I haven’t showered since Saturday evening. It is now Tuesday 9:13 in the P.M., meaning I have gone an approximate 76.2 hours without cleansing my raunchy body. Some people are into that, like the homeless, or Kehly for example. Others are repelled, like Kehly to diets. Ha.
I’ll do it later.
Tomorrow, there is a serious ice skating bonanza on the menu. Kehly, Marcus, possibly Amy and myself are gonna show Coralville who’s boss. That means Marcus and I are going to show Coralville who’s boss because the other two voids can barely stand. Haha. Everyone has their talents. I’m literally twice the size I used to be though, so my ice skating talents might be a little rusty, and by “might” I mean they will be, and by “rusty” I mean “rusty.”
Remember Y2K? The big chaotic ordeal where everybody thought the world was going to come to an end and we would all be sucked into a pit of eternal darkness because supposedly computers would think they shouldn’t exist? I was just thinking about how ridiculous of a notion that was. People really stock-piled non-perishable foods and gallons upon gallons of water, and even went so far as to duct tape their houses shut. I don’t think you would need a bomb shelter just because computers stopped working, town. Maybe the governor should have sent out a memo alerting people to the fact that, if indeed computers DID stop working, it wouldn’t mean that robots would engage in warfare with us and destroy the world as we know it. Grow up.
I would have been pissed if I couldn’t check my Facebook though.
UPDATE: I just got out of a very long, very steamy shower. My hair actually repelled the water. It was different.
Me: “I need to get skinny.”
Johnny: “Anna Nicole got skinny, and now she’s dead. Think about it.”
Hello all. I’m in the ITC where I usually am, except this time I’m drunk.
Just kidding. I just scalded my skin by spilling hot chocolate all over my hand in the Mayflower Market. The tap doesn’t stop when you stop pressing the button; instead it keeps drizzling out hot cocoa for a few seconds. I was trying to cheat the machine and perfectly top it off, but I underestimated the volume. In an attempt to remove my cup from overflow’s way, I instead Continue reading
That word is “smithed” as in “SMY-ted,” as in “smote,” you illiterate fools. Not past-tense of Alex “Smith.”
Right now I’m wearing very festive Christmas pants that say HoHoHo all over them, because a) I am one, and b) So is Kehly, due to the fact that I am fresh out of clean clothes. I’m not concerned. Yet.
I’m in the midst of a Kellogg’s Special K Red Berries binge right now on account of my lack of ability to deal with my emotions–I mean Anna Nicole Smith DIED after all; what do you EXPECT me to do?!
So…Anna Nicole Smith…found unconscious in a Miami hotel, pronounced dead at a nearby hospital, cause of death “unknown.” I think the term “unknown” is as good as “violent drug overdose,” so I’m gonna go ahead and just accept that. Probably some pain killer or another, I’ll put my money where my mouth is. Much like Paris Hilton, I still don’t know what Anna Nicole Smith is famous for. All she did was gain weight, lose weight, and marry an old guy all while acting anything but socially acceptable. I’ve been doing this my whole life, minus marrying the old guy part (unless you consider Justin Timberlake as “old”–I mean he does have a solid 5 years on me; that’s for you to decide) and what have I got to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but AIDS. That’s another story.
Anyway, God bless her soul.
….Trim Spa, baby.
Speaking of Paris Hilton, what has she ever done, besides other people?
Whore.
