed my way next week. So...that sucks. I almost want to have kids someday for the sole purpose of telling them I walked miles uphill in the snow to go to school and work. 

Because I legitimately do! There are hills involved in my walk. I have a hole in my favorite pair of shoes. I own a newsboy cap. I am essentially an orphan in the 1930s. 

So...valentines day is coming up.

Ugh.

I happens to be the weekend after my birthday. I plan on going up to Purdue and going to the bars with my friends. It's probably really sad that going to bars is less unhealthy than my usual coping methods. They involve me literally hiding under my bed and eating a pint of ice cream while listening to I Can't Make You Love Me on repeat. For hours.

Eh...I actually care less about the whole perpetually-single thing than I used to. I mean, even if I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't know what to do with him. I'd be like, "hey there, significant other! is it cool if we only see each other three days a week or whatever? and when we do see each other, is it okay if I mostly ignore you?" Because seeing the same person every day of the week for hours at a time...ugh. 

That sounds all kinds of horrible. 

Moving on...I made the executive decision last night to not sleep. I had to read, like, twelve court cases for my sociology of law class and write summaries and critiques on them. You know, it would have been fine if I would of started right when I got off work at 9. But I decided that watching a documentary about killer whales on netflix was something that I had to do before I could start. 

I don't know. It wasn't a good life choice. 

But, yes. I didn't finish until like 6 in the AM, so I just didn't sleep. Again, I don't know why I did that. It was another poor life choice. 

When I got home from classes at 1, the coffee wore off  and I just crashed. It was almost embarrassing. I don't think I've ever been as happy to see anything as I was to see my bed after I got home. And when I say I completely crashed, I mean it. I slept for seven hours with my coat, hat, gloves, shoes and backpack still on. 

When I woke up, I was very confused. I didn't know where I was. My scarf was sort of choking me. I was sort of sure I'd been kidnapped. 

I don't know why anyone would want to kidnap me, honestly. I have no money and no marketable skills. Other than my ability to cook stir fry. Someone might kidnap me for my stir fry skills. 

Anyway, speaking of my job...when I get bored at work, I like to do weird stuff with the food in my line. It's not creepy weird, it's just strange. Like, I'll make towers out of country fried steaks or see how many frozen shrimps I can stack on top of each other. 

(My record is five.) 

But, no. Yesterday I built a tiny and adorable little city out of corn on the cobs. Or, erm, corn cobs, I guess is what normal people call them. Whatever. I had my corn on the cob city and it was great. I decided that its name was Cornatopia. And, I don't know, I thought that was really, really, extremely funny. 

I had to go sit down in the store room for a little while because I couldn't stop laughing and it was alarming people. Nobody else could seem to comprehend just how funny it was. Cornatopia. It's just...I don't even...it's so funny! How can you not laugh helplessly about that for like a quarter of an hour?

I'm not the weird one here. 

This isn't the first time my emotions at my job have succeeded at making others uncomfortable. Sometimes, when I cook things that have onions in them my eyes will water. My customers, who are mainly high schoolers, always get really freaked out and try to talk to me about my feelings. 

Sometimes, I tell them about the onions. Other times, I just roll with it and let random sixteen year olds go all therapist on me. 

I am not a good person. 

I am also a person who really needs to go make some circus waffles with my circus waffle maker. You see, I was far too busy sleeping today to eat. So...yes. I'm off to do that.