I Don’t Read Good.

Well, the studying is going strong, like Kehly’s body odor, for example. Actually so far I’ve only focused on chemistry because it rapes me in the arse like a wild donkey. I have my lit exam tomorrow, and the only things I can really do to prepare are ‘re-read’ (you’ve got to be kidding me) the novels and plays we read. I am NOT re-reading Hamlet. You couldn’t pay me enough money to re-read it. I didn’t even read it in the first place! Even if I SparkNoted it again, it’d take longer than I’d like, meaning longer than 3 minutes. I didn’t actually read ANY of the books we were supposed to read for this term, including Sula, Pride & Prejudice, and Hamlet. In fact, I wrote a 7 page paper over Pride & Prejudice, and I didn’t crack it open once, except of course to find quotes to add in my paper. I’m kind of hoping I can just wing it, but Jeff Doty is a sly character, and he’ll throw in essay questions from out of this world, and “winging it” just won’t work.

Plus I think he hates me.

I’m in the ITC, and it is full of Asians right now. There’s an oriental to my left that has been chattering away in Chinese like a little Asian chipmunk for the past 47 minutes exactly. Plus she smells like old people and Instant Ramen. I’m slightly distracted, also see “irritated.” I know why people feel prompted to engage in genocide.

Just kidding Susie Kim/Jennifer Yu/Jackie Chan/that guy from Van Wilder.

Anyway, I’m going to go ahead and hit los libros again. yay.

+

=

“Cross-eyed Asian baby in front of me. Do I shoot?”

You Stanky.

Well, I find myself again in the comfort of the ITC. I just got done with a small portion of studying, and now I’m getting antsy because a) I have to pee, b) Amy mentioned making a pizza, and c) I may or may not have ADHD. Those things put aside, I should get a good amount of studying done throughout the evening, or I’m screwed.

Tonight, Kehly, Amy, Steve, Nick and I are planning a little Christmas Cozy if you will, complete with every form of Christmas festivity you can imagine: we’re baking cupcakes, making Oreo balls, chocolate pretzels, drinking eggnog, admiring the colored lights, and watching Pirates of the Caribbean 2.

hahah..yeah, you’d think we’d watch Elf or The Santa Clause or something else more appropriate, but I happened upon a large stand of Pirates DVDs in Hy-Vee and couldn’t resist. I’m very excited.

…Very….excited.

Meanwhile, I have to pee. I have to pee very badly. My bladder is beginning to undergo some excruciating discomfort that I am not physically able to handle, and I might squirt all over this computer lab in a moment or two. We’ll see how long I can hold out before things get messy.

Last night while Amy and I were spending quality time in Nick’s room with himself and Steven, I came to a realization. There is such a thing as “inappropriate usage” of Febreze. Now, don’t get me wrong, Febreze is among the greatest inventions in all of American history including the Swiffer Sweeper Wet Jet, Instant Soup, beer, and of course the wheel, but there are restrictions.

Here’s the scene: Everyone in the room is nice and cozy and comfortable, simply enjoying Rush Hour 2, when suddenly Steve rips ass in a fashion that could knock out an entire Mongolian army within seconds. My lungs freeze up and people start puking as I look around for something to relieve the condition of the air around us. Through the fog of gas I see Febreze, but to my dismay it’s the “Apple Spice & Delight” scent. Ordinarily this is quite the pleasant Christmasy aroma, but when mixed with pure methane fart, it is not so satisfying. Instead of a fresh relief, we get a combination of anus and apple pie: ipso facto, anus pie. Not good.

So I’ve composed a little “reference” or “guide” for you all to keep in mind when making an air-freshening decision. It looks something like the following:

Any scent that is natural and reminds you of spring-time or the air in the mountains such as Linen & Sky, Meadows & Rain, or my personal favorite, Rocky Springs & Cool (it’s so good I could eat it) is *refreshing* and may be used, if necessary, to diffuse malodorous scents (see “gas, feces, body odor, Kehly”).

Other scents that are floral, powdery, or spicy such as Spring & Renewal, Apple Spice & Delight, or any other flowery or “artificial type scent” may be used to freshen a room that is WITHOUT harmful odors, but a combination of the two, or if it is used to cover up a nasty smell, is not acceptable.

Color codes are also effective: Green and blue= Good. Pink, purple, red, or orange= Watch out unless you’re using sparingly.

That’s all for now folks.

“I’m stanky rich; I’ma die tryna spend this shit!”

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream!