I was thinking about my elementary days today, and I recalled when we had to draw pictures for whatever reason in class. First of all, mine were always better than everyone else’s (unless they begged me to draw theirs for them which I often did because their own drawings made me angry on account of how horrible they were). Second, I could never understand why people couldn’t draw a decent portrayal of a human or a simple dog. On to what I was going to talk about though. Did you ever notice how kids cannot understand the concept of the sky? Actually, you probably were one of those kids. They could not, to save their life, draw a normal sky. Sounds simple enough: it’s blue and has no shape. Not according to these kids. The sky looked like this:
I actually looked that up on Google and found exactly what I was looking for in seconds. That’s what I’m talking about. The sky doesn’t reach the ground at the horizon. Oh no. It’s a chunk at the top of the paper. There’s the predictable sun, too. It’s never a round circle in the sky–it’s always peeking out of the corner of the paper. I’m surprised this kid didn’t draw a smiley face on it like everyone else usually did. Obviously this child is a complete retard. First of all, what is even going on in that picture? Oh look; there’s a butterfly in the stratosphere, where they’re normally found—right along side airplanes. Oh–and it’s the same size as one of the cars. I love how the road is sticking up like a flag from the ground, too. Not to mention the grass is half as tall as the door. I think this child will grow up to be an engineer.
Anyway, I’m in the ITC again. I’m about to do some serious studying as a continuation of last night. I’m slightly flustered because I had to purchase a fruit punch Powerade instead of Gatorade because they were out, and I don’t trust any of that grape or arctic chill shiv. It was the “next best thing,” but it’s far too sugary for my liking. I’m disappointed.
__________________________________________________________________
“He’s been drinking. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you.”
Caps loc can scare the shit out of me. I’ll be rapidly typing along and thEN SUDDENLY I AM YELLING AT MYSELF VIA KEYBOARD. It startles me every time. Every time.
I don’t like it.
I’m in the ITC. Surprise. Normally it’s one hundred below zero in here, but today it’s a smoldering french oven. I’m sweating. Not a good combination considering I haven’t showered “recently.” Good thing no one is sitting directly to my left or right. Ha.
Well, I have two tests that I was unaware of on Tuesday, and that means I’m clamping down on studying. Not an easy thing to do on account of my self-diagnosed ADHD. Is there a certain way to become motivated to study? I’m not sure that there is, and if sdj (Jesse Winters just smacked me in the head, hard)—someone knows about it, they need to tell me ASAP.
…Please.
I’ve been thinking about the name “William” for a while now, and there are a lot of odd things about that name. For one, the nickname for William is “Bill.” I’m no Einstein, but in my humble opinion, that doesn’t make a speck of sense. Wouldn’t “Will” be more appropriate? Secondly, the name “William” is very very English, whether it’s British or American, agreed? Why are there so many damn Asians named William? Seriously. Go on Facebook, and search under “William.” About the first 25,000 are rice farmers. It’s out of control. What ever happened to the good old “Ling Ping Wing”s and “Wang Chang Wung”s? Last time I tossed a fork down an empty hall way, it didn’t make the sound “William.” More of a “Ping.” Idiots.
I’m going home this weekend. Good ol’ Council Bluffs. Home of the uncommonly large Hy-Vee and Squirrel Cage Jail. Laurel’s bloodline is hosting another festive party, this time for Valentine’s Day. What better way to drown your sorrows about V-Day than to consume large quantities of alcohol.
I don’t know why everyone gets so worked up about Valentine’s Day. People that actually sit at home and pity themselves seriously need to get a hobby. “Valentine’s Day is SO gay…gosh it sucks. I’m such a loser! No one loves me!!!!11” Fags. How is it any different from any other day that no one likes you? Although I sometimes get a tad jealous of the people that get balloons and chocolates, because I like to suck the helium out of balloons and I like to eat chocolate. Get over yourself.
It’s so hot in here.
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t put fingers back on hands you idiot!”
Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. I trust everyone enjoyed their Superbowl weekend. I know I sure as hell did. It began with 4 pitchers of beer and ended with six more. Needless to say, it was phenomenal.
I’m in the ITC where I usually am this time of night. The kid across the table from me is typing furiously with a very interesting concerned/constipated look on his face. I wish he only knew how he looked right now. He’d be embarrassed. Sooo embarrassed. A lot like Kehly after stepping on the scale.
My biological mother called me earlier today to inform me that she might be able to get me a pair of tickets to either a Christina Aguilera or Justin Timberlake concert this month, both of which would make me pee my pants and possibly cry a little, much like when Kehly sits on my bladder [2+ points for the second Kehly bash–someone keep a tally]. Anyway, doesn’t really SEEM like my type of music, but I secretly harbor a serious appreciation and love for Christina Aguilera’s earthquake-inducing voice. She has a) the best voice on planet Earth, and b) has the best voice on planet Earth. Justin Timberlake is hot on a whole new level, AND he’s sweet. And he’s hot.
He is also very hot.
Moving on.
Katie informed me that someone dragged a dead deer into the elevators of her dorm building yesterday. That is plain disgusting. The fact that a stinky deer carcass was in the elevator is gross, but what’s more gross is the person who touched it. Not a slight touch or poke, either; a hands-on secure grip long enough to heave a 200+ pound bleeding mammal across multiple streets, up some steps, and into an elevator. This takes motivation and semi-insanity. How did no one notice this happening? It’s not like sneaking a pet hamster into a dorm. It’s like parading a billy goat into the mall. People have to notice, and quite possibly question that individual. Gross. I hope they get AIDS.
Still kinda funny though.
Studying time.
IT’S A LOTTERY EXTRAVAGAAAAANNNNNNZAAAA!!!
Oh, my, god.
It is SO FRIGGING cold outside. I don’t think you people realize. My skin–my extremeties, my internal organs–they’re all dysfunctioning because they’re slowly but surely becoming solid chunks of ice inside my body. My ears are as good as gone. Frost bite is on the agenda, folks. The inside of my bottom lip is actually cold. THE INSIDE!! I’m half-expecting to glance out the window just in time to see an arctic glacier crashing through the parking lot into the building. I wouldn’t be surprised. This is the type of unforgiving painful cold that not even the Abominable Snowman would enjoy. Cancun, anyone?
Don’t drink the water.
Know what I hate? Big Biters. You know the ones. You’re quietly enjoying your last Lean Pocket in the corner by yourself, and someone walks in, eyes it down, and goes, “Hey, can I have a bite??” looking really eager and pathetic. You glance down at your steamy cheesy morsel and then back at them, and reluctantly but kindly decide to let them; then they repay you by deep-throating your Lean Pocket and chomping off 2/3 of what was left.
Assholes.
Midge, Kayla, and I believe Kelli “I Have Huge Knockers & On Top Of That I Love Leopard Print” Beyer are coming tonight to party like it’s their job con Kehly y yo. PREEEEETTY excited. Midgets are too much fun.
“You only live once and then it’s oooover,
And if we drink long enough, then we won’t get hung ooooover!”
I’m again in the midst of a study session in the ITC. Things were going swimmingly until the screaming broads returned from the other day. They’re yelling about Grey’s Anatomy and peanut butter cookies. They are so loud, like I don’t think you people realize. I really want to yell at them. Oh my god. One of them just made what sounded like a mating call; a sort of bird-ish gurgle.
…hand me a tranquilizer gun, Ma. We’re going hunting.
I’m going to snipe people that irritate me. I know everyone would thank me for it. It’s like citizen’s arrest: if we all agree, then I can’t get in trouble. The Constitution will back me up. Too bad I’m not a citizen.
Oh well, soon enough everyone will be gone and the lab will be vacant due to the mob of drunken bar-goers. I’m a loser; I’m studying. I don’t think my body would be in favor of a Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday AND Sunday (Super Bowl–keg is on the menu) drinking marathon, though. I’m pretty sure my liver would fall out of my butt. So books it is. Speaking of books, I just took notice of how great of a condition I’ve kept mine in this far into the semester. Then I realized it’s because I haven’t touched them yet.
Meanwhile, I’ve noticed that every time I’m in the ITC, the same black girl comes in and sits on the same computer and looks at MySpace. Meanwhile she’s on the phone gossiping about what’s on who’s page and who is trying to be her friend on it in her ghetto jargon. Ha. Go study.