Again, I find myself hanging out among the bookworms and broken-English speaking Asians in the ITC of my home and safe house Mayflower Hall. P.S. statistics show that 4 out of 7 people in this room right now are wearing these glasses, which supports my bookworm/non-English speaking Asian stereotype:

Not attractive.

Anyway, this is the only place I can keep myself focused on la tarea (“homework”), I’ve come to discover. It’s a nice place to be aside from the wretched shrill noise that is constantly streaming from the air conditioner, which, on a side note, is directly above me no matter where I sit and is currently producing ice and freezing my extremities off. Speaking of the unforgiving cold, this morning was ungodly brisk. It was cold enough to kill a man outside. The wind felt like a million knives and was cutting through my torso unmercifully like Kehly in a lunch line. Honestly, I was afraid I was going to lose my identity due to my facial features either a) being frozen off completely, or 2) being so badly frost-bitten that I appeared Afro’ American or six months premature. Neither option sounded satisfying at 8:00 a.m. central daylight time.

Anyone who considers themself competent or American is dare I say “more than familiar with” the television program Home Improvement. I was watching it last night (‘this morning’) at 4 a.m. con mi amiga Amy “I HIT KEY POINTS” Cozad por que I suffer from insomnia and she happened to be awake with me. This is when the following thought occurred to me: At what point were the producers like, “Okay, we’ve got your average American family; working mom, dad’s a carpenter, generally well-rounded kids who occasionally get into mischief, and of course the neighbor whose mouth you never see.”

…You always think you’ll catch a glimpse, too, banking on the assumption that the camera man MIGHT not time it just right and you’ll get a sneak of the cess pool we call his mouth. But no, just when he turns to leave the fence for once in his life, a giant peacock flies by and we miss it.

Now, I’m not going to be one of those people who allows the fact that you never see Wilson’s mouth to ruin my life and interfere with my every day activities, but I am baffled at how they came up with this scheme if you can call it a scheme, and whose idea it was. Just something I’d like to find out some time in my life.

Other things that proved to make my day entertaining included some harmless prankery at the Burge dining hall. Prankery is an imaginary word. Anyway, today while Amy, Kehly and myself were stuffing our digestive system with more grease and carbs than it could handle, we took notice of the ice cream dispenser. Amy observed that the labels for the different flavors of ice cream were simple magnets that were stuck on the machine above each spout. There was your average vanilla, Cookies ‘n’ Cream, Mint Chip, and Blackberry something or other that no person in their right mind would usually crave. Amy suggests that I go do the ol’ switcheroo on the labels so we could ruin peoples’ dessert and possibly their day, depending on how bad they wanted their particular favorite flavor.

There’s nothing better than watching an unsuspecting person fall victim to a simple kniving scheme to watch their genuinely confused faces and know that you are personally responsible for their disappointment. I just wanted to see someone who REALLY wanted cookies and cream pull the nozzle to see icky green tooth paste scented ice cream ooze out into their bowl and capture that “I woke up on Christmas morning to find zero presents under the tree” sort of disappointment. *Muahah.*

I nonchalantly meander up to the machine, pull the “glance to the right and left casually without making yourself seem out of place” number real smoothly, and then switch the mint chocolate chip with the cookies and cream. Now, it’s in my personal experience that somebody that wants cookies and cream will not only be unhappy but possibly mortified with MINT when they want a delicious oreo and vanilla ice cream combination. I stroll back to our table, and let the fun begin. We watch the first unsuspecting victim wander up to the dispenser, grab a bowl, investigate the labels, and after choosing “Cookies and Cream,” discovers that his chocolatey and doughy treat is instead a frosty green substitute. He stared at the bowl, looked at the other labels, looked back at his bowl, thoroughly investigated the spout, and then just accepted the Mean Green and sat back down. hahahaha. This happened multiple times. It was funny, but people didn’t actually act horrified or alarmed at the ice cream confusion. Instead they simply accepted that this just wasn’t their day. People in this day and age just lack motivation to reach their goals and get what they want. I blame television.

“Yeahhh….get your shop on.”

Counting Sheep.

Welp, it’s 3:09 in the a.m., and I have been unsuccessful at my attempt to go to sleep again. I hate it when this happens. It might be because I went on another caffeine binge to keep me motivated with this whole “writing a 6-8 page paper for lit that I don’t understand” situation, but regardless I’m pissed. I have to get up at 8 for Espanol, and that’s coming far too quickly.

So, I did what anyone would do who’s suffering from insomnia at 3:10 in the morning: got up, made some toast, and created a Facebook group.

It’s called “I Drink On The Job,” because I do.

It’s colder than the dickens in this dormitory.

Goodnight.

-acceB

“Short Cut” my ass.

The girl next to me smells like fart. Pure fart. I’m uncomfortable. Reeeal uncomfortable.

A thought occurred to me the other day as I reflected back upon every family vacation I have ever had, road-trip style-specific, of course. Every journey toward our destination had the usual phenomena: snack stops, gas stops, bathroom stops, rest-stop stops, stop-stops, and of course the two hour stop at Cabela’s.

Cabela’s pisses me off. If you’re unfamiliar with what Cabela’s is, it’s a gigantic county-sized empire-like store with zebra heads, stuffed cougars, and grizzly bears on the walls filled with everything that you could ever dream up to satisfy your hunting/fishing/mountain-hiking needs. It’s the place where white trash parents bring their kids in place of the zoo (or Six Flags), or better yet go for “summer vacation.”

For some reason, no matter what route we take via-vaca-destination, we ALWAYS end up “happening upon” a Cabela’s, and my dad decides that we HAVE to stop in. The phrase “stopping in” strikes me as a phrase that means popping into a neighbor’s house for a few minutes to say hello, but to my biological father, “stopping in” Cabela’s means MAKING it the vacation.

Dad, what do you even need in Cabela’s? Why are you looking at porpoise harpoons? We live in urban, metropolitan Iowa. Since when do you hunt lions? You don’t need this. Bows and arrows, are you serious? “Cowboys and Indians” was a game in kindergarten. Then after you’ve been there for 2+ hours and you want to find your dad to harass him until he decides to leave, you can’t find him because he’s clad in camouflage pants and boots and is now blending in with the duck-hunting section. You’re amusing yourself with fishing lures and deciding that these so-called “short cuts” were premeditated alternative routes that packed on an extra 70 minutes to the trip that Pa lied about. I’m angry just thinking about it. Next time I’m popping sleeping pills and chugging NyQuil so I’m unconscious for the Cabela’s chapter of the trip.

Me: “Kehly, I think I can smell your feet.”
Kehly: “Really?”
Me: “I don’t know, it might be my breath.”

Wired.

I am so cold and so white. MY, GOD!!! (Wes Flores. Get on the Mexi-train).

I’m currently stationed in the ITC all by myself because it’s a Friday and people are drinking and dropping acid while I’m writing a paper for lit. Lit kicks my arse in seven different directions at once. I don’t even know what to do. I just don’t know what my teacher WANTS from me! Amy’s last paper was complete jibberish, and she got an A. What a bamf. I THOUGHT I wrote quite the perceptive paper, but I got a C. Awesome. So this time I thought I’d try harder, but everything I think is deep and thought provoking means squat to Sloth, my teacher. Oh well.

I am seriously so albino. My skin glows in black lights. You can see my skeleton through my flesh, it’s that transparent. What do I do?!

Well, I just downed Vanilla Frappuccino #1, which is soon to be followed by Vanilla Frappuccino #2 in a moment. I’m going to be a wired son of a B tonight at this rate, cause ah….caffeine is on the menu, fans. Anything to keep this ball rollin. Pop, coffee, energy drinks, acid, etc.

..is there caffeine in beer?

Survey says yes.

“HEAD! MOVE!”

R.I.P.

Welp, Kehly perished over Thanksgiving break, everyone. She made it through the trifling four hour trip home, but apparently the change in water was just too hard on her fragile scaly body. I was heart broken. Poor thing.

Meanwhile, I returned home and purchased 3 more sparkling gilled friends. We got two black goldfish named Jigaboo Stew and Barabas, and then an orange one named Squanto. We called him “Squant” for short, even though it’s just by one letter.

Jigaboo Stew died the next day.

Barabas died the next day.

….Squanto died the day after that.

Apparently there’s a life-threatening epidemic in the water. Nobody’s safe anymore.

I guess I’ll have to invest in a hardier animal…like a porcupine.

….I’ll name him Allen.

Wow, I just looked up some sweet pictures of porcupines. I came upon a picture titled “porcupine babies.”

On first impression, I thought, MY how cute those are! Then I imagined their needle covered bodies exiting my birthing canal.

No fucking way.

“WHAT am I s’posed to do without mah SAAAAAIL phone?!”

Soy muy suerte, biotch!

I’m drinking cream soda. Whats up.

Thanksgiving break proved to be RATHER eventful. I officially have the best luck in the northern hemisphere. So on Friday night, Katie and I work til close which is 10 at Taco Juan’s. We start pre-gaming at work (kill two birds with one stone, boyeee) because there’s a shindig over at Jaimee “I have huge boobs and I go public” Friesen’s place. Katie and I go back to her house after work and consume multiple shots while watching Real World (p.s. there are several squealing fire trucks in front of Mayflower right now and it’s quite distracting. shut up, fire squad) for approximately an hour. We get sufficiently drunk and head over to J-Dawg’s. 12:08, I get inside. 12:09, hug a few people, get handed a beer. 12:10, I head downstairs & crack my beer open. 12:12, I take a picture with a guy who looked shockingly similar to Ashton Kutcher (we bumped uglies. no we didn’t), and take a sip of my beer. 12:16, the cops arrive.

Welcome!

People start yelling, “SHUT UP, SHUT UP THE COPS ARE HERE!” The majority of the crowd is far too shit-housed to give a damn that the po-po are in action and on the scene, so we just keep laughing and drinking, and I take my place behind a lamp post (I don’t know if I thought I was hiding or what) which probably had a diameter of 1.5 inches. Just an estimate. The cops come down stairs, and I make an executive decision to at least put my beer down. It wasn’t until I saw the cop, who by the way looked distinctively like Farva off Super Troopers, that I realized that I am what we refer to in America as “f’ed fo’sho.” Crap.

The cop orders us all to separate into opposite sides of the room: one side for people who admit to have been drinking, and the other side for people who claim to not have been. I turn around just in time to catch my loyal pal and partner in crime Katie McDermott slide a set of dressers out from the wall, tuck herself behind it, and pull it back into the corner. Those midgets…they can hide anywhere. Out of my confusion and drunkedness, a fine combination, I fail to move, and after everyone stops shuffling across the basement, I inquire to Jeremy Clouse what side of the room I was on. “We’re on the drinking side.” Awesome. I decide I’m f’ed regardless so I just hang out with the rest of the inebriated half. There are about 18 of us in the basement, and just as many upstairs with the other cop.

I don’t know if you know this about me, but I refuse to get an MIP under any circumstance. Farva starts preaching about what’s going to happen, and I discuss my escape options with Laurel. Laurel and I recognize that we’re screwed unless we get out of there somehow. We’re currently just sitting on the floor with the rest of the underage drunkasses in the room with the cop, failing to be proactive about the situation.

“Let’s just leave! Let’s just get up and leave, what are they gonna do?” Laurel poses a reasonable question, but simply walking away doesn’t seem like an effective maneuver to me at that point. I grow some balls (I got them removed later, don’t worry) and decide that I may as well give it a try. Laurel and I just get up and walk to the stairs. I glance up the stairway only to see the other cop in the room with the other herd of people. Laurel continues up the stairs, but I see an alternative option. I open a door at the bottom of the steps and find myself in a black abyss. I’m in some dark room that apparently has no light switch, so I quietly close the door and bust out the trusty cell phone. I discover that the room is full of nothing but coolers and holiday decorations, meaning nothing that I could hide in. So, I can either stand in the dark room and hope the cops don’t venture into it to join me, or just go back out and join the cop voluntarily.

Before I could make a decision, the door slowly opened. Fortunately it was just someone else like myself who was looking for a place to escape or at least hide. “You’re gonna get caught in here,” the kid says. Yeahhh…you’re right. Discouraged and out of ideas, I sluggishly wander back into the basement to join Farva and everyone else who’s receiving breathalizers. I peek over the top of the dresser at Midge who’s huddled like a potted plant in her little nook. I’m jealous. People are lining up at the door to take their breathalizers outside because apparently the alcohol level in the room itself was so high that it made the breathalizer take readings by itself. I was impressed.

I slump back onto the floor next to a few people. Farva turns around to make someone else blow, and I quickly scan the room. Behind me is a chest, no taller than 24 inches, that has blankets folded ontop of it and pillows stacked behind it. This is my chance.

I quickly crawl over to the chest and toss the pillows out from behind it. Darah looks at me with dismay. I give her the “please don’t say anything!!” look, and crawl behind the chest, covering myself with a blanket and hoping my hair wasn’t sticking out. Could this really work? I stayed curled up in the fetal position for TWO hours while I heard ticket after ticket be written out. My spine began to hurt QUITE badly. I also had to pee like a racing horse, seeing as I had yet to break the seal that night. It didn’t help that people kept being funny and calling the cop Farva to his face the entire time, either. For example, Jeremy asked the cop if he had the highest BAC at 0.106. Turns out he had 2nd highest to Jaimee herself who scored a .111. The cop goes, “Second at .106….Congratulations.” hahaha. If I had gotten found because I chuckled in my little hiding place, I would have slapped myself.

Twice.

All this time passes and I begin to realize that my hiding place might ACTUALLY work. I’m pleased, but I have to pee SO bad, and I imagine that I have developed rheumatic arthritis in the back region by now. I hear the last few people get sent upstairs to get rides home, and the other cop joins Farva downstairs. They chat for a bit and start discussing whether they should try to get rid of the alcohol that’s in the basement. I hear shuffling around and breathing, but I don’t dare move until I’m POSITIVE that they have left, and I hope that Katie remains perfectly still also. I wouldn’t put it past those sneaky snakes to pretend to be gone just to catch those of us who wittingly evaded them and popped out later to escape.

A few minutes go by, and Jaimee and a couple others come downstairs and yell, “Is anyone else down here??” I decide it’s safe to come out of hiding. Katie and I pop out, and people are so confused as to where we had hidden and how we did it, especially myself since I hid IN FRONT of the cop, while he was in the room and after he had already seen and spoken to me. Sweeeeet. The really funny part came next. Midge and I glance next to the couch, and underneath a rather large beanbag/Love Sac is a pair of feet up past the ankles. Wow.

Are you kidding me?? We pull the beanbag off to find a kid in a yellow t-shirt just hanging out. His feet were literally hanging out a good 12 inches. The cops HAD to have seen this guy. I don’t even know what to say about it. It was ridiculous, plain and simple. I scan the premises. There is SO much alcohol everywhere. Every surface area including TVs, tables, chairs, and ledges were completely covered in cans and bottles. Big wow. Anyway, this is a novel, but a damn good one, and the bottom line is that we got away, and it freakin rocks.

Hiding is never a bad option.

“Let’s get naked and make poor decisions!”

I’VE BEEN SHOT!

OH it’s good to be back. I of course am now stationed in Council Bluffs for the week due to Thanksgiving break. I should be fasting to prepare myself for the 3 meal extravaganza I’m going to encounter come Thursday.

I’m not.

On the contrary, I’ve been stuffing my esophagus with Taco Juan’s. Feels good to be back at the ol’ TJ, also. I was greeted warm-heartedly by all the goofs that work there; you know, the crazy janitors, the Chinese next door, Sir, Frank, etc. I love my job because I don’t do anything there. I just bounce around and yell and sing and eat and irritate customers, and it’s great fun.

Anyway, my dad just came upstairs and tricked me into getting a flu shot. I hate needles. It’s juvenile and immature but I’m so afraid. Not only did he not gently insert the shot into my delicate skin, but he jabbed it in. Literally jabbed it. Of course I screamed, “ARE YOU INSANE!?” while clutching tightly onto my brother’s hand. My mom was “in the tub.” Psssh, I need you, mom! Don’t do this to me right now. Anyway, now I’ve got a gimp arm. hooray.

Tomorrow morning I have to get up earlier than I’ve gotten up in probably close to two years to go down to Homeland Security and renew my Green Card since it became expired.

…three years ago.

That’s awesome, I can’t wait. Then after that I have to go get my driver’s license again because I couldn’t renew it due to my expired green card. This is such a gay situation. P.S. for those of you who are scratching your heads, this is all because I’m from Canada. Yeaaap. Exciting. I’m not a citizen.

“I feel bad that you have down sydrome.”

Behind Bars.

I just spent a solid two minutes struggling to open a candy bar wrapper, finally getting it open only to discover that it was already open on the other end.

Dangiiiit.

My room is so cold right now. I am freezing.

^ I wish.

I’m almost, ALMOST tempted to shut the windows. “YOUR WINDOWS ARE OPEN!?!?! Man, you CRAY-see!” Yeah, spare me. I like cold rooms. Not when I’m sitting around naked though.

Waaait.

I can’t wait to hop back into bed and cocoon myself in my micro-fiber gel comforter. MMMM.

My espanol teacher kicks a large amount of what we call “ass” in America. He let us go 35 minutes early today simply because we asked. This was after I suggested nap time of course.

Anyway, that’s all for now team. If you haven’t read the White Power note, you should strongly consider it. It might inspire some of you to take chances in life.

Speaking of which, no, I did not suffer any bodily rejections to the questionable milk/hot chocolate, but there’s still time.
“VAMOS!!”