I really like Facebook’s decision to flash the “Post Successful!” alert after you write on someone’s wall. They even put in the exclamation point, so it’s not like they’re just informing you that you did it right, it’s really congratulating you with a thumbs up. It really makes me feel good about myself that I was competent enough to write it successfully, and that Facebook is involved enough to give me a pat-on-the-back in the form of a “Congratulations, you did it!!!” message afterward. It’s like getting a smiley face on your spelling test back in 3rd grade.
That’s all for now.
Get jacked.
I have just microwaved myself a Four Cheese Lean Pocket. I am somewhere along the lines of feverishly excited to consume it in its cheesy glory. But on to more important matters: My life. What have I done lately? I’ll tell you what I DIDN’T do, and that’s cook my Lean Pocket enough. It’s still chunky and not hot. A lot like Kehly. In fact…that’s Kehly to a T. Anyway,
Last night was Wednesday Night Keg as I’m sure you all know and/or participated in. I noticed something at about 5:30 a.m. while Kehly and I were sitting awake because neither of us could sleep: I have no idea where the point is where I go from really tipsy to skunk ass drunk. One minute I’m sitting there sipping on my beer, doubting my ability to catch up to everyone else’s BAC’s, and the next moment I’m sloshing it all over everyone at the table, punching people, and slurring my words. Remarkable, really. I really went to town last night on my partying. My god. If it was drinkable, I drank it. If it was smokable, I smoked it. I probably would have smoked Cap’n Crunch if you had put it in arms reach. Thank god no one did.
I always have great luck with avoiding hang overs after WNK. That’s what I like about it. I also like Lean Pockets that are fully cooked.
Kehly’s “When The Saints” phone alarm keeeeeps going off. I’m about to hurl it across the room into a wall. I take zero responsibility for my actions. I believe I am being provoked.
Anyway, I’m going to go lay in bed for eleven seconds and attempt to nap before my back to back lecture marathon. Fun, as, tits.
“Fiiiiscal respONSIbility.”
I have to pee incredibly badly right now, but I’m in the ITC “studying” and I’d rather not go through the hassle of walking across the lobby to the bathroom, and then having to walk back and fumble with my keys to get back in. It’s too much effort and activity. I’ve done too much today, and I’m beat.
Actually I got up at 1:28 p.m., ate a snack, checked my facebook, and then went back to bed until 5:00 p.m.
I’m a fat.
Speaking of which, I seriously need to get on the job-train. I think I’m going to apply at a candy store this week. Insert fat joke here. Actually, this week I should make ten or fifteen dollars taking a survey for psychological research. It stuns me that you can make money filling in bubbles, but I support the idea 100%.
I have a skull splitting headache right now. It’s really getting to me. My cerebellum is about to explode. I need some pain killers ASAP, STAT. It doesn’t help that a herd of four obnoxiously loud girls just entered the ITC and started babbling at a decibel that could shatter glass. I’m about to lay the smack down. Watch out, hoes.
I watched The Guardian the other night. A) It was a fantastic movie, and B) Ashton Kutcher is hotter than the pit of hell itself. I want to attack him sexually. He would be bleeding after I was through with him. Hopefully no restraining orders are made after this confession, but I wouldn’t blame him.
…Call me.
..By the way, this picture came up when I searched “Ashton Kutcher:”
Real different.
I’ve noticed a phenomena that you will probably experience at least once by the end of the week. Whenever someone has a bottle and they can’t get the cap off, EVERYONE in the room thinks that THEY specifically are the ONE person with the strength to get it open. Suddenly every single person in the room wants NOTHING more than to attempt to get the cap off themselves. After finally getting an opportunity, their enthusiasm quickly diminishes after a few seconds of twisting forcefully, and they’re just like, “Oh…wow, that really is on there.” Then they give up, quick as that.
That’s all. That’s it, I’m peeing.
…in the computer chair.
“What about sex? Sorry, I had my finger in my ear.”
Becca Sheppard: Irreverent, sarcastic commentary about my daily goings-on, what the F people are doing, and things I love. And hate.
...And things I love to hate.
I talk a lot of shit.
Sheppard's Pie. 
Hot filling: