All I Want For Christmas Is Practicality

Well, here, once again, I find myself looking into the eye of a storm of holly, jolly, and a belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly as Christmas quickly descends upon a majority of the world. The whole damn family gang is back in session and we'll all be senselessly quoting "Home Alone" and griping about controversial issues and how all medical TV shows lie about the residents hooking up in the on-call room. (New drinking game: take a shot every time someone says "Fuller, go easy on the Pepsi").  What is it… a mere three days until I get to disappoint all the people I know with gifts they didn't ask for and gifts that I definitely didn't go the extra mile for? I swear, every year, Christmas seems to come a little quicker and a little out of nowhere (but seriously, where did the last year go?)

In all seriousness, this year was the hardest year for me to try to make some kind of list of things I might want as gifts this year because no one really knows what I want ever. When I was little, it was so easy to just grab one of those 50-some-odd-page Toys R Us catalogs that came with the Sunday paper and take a marker and circle all the things I desired (mostly things that began with the phrase "Barbie Dream…"). I'd then just hand it to one of my parents with an added paper that said "Cash, money." I was one classy person before I became an adult.

Today, it's not so easy.

Society: Now that you're almost 21 and a fully legal adult who can partake in alcohol soaked activities, you need to stop asking for band t's from Hot Topic and jars of queso and Barbie dolls and merchandise for things you may not be interested in a few months from now.
Me: What?
Me: Escuse me?
Me: Then what is there to long for selfishly?
Society: Practical things. You know, like adult things.
Me: Adult things? From the XXX Adult Superstore downtown?
Society: No. Don't be a smart ass.

So, naturally, my christmas list this year looked very strange as I was typing it up at an unholy hour in the night. I found myself spelling out words like "socks" and "lotion" and "a cute kettle."  The lack of links to band t's and juvenile items was startling. I didn't even know what kind of person I was turning into as I continued to jot down items I'd never thought would be produced from the tips of my fingers unless I was writing some kind of abnormal fetish-infested erotica that beats 50 Shades in freakiness. 


But then I ask Bruce (one of those fully legal adults who can partake in the alcohols) what he wants for Christmas, and (proving my assumption that he'll just leave me to use my imagine to find a good gift for him wrong) tells me he wants all these fancy and "practical" adult items.

Him: *lists a couple of items I've never heard of but are definitely practical adult choices*
Me: *blinks*
Him: *sparkles with adult radiance*
Me: How dare you be more of an adult than me, you schnitzel eater!

Meanwhile, my overly-sophisticated sisters can't seem to make a list that includes an item that isn't less than $50 (well, except for Julia, who kindly just told me she wanted "merch" for Christmas). As far as I can tell, Christmas just gets harder and harder to make affordable as you age.

Unfortunately for me (and everyone blessed to receive something handpicked by me), I'll probably always be an awful gift-giver. And for this, I must apologize. I hope everyone enjoys their $5.99 DVD's of Les Miserables I snagged off Amazon at the last moment. 

But, you know, thank God for Dad who is happy just to have you there. 

Oops?

Well… This is awkward. 

I apparently took a very unplanned hiatus from the blog during the months of October and November. With school, personal distractions (whatever that means!), and a complete lack of motivation to really do anything other than the things I *MUST* do, I kind of lost track of everything in my little corner of the Internet. Also, I've been watching a lot of Scrubs as of late, so that's sucked up a lot of my time that I would normally sit down to write in. If anyone who was reading my posts regularly thought I had died or been a victim to some heinous crime, I can tell you that none of those things are true. And I have several hundred people who can back me up on that statement.

I feel like I've been home a lot this semester for some reason (which, honestly, isn't a bad thing because it's nice to take a break from the people I see constantly to see the people I never get to see and drive places without having to get on the expressway). I am currently on break for Thanksgiving, so that's awesome. It's really mostly awesome because that means I'm almost finished with this semester and the closer I am to the semester being over, the closer I am to Christmas. And the closer I am to Christmas, the closer I am to turning 21. I'm just really excited to finally be able to walk into a bar legally and then buy something because I can. 

Ew. My face. But everyone else in this is lovely.

In other news, Bruce and I went to see Switchfoot the other night and (because I'm the coolest most amazing hottest person ever) we had VIP passes. So, basically, dreams came true and I got to meet some really amazing (looking) men and babble like an idiot to them. No, but seriously. It was a fantastic show, and they performed one of my favorite songs called "Your Love Is A Song." They also did a cool Q&A deal during the show, and they answered my really amazing question on stage. So, naturally, when I met them, I had to introduce myself as "Angela from the Question." That's definitely one thing I will one day very much regret. I really shouldn't be allowed to meet famous people because I'm an idiot. 

I will say, though, that meeting Switchfoot definitely beat meeting The All-American Rejects back in 2012 because A) I actually have proof of me touching the band and B) I actually got to talk to the band without being pushed aside by hefty security guards. Also, it was really great getting to do this with Bruce's beautiful beard.

I promised everyone healthy updates so here's one: I definitely was all over the place over the last month a half. I'm really good about working out 5-6 hours every week, but eating is hard because I just want all the unhealthy things all the time. I was 3.5 pounds from the Christmas goal the last time I checked (but that's probably not true anymore because I fluctuate a lot and my body likes to stay at the same weight for long periods of time), but I think I can still get to where I want to be if I buckle down and get serious for the next 2.5 weeks or so.

But hey, no pain, no gain, right? 


Well, until next time, friends.

Lesson learned: When meeting celebrities, just say your name, dammit, and grow out an awesome beard. 

Big Girls Don't Cry (Unless They Have To)

First and foremost, I don't cry. I'm not a crier. I'm one of those people who only cry when I'm really upset, scared, or all of the above. Other than that, you probably won't see me shedding too many tears. Even if I'm watching a sad movie or a tv show that just happens to make me feel all the feelings on steroids, I probably won't cry. I'll just get that feeling on the tips of my eyes that makes me think I'm going to cry but then I don't. Basically, if I cry, it means that shit is for real. If I'm crying, you better stop, drop, and roll yourself to the nearest QuikTrip and get me a doughnut and a 6-pack because I'm losing my shit. Unlike my dad, who cries at everything because he's a dad, I just don't cry unless something is worth crying over.

Growing up, my older sister, Lisa, would test me by accusing me of lying. If I was telling the truth, I'd normally get very mad and start crying because she was some kind of manipulative demon child. She did a lot of other things to torment me, but making me cry because I had to prove I was being truthful was probably one of the most horrific forms of torture she used. (In fact, that's probably why I don't cry. See, who needs therapy when you can just come to these realizations while writing a blog?)

So, like, three weeks ago, I was on the phone with Bruce (the bestie, if you're new to my blog!), and crying came up in our conversation (actually, this might have been an intense, passionate discussion. who knows!) because crying is a thing we sometimes do because of the amount of dust in the air around us when we're together or on the phone or (and most importantly) when LOST is on TV.

Him: You know, I never cried until I became friends with you.
Me: Yeah, same here.
Him: Like, seriously. I cry all the time now.
Me: Maybe this is a sign that we shouldn't be friends anymore.
Him: I don't know.
Me: You're right. That can never happen because you know way too much.

And, to be honest, that's pretty true (I mean, the crying part. Although the him knowing too much part is also very true). I bet that half the time that we're together, one of us cries. And while I'm sure that many of those times it's primarily because of alcohol and the fact that we get too emotional sometimes, half the time is a lot of the time. I mean, Bruce is like the manliest man I know, and I'm not just saying that because I know he'll come kick my ass hardcore if I didn't say that, so he doesn't really cry, he just cleans his face with the water of his eyes. That's how intense he is, guys. Also, that's how he keeps his skin so clear. True story.

So, anywho. I was thinking about it, and I think Bruce is the only person I can cry in front of. This is
probably because A)he's seen me in some very interesting situations (like puking on his balcony and that time my pants fell down because they were so loose) so crying is like nothing and B) he will probably be too busy crying himself to notice how ugly I am when I cry. True shit. Though, I don't know if I am as ugly crying as Kim Kardashian. I may never know.

If I cry at home, Julia will never let me forget about it because she's a little rabbit shit. If I cry at school, I'll look like some kind of freshman who can't figure out if they can walk from Dale Hall to Gaylord College in less than 15 minutes (mind you, that's like a 3 minute walk). So, basically, I reserve all my crying for when I'm with my best friend. That either means my standards are that low or that we have a really awesome relationship.

I basically just realized this entire post is a giant contradiction. Writing is hard, y'all.

I blame the ending of LOST for all my troubles. Also Ron Paul 2012.

Go Home, October. You're Drunk.

Welcome, October! Time for me to once again ignore the hustle and bustle over pumpkin spice bullshit and countdown to the next major holiday that releases me from the cold, dead grip of junior year of college for like a week. That basically means that October is going to be the longest month ever.

So, every once in a blue moon, I have these realizations about my life and myself and who I am and what I am doing and what I want and why I want it and how I can get it and then my attention returns to its normal obsession with garlic bread and various carbs smothered in cheese. I mean, this happens like twice a year, so trust me... I really don't actually have that much going on in my head at once for prolonged periods of time. That being said, I had one of those moments recently (obviously, or, you know, I wouldn't be talking about this and wasting your time with my unnecessary banter. Oh wait. That's my blog in a nutshell.).

One of my favorite quotes is this:

"You like him because he’s a lost boy. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail." 

-David Levithan

That quote didn't really have a direct connection to my life until I looked at myself for the first time in a really long time and started to realize how different things have become. 

I've always had a knack for lost people. I think I've always kind of had this idea that I could maybe fix and complete those lost people I found. Of course, now that I'm older, I realize that I can't fix anyone (that's a job for them and them alone), but I am constantly fixated on the dream that that might still be possible. In the end, though, I think I don't actually do any good. I just get tangled up in all the lostness that I try to eliminate. 

I am incredibly lost, without a map and compass. Where I got lost, turned around and around and around, I don't remember. 10th grade? Senior year? College? Behind the counter at that chinese fast food establishment I worked at all summer? 

Who knows? 

But I guess being lost isn't terrible because sometimes you get to take the off-roads and take the detours that lead to dead ends and then you get to turn around and see it all again. And you just keep driving until you hit a familiar spot. I mean, who doesn't love taking the scenic route? 

Falling Without Recovery

Everyone and their mom is obsessed with falling in Love. The movies and TV shows and musical arrangements that fill the airwaves during daily drives to and from work are all full of Love stories that will either leave you curled up under your covers yearning to be touched in the best way or wanting to regurgitate the cold sweet and sour chicken you ate for lunch. The whole Love thing has become such an important force in the lives of pretty much everyone that it's even become like a big deal to tell someone that you love them in a way that's like "Yeah, I loved you before, but now I think I might want to only have sex with just you for the rest of my life." Funny how that happens, right? 

You could have asked high school Angela if she'd ever been in Love, and I can almost guarantee that she would have said yes in a heartbeat. I was stupid, though. I thought I was in Love with every guy who showed any kind of awareness of my existence or any guy who had moves on the astroturf field and do some kind of hair flip. But, let's face it, kids, that's just lust. And lust is Love's evil twin who only wants to give you herpes and a broken heart. 

I've grown up since then, and I'm not going to lie or do a fairy dance around the mushroom to avoid disclosing that I currently find myself caught between the sticky fingers of Love's iron fist. 

But I'm going to just say what no one else will say. Being in Love is shit. It's horrible. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. 

Some mornings you open your eyes and life is rainbows and puppies and fuzzy kittens sleeping on cotton candy clouds. Suddenly you feel like nothing could possibly go wrong, and you're so happy and just want to go tell it on the mountain so everyone knows about how you have all these feelings for this one insignificantly significant individual. You finally understand the hype about Love. Well, you think you understand. After all, you're pretty much walking around in the same puff of smoke that follows you around after you leave a really good concert or have just had a totally real conversation with Josh Groban. 

Other days, you're lucky if you can get up out of bed. Your chest hurts and you miss this other person more than anything ever. It feels like you're going to actually die. I suppose you could say they're the drug 12 steps wouldn't be enough to kick, and you feel like you're going through the most painful of withdrawals. Every song is suddenly about them, and every movie stars you.  You remember the possibilities of dying of a broken heart and you're nearly positive that that's how you'll die. And, finally, the story of Romeo and Juliet makes complete sense. Maybe those two lovebirds weren't as hormonally irrational as you once thought. 

Then there are days when you absolutely hate everything about this person. You sit there and think to yourself, "Why this person? Why now? Why couldn't I be feeling all this for the cute guy who works at Subway?" You hate the way they laugh, the way they drive too fast, the way they only want you when they drink, the way they look when they think you're not watching, the way they do just about everything. It all sucks for being so damn cute and appealing like a 6-pack of bitch beer on a Friday night. You wish they'd just leave so you could just move the frig on. Like, please get out of my life now. I can't take this. You're killing me slowly. 

But there are still those days when you feel like you're in one of those corny Nicholas Sparks novels, and you're totally invincible to the rest of the world through the power of Love. You love the fact that they're around. You love every little moment you have with them, and you realize how beautiful life is while they're with you. You see them from across the room, and your heart stops and you can't imagine having a more beautiful view. They touch you, and everything feels perfect. They hold you, and you feel the safest you've ever felt. They kiss you, and you wonder if you'll ever find anything that feels more right. And that's not even explaining the feeling at it's best. That's just skidding across the surface. 

The thing about Love, though, is that despite all the aching chests and awkward first kisses and the feeling of "how will I ever move on from this moment?", it's still pretty amazing. And that, kids, is the shittiest part. 

A Veritable Smorgasbord

This is so flattering. I know. Where are my boobs?

September means a lot of things, but, here in the great state of Oklahoma, it means the state fair is in our midsts! It's one of the few occasions when Oklahoma's larger individuals crawl from their homes to rent scooters to ride around on while they eat disgusting amounts of food for two weeks (other events may include concerts, festivals, and trips to buffets). Despite my disinterest in rides, games, and spending my money on things that aren't reasonably priced, I really like the fair (mostly because I get to take pictures with various farm animals without being judge too harshly by fellow human beings). This year, I went with my beautiful roommate, Hannah, and we saw some interesting things. Things I probably would never like to see again. Ever. 

Hannah and I both have our fair food quirks. We have designated foods for the state fair and then foods we save for the medieval fair in April. For me, it's all about the corn dogs and funnel cakes. Those two things are things I will basically ONLY eat at the state fair. Get me those things and you pretty much have control over me. I then save my turkey leg and kettle corn needs for the spring. Sure, if I had unlimited funds in my pocket to buy food, I'd probably eat a lot more interesting things like doughnut burgers and "taco in a bag," but until that happens, I'm sticking with the basics.  The real dilemma, though, is that no one wants to eat something questionable and get the shits at the fair. So, I'm literally walking around death valley looking at these vendor booths like:

Me: *sees pizza* Nope

Me: *sees gorgeous dairy-related things* Nope

Me: *sees something greasy and dipped in chocolate* Nope

Me: *sees hot guy eating dairy* Nope 

It's a lot of fun. 

At one point early on in your fair adventures, and I don't really remember what was happening at all when this other thing happened, but we basically almost walked straight into a guy who puked as he was walking towards us. It wasn't even chunky barf. In fact, I think it was just beer. Like, he just spat beer out onto the pavement. But it was in barf form. Needless to say, that was disgusting. 

We also got hit on at the same time by the same guy at a lemonade stand out in the middle of nowhere by the barns for farm animals. He asked if we were sisters and thought I was 17 (that's a new one, I must be aging). If it weren't for his unfortunate dental hygiene, I'm sure he would have hit it off with one of us, but.... ya know. Sorry, buddy.

But I think the highlight of the evening was when we got two helpings of wine slushie samples. We were never completely sure whether there was any alcohol at all in these little samples, but it sure did taste like wine. That's all I got to say about about that. 

Oh, and I dazzled my way into getting 3 dollars off a poster from a couple of Asian guys who thought I was "cute." Actually, the guy asked how much I had (because I didn't have enough to meet their price) and I lied and said I had $7 and he gave it to me. I actually had $9. Oops. 

So, as you can see, I have apparently gotten better looking, older looking, and cheaper since the last time I went to the fair. Yeah, I think that's some good improvements, guys. Hey, bonus is that next time I go to the fair (I mean, if I don't happen to somehow make it to the Tulsa State Fair) I'll be able to reenact that barf scene for myself because legally drinking. Woop!

 

Christmas, Enneagrams, and Someone's Rectum

How sad is it that it isn't even halfway through September and I'm already dreaming about Christmas stuff? I'm really just a firm believer in the discontinuation of this awful Oklahoma heat and the beginning of a beautiful relationship with the crisp, mesmerizing presence of fall. I need sweaters and jeans and boots and for the urge to drink large quantities of hot chocolate to be completely acceptable. Also, I already need a break from this school stuff. Can we say "September sucks!"?

But in all seriousness, I'll probably be complaining about the cold weather come late October and early November because that's pretty much how I run this shit. I complain about one thing and complain about the complete opposite later. I am never quite satisfied with anything unless you're talking about Sour Patch Kids. In that case, I am always satisfied as long as I have them. (BTW, it's been what? 2 weeks without SPK. Dying over here, people!)

So, in my Men and Masculinity class that I'm taking for my minor in Women/Gender Studies, we recently took Enneagram tests to find our Enneagram types. I originally got a 5 as my type, but my instructor told me I am definitely a 6 based on looked at my face. That probably makes a lot of sense because 6's are basically the poster children of anxiety. Both types fit me perfectly, so perhaps I am actually a 5.5 type. And I had Julia take it and hers fit her perfectly. So, I honestly think everyone should take the damn test. It's normally freaky accurate and you may realize some new things about yourself in the process. Just, trust me, okay? And if you're one of those shitty people that I love that I asked to take it, get on it, or I'll be forced to dominate you like a beast.

In other news, once again I am being forced to write a short story. I'm sure at least one of you remembers the last time I attempted writing a short story (BE REMINDED BY CLICKING HERE BITCHES!). And sure enough, I am yet again experiencing great turmoil over this piece of crap. And, mind you, my current assignment is due.... TOMORROW. So, yeah, while I'm writing this, I should actually be working on my story, which will probably turn out to be a mediocre, hard piece of shit that's stuck in someone's rectum. 

However, this time around, I'm using my own interests and making it a bit spicy, so maybe it won't come out soooo terrible. It'll just be terrible. Too bad no one will ever get to read this ever (unless you're my professor, of course). That's how raunchy it is. But I always keep it classy, guys. Don't worry.

(I'm really going to need a little something-something to drink after all this, though)

As for the next assignment, which is due somewhere in October, I should probably start working on
that immediately so I don't end up waiting until the very last minute to pop something out. After all, my grade depends on my ability to pop good shit out. Ain't nobody got time for hard, mediocre pieces of shit!

My only motivation is that I know I'll be able to watch Smallville all weekend after I finish this. Someone, bring me a beer! 

Separation Anxiety

My guess is that at least half of the turmoil I suffer through is caused by separation anxiety. The rest is caused by my own inabilities to be a rational thinker (I'm a very peachy person, guys, trust me). Ironically, those two parts of me kind of like to hold hands quite often. I know what you're thinking: How can someone who is such a little loner be haunted by so many feelings about being apart from another human being? I can't answer that question at all, incidentally. But the thing that most people fail to understand about my case of separation anxiety is that I live in complete fear about 75% of the time.

Being roughly two hours from home (whatever that is, I have multiple homes these days), it's hard. And considering some of the events that have taken place while I have been away from home (and even some things that have occurred while I was home), it can be very scary. And the resulting problem for me is that I am constantly thinking, "Shit, what if that happens again!" or "What if something happens to me and no one is there?"

And I understand that these life events, the things that happened before and the things that will happen in the future are out of my control. There is still that feeling like everything is going to fall to pieces right in the palms of my hands. Sometimes I get the courage to say "Hey, I have these feelings and I wanted you to know because I love you and I'm sorry if it makes you uneasy and I'm sorry if you can't handle it!" But too often it feels like a one-sided conversation.

Me: Please
Me: Please, don't leave me
Me: I need you
Me: I miss you
Me: I love you
Me: Don't break on me 

And that is another thing people don't understand.

Some might consider me clingy or needy or desperate, but that's not the case. I live in fear of being left for dead by the people that take up the most room in my heart. The people that I would jump through hoops for and sacrifice the world for in a blink of an eye if they asked.  It's a living Hell sometimes. 

I don't need for people to understand why I have this anxiety or how I feel when I'm suddenly struck by this immense amount of fear. Most of the time, I don't tell people and it's not something anyone is bound to notice from the outside. And you shouldn't worry about me either. Because you'll see that I'm fine when I'm able to unleash the infinite amounts of love I've been hoarding in my chest since I last saw you. And you'll feel the love. And you'll either give me love back or you won't.

The beauty of separation is that it sometimes makes the heart grow fonder. And the sadness of separation is that sometimes it kills the seeds that you planted long before. But there is always the hope that love will keep it alive.  

Let's keep it alive. 

Thirsty Thursday: Smallville Edition

For the last 5 days or so, I've been furiously watching the first season of the hit TV show Smallville (mind you, there are like 10 seasons, so I probably won't be finished until like Halloween at the rate I'm going). And while I will openly admit that I get hooked on things very easily, this show was really not something I anticipated. It's amazeballs, and I don't know how this happened. Well, I do, but that's really not important.

The thing I do when I watch things is I mentally create drinking games for it. This show did not escape my thirsty wrath. So, I've compiled a list of rules for Smallville season 1 (and I'm sure many of these apply just as well with the other seasons, but I guess I'll find out for sure soon). Here we go:

What you'll need:

• Season 1 of Smallville (please, feel free to illegally stream it like I did if you're too poor to actually go buy it somewhere)
• A shot glass (preferably one that is a little dorktastic, ie. one from a gift shop or Spencer's)
• Your alcoholic beverage of choice

How we play: 

• Take a shot any time Clark wears plaid
• Take a shot any time Clark is way too polite
• Take a shot any time a piece of the meteor rock is seen
• Take a shot any time Lifehouse is played in the background
• Take a shot any time you think anyone got a boner 
• Take a shot when you get a boner over practically naked Lana in "Nicodemus" 
• Take a shot any time you feel like laughing about how Whitney's name is Whitney
• Take a shot any time Lex expresses feelings about how he became bald (i.e.. the day the meteor hit)
• Take a shot any time Mr. Kent turns down money from Lex
• Take a shot any time Lex expresses daddy issues 
• Take a shot every time bugs are involved in some way
• Take a shot any time Pete enters the scene on account for him being the token black character
• Take a shot every time Chloe swoons over Clark 
• Take a shot every time Clark gets friend-zoned by Lana 
• Take 2 shots any time they show bad driving
• Take a shot any time someone dies
• Take 3 shots when Lex kills that old woman with his sexiness 
• Take a shot any time the Kent's discuss protecting Clark's secret 
• Take a shot every single time they say "Save me!" in the opening theme song (this may be lethal, I haven't tested this yet)

UNF.

While I haven't actually played this game yet, I'm pretty sure that if you follow the rules, you'll be drunk in the first few minutes of the show.  I mean, I know I'd be blacked out just getting through the theme song, but I'm a rare case.  Do I need to put some kind of disclaimer so I don't get sued for influencing others to drink crazy amounts of alcohol within a 45 minute time frame? 

So, happy drinking and happy viewing! I'm sure I'll be back with your tips on how to get really drunk really fast sooner rather than later.

Disclaimer: Please drink responsibly. You may want to test the game using cherry Kool-Aid or something like that so you know what you're actually getting yourself into so you don't actually die on account of you being a real damn idiot. 

John Green is Pizza

UNF. John. Stop with that face!

I've done a really fantastic job so far of not letting the nasty beast that is my unending devotion and love for all things pertaining to John Green out and about on my blog (although, I did mention him somewhere on here last spring, so it hasn't been completely locked up). He's a literary god in my book. He makes me feel all the things. He makes me cry, and my tears become John Green books. And, boy, don't get me started on his sexy incapability to blink like a normal human being. (As you can see, I really love him with all my book-loving heart). Plus, it really doesn't help my case that he's one sexy young adult author.

So, if you're not in-the-know about NYT bestselling author John Green, let me send you through a crash course real fast. John published his first novel Looking for Alaska in 2005 and his second novel An Abundance of Katherines in 2006. Then in 2007, he and his brother Hank started this super cool and nerdy YouTube channel called Vlogbrothers. Soon they both had immense amounts of Internet fame and life was awesome. Then in 2008, John published Paper Towns. John co-wrote a book called Will Grayson, Will Grayson with David Levithan, which was published in 2010, and then he came out with the heart-wrenching tale titled The Fault in Our Stars in early 2012. Meanwhile, he's still making YouTube videos and has two kids.  He's won some cool awards and did a thing at Carnegie Hall. Cool beans. Now we're ready to proceed.

So, back in like, I don't know, 2010, John made a video titled "JOHN GREEN IS FAT." *click the link and watch please* In this video, as you saw if you actually clicked the damn link like I told you to, peasants, John addresses that he'd put on some weight and then makes fun of his deepest and most real love for pizza. (I mean, who doesn't love pizza? I don't think I've ever met someone who would hate me enough to tell me they hated pizza. Then again, I only surround myself with lovers of pizza).

Anyway, on with this blog that probably won't mean anything to anyone. 

John Green, while a complete walking/talking product of the World Wide freaking Web, is pizza. Without a doubt, this man bleeds pizza sauce. His skin is cheese. And that adorable puff he often wears on the best of days is Pizza John Crust. He even dressed his first born son, the heir to the pizza throne, in a pizza costume once. Basically, if this doesn't convince you of what John really is, then I don't think you're looking or believing in yourself hard enough.

(Damn, I really hope John never reads this because *STALKER ALERT!*)

Just kidding. I found and stole this from Tumblr

Plus, I have been fortunate enough to get my hands on an alternate cover for The Fault In Our Stars. It reveals so much about John. I'm not quite sure why it didn't get chosen as the final cover. Shame on you, Dutton Books. Don't you know a man's true colors when you see them? Dammit.

So, basically, we have learned a few things today. John Green is pizza and will forever and always be pizza. Also, I am batshit crazy. I need help. Now.  This is probably worse than the several years I pined over the Jonas Brothers.


Okay, I think that's my cue to stop writing. 

September, Be Sweet

Hello, September! So, we meet again.  Hope you don't suck a big black fat one like you did last year! And with that, I flip the page of my calendar to discover how much school stuff I have going on the next couple of weeks. Yeah, I'm having a love/hate relationship with September lately. Can we just fast-forward to Christmas break? No? Really? That's not possible to do? Oh.

I'm going to be really honest, I'm kind of dry on writing material right now because my life is insane (you can probably see that based on my latest blog posts, so I really haven't done a good job at trying to hide it) and sometimes my brain dies on me and I kind of feel like pounding it with one of those defibrillators, but I can't really do that. So, for the record, I'm trying, but I'm probably going to really suck for a while until I find another reason to talk about sex. I know, I know.

It's a little weird to look back on the things I wrote way back when I first started writing on this blog. Everything just came naturally and I didn't have to sit around waiting for something funny or interesting to hit me like a sack of bricks. Posts like this or this were written because I am a random ass college student with random ass, sleep-deprived thoughts. What happened to that instant ability? Screw you, aging and stress and depression and more stress on top and not enough sour patch kids and pizza. Screw all you to heck! 

Wait. I can totally mention sex. Hold on. 

So, I normally don't randomly plug articles on my blog, but I came across this really awesome article titled "Fat Sex: What Every Wants To Know But Is Afraid to Ask," and I think it struck me hard enough for me to want to talk about it some and share it with any of my readers who may be really curious about stuff or who might be in the same boat as a lot of "more-to-love" people out in the world. Basically I loved that the article pointed out that women need to stop trying to hide their fat during sex because their partner is already fully aware of how fat they are. She also goes on to show easy ways to make "fat sex" easier and more enjoyable. It's just a very informative read and also a complete confidence boost. So, I definitely suggest you people go read it.

I don't know. If you guys have topic suggestions for me, please, I beg of you, leave them in the comments or if you actually know me in real life, hit me up. I'm desperate. I'm this close to selling my body on the corner by 7-Eleven and Sonic.

I'll just leave you with Avril Lavigne's latest single "Rock N Roll"

Trends of the Month

So, this month has been pretty nuts so far. With me quitting my job (which seems like literally a million years ago. Holy shit.) and moving into my first apartment and spending basically every penny I earned over the summer in the span of about 3 weeks and then starting school and working on secret projects that I won't reveal just yet, I'm pretty exhausted. And to be honest, I'm pretty ready for bed, but I'm still up writing this blog post for all you people out there. Who needs sleep? I don't have a bedtime! Gosh, the things I do for you guys! So, I guess, because I don't really have anything in particular that I want to talk about, I'm just going to shove random information about this month down your little eye pupil sockets.

So, my dad is kind of strange when it comes to technology. Like, he likes to change his current location on Facebook to random locations that definitely are nowhere near Oklahoma. Apparently, he currently lives in Pennsylvania with Dr. Rachel. Who knew? Anyway, his new thing is that he likes to randomly text me about Olive Garden's never-ending pasta bowl for only $9.99 with endless soup and salad. Okay, for starters, why, Dad? Two, I'd love to take advantage of that awesome deal, but I'm kind of broke on account of you having not put any money in my checking account. And three, WHY? 

Ignore my chicken scratch!

I discovered this week that my new favorite thing to do when I'm not in class is scanning things in the Gaylord computer lab. It's a pretty sweet set-up in there because each computer has its own personal scanner, so you can just sit there scanning hand-drawn pictures of penises and dinosaurs (but definitely not dinosaur penises) without anyone judging you the slightest. Awesome, right? Also, these computers have every program in the books, so it's nerd Heaven. (This is definitely what the Gaylord College fee I pay is paying for, guys.) Also free printing. Loving it. LOVE-ING.IT.

Have you ever craved beer? Is that a thing? I'm not sure, but I previously had a passionate hate towards the taste of beer, and I have been craving a beer all week. Is this growing up? Is this my mind and body preparing for my 21st birthday in January? What is happening? Bruce always said that he'd eventually get me to enjoy the nasty taste of beer, and I always said "Nope, no way. I hate it. I'll only ever drink things that taste like fruit!" (And I'm sure that if he reads this he'll be snickering to himself about how he is ALWAYS right about me liking things in the future. Whatever. Go hangout with your farting cat!) Well, I need a beer, so if anyone wants to just make one appear in my hand right now, that'd be lovely. Just kidding. I don't break laws. I'm a good girl. (HA!)

I'm not going to be like every other blogger or writer and talk about how Miley Cyrus skanked up the VMA's Sunday night. Instead, I'm going to not think about it at all. I'm just going to leave you all with the image of Miley grinding her ass on Robin Thicke.. Sound good? (But seriously, can someone find out where he got those pants because I want them... on my bedroom floor.)

What would Billy Ray say? You're breaking his achy breaky heart all over again, Milers!

How To Blog Like A Pro

I've been blogging for... a while now. Like, not a long time, but long enough to know the in's and the out's of running an almost tolerable blog here on the World Wide Web. I know that you should probably not post things that are offensive to lots of people or anything that may come back to dig its very sharp teeth very deep into your rotund ass. Also, you should probably not post nudes unless you're willing to get creepy messages from strange men in the deep south of Nigeria... or if you're not older than 18. That may get you in legal trouble.

Anyway, I've learned some stuff, and I have come here today to share some of my novice wisdom with the rest of the blogging world. You ready for this?

1. You don't have to blog about what you think the world will care about. You should just write what you know or what you're curious about or whatever you're friggin passionate about. It doesn't matter. People really don't care. You just gotta do you. 

2. Commenting on other people's blogs will probably help other people find you. It's worked for me. Try it, and if it doesn't work, your blog must really suck. I'm sorry.

3. Post regularly or as often as you can. If your readers are familiar with your pattern for posting, they'll know when to visit your blog to see if you've updated. If you're so sporadic that you don't even know when you're going to sit down and write, how do you expect anyone else to? Let your blog be reliable for the people who actually read it.

4. Only write when you're ready to write and feel like writing. Never feel pressured to put out content. That'll just make you hate writing. And if you really love writing, you shouldn't want to do anything to make you hate it. I mean, would if you love macaroni and cheese, would you ruin it by putting mint toothpaste in it? Probably not.

5. Page views and fame and followers don't come overnight. Give it time. And, hey, you might actually have to work at publicizing your blog. Try different networking strategies. Utilize the websites you already use (i.e.. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Plurk, etc). You'll be surprised what happens just from that.

6. Tags! For the love all that is bright and beautiful and amazing, tag your posts with all the things that might be goldmines for traffic! Yeah, I tag almost everything I could possibly tag. Often times it's things like "Boobs" and "Penis flaps" or "Hot men" but it's usually pretty relevant.  I mean, take a look at what people search to find me-

If I took a shot every time penis showed up, I'd be pretty wasted. That's all. 

7. Don't be afraid to take a risk. Try it. See what comes out of it. You may be surprised.

So, there you go. Some blogging tips from a girl who's been blogging off and on for the last million years. Hopefully you'll actually try to take my tips into consideration so your blog won't suck so much. I'm just kidding. No I'm not. I'm sorry. Please don't take me seriously.

(Wait.. what?)

Make Way For Change!

Well, it seems I've survived a few more days of my junior year of college. Surprisingly, I'm not surprised. 

Between being a complete zombie through reading boring and useless and wasteful syllabi and trying to actually learn the things that are starting to be taught, I've kind of had one of those awesome "Ah ha!" moments. I actually am pretty sure those are called epiphanies, but I'm too A)Sleepy and B) Lazy to double check, so let's just keep it at "Ah ha!" moment. 

So, last fall, before I was forced to start this blog (which, look, Mel! I got addicted and can't stop or use correct punctuation ever!), I was dropping pounds and inches like they had old people shit on them. In total, I think I lost about 30-32 pounds in that entire semester. And I lost another 15 pounds in the spring. That's 65 total since May 2012. I know, I'm a badass. But, I guess, things kind of got put on the cooling rack towards the last part of spring semester and the beginning of summer. For reasons I will never ever ever ever discuss here on this blog because I really like living, my life kind of went headfirst into a pile of lard. I stopped exercising. I stopped eating the way I was eating before (you know, minimal and with lots of grapes and healthy things). Somewhere in there I went on BC, so my hormones were totally on the fritz. And the cherry on top: I was also working a lot. 

In laymen's terms, I forgot to take care of myself. And as a result, I put on some weight that I thought I'd shed for good. (I guess my life just can't be fabulous). And, as a bonus, I stopped looking at myself and seeing something that was amazing and sexy and confident. I even had other people telling me I had put on weight, and that made me feel really shitty. I didn't know what I looked like or what I weighed or how I was supposed to stop the madness. 

The other night, I was talking to someone, and I was in the middle of giving this amazing beyond amazing peptalk when I suddenly heard myself say something along the lines of "If you know what you want and want it bad enough, you'll do whatever it takes to get there." And it hit me that I wasn't just talking to this other person. This was something I needed to hear! 

So, because there is no time better than the present to completely turn your life around and make everyone wish they were you for just a blink of an eye, I've decided to put a stop to all this. 

Starting today, things are going to be wildly different. 

I've made a short list of goals for myself:

1. Fit into size 6 jeans by Halloween. (If you haven't noticed, on the side of my blog is a little description and this has been more of an ultimate goal for me since I started this thing.)

2. Be at 140 lbs by finals week of this semester (aka second week of December).

3. Wear nothing "Large" by Spring Break 2014.

4. Be at 130 lbs by finals week of the spring semester (aka second week of May). 

And you might be wondering how I plan on making this stuff happen...

1. Cutting out pasta indefinitely. (I think I had my fill over the summer. Thanks, mom). 

2. Joining a zumba class (like, going to do this like today)! 

3. No Sour Patch Kids indefinitely (prepare for withdrawal!)

4. Working out at least 5 times a week 

5. Doing things to keep my stress levels at a manageable level

I welcome anyone who reads this to join me in changing now. Let me know in the comments or wherever. 

We'll see how this goes. Stress and sleep greatly influence the way my weight fluctuates, so hopefully it won't be a frustrating process for me. I'm super excited to see what happens! Also, as a way to keep myself accountable, I'll be blogging once a month to update on happenings and progress. 

Wish this wonder woman some luck! 

I'm On A Bus!

One of the many perks to living in an apartment now (you know, rather than those stinky resident halls I was stuck with LAST year) is that I get to commute to class every single day by the bus. I know what you're probably thinking, and I agree one hundred and five percent. Me? On a bus? With no control over any of the driving or passengers that get on board? Yeah, I can barely stand it. Plus, it makes me kind of nauseous because CAN ANYONE SERIOUSLY DRIVE A STINKING BUS WITHOUT HITTING ALL THE POTHOLES AND JUMPING THE CURB?!?!

The University of Oklahoma is a very diverse school, and you're bound to meet people of all kinds of ethnicities and nationalities and sexualities and other identifying factors. That being said, there are a lot of people that I see on the bus that I can't help but be a little mesmerized (and also slightly scared) by. For instance, I got on the 9 am bus to get to campus for my 9:30 class, and half the bus didn't seem to speak English. Cool, you know. It's not like I was planning on eavesdropping on all y'all so I'd maybe have some good blog material. Whatever. I don't need you and your cool Korean backpacks. I've got my Prada backpack and my sketchers (please tell me someone gets this reference!).


Another great thing is that full-on anticipation that suddenly fills my britches as I wait for the vacant seat beside me to be filled by another person's questionably proportioned backside. I don't judge anyone based on their size, but I'm pretty sure that everyone has that instant fear that an overly bootylicious señorita or baby daddy is going to plant themselves down next to you in any kind of small seating area (ie. movie theaters, buses, airplanes, classrooms) and crush all your vital organs.

So, you know, I'm pretty much analyzing everyone who boards.

Me: *sees someone getting on the bus*
Me: Oh, do you got da booty?
Me: You doooo!
Me: *prays they take a seat somewhere else*
Me: *sees a very delicate Asian girl with absolutely no ass*
Me: You are worthy of this seat! Come hither!

But, as we all know, life isn't something you can always control. Sure, I didn't end up having my body crushed on that particular bus ride, but there's always another time. Then again, maybe that's a big man upstairs giving me motivation to make MY butt even more non-existent than it already is right now. (If that's the case, you're horrible, Morgan Freeman!)

Then it can get awkward because I could actually make conversation with the people around me, but why would I put myself through that kind of torture? I mean, I'm already awake at an unholy and definitely unchaste hour of the day (not quite the crack of satan's ass, but maybe somewhere between his thighs?) so why should I be expected to make my situation worse?

It's honestly probably the longest 10 minutes of my life.

So, this was only day one. I still have many more days of this to endure, and I really hope to survive all of those days. That'd be really nice.

Well, here we go junior year! 

Adventures in Cooking, Packing, and Gospel

So, the countdown to me leaving for school is inching towards 0, and I'm really starting to feel the heat in the kitchen (or maybe that's just me sitting in a house without A/C in Oklahoma in August). Between spending all my money on things I'm going to need in the near future and having to plan last moments with people before I'm gone for a while, it's a mystery to me why I haven't gone completely bonkers. Or, have I? Hmm. 

Yum! And that's definitely not beer. Nope. Shhh.

One of the things I had been aiming to do for a really long time (and I really mean a really long time ago, because I said I'd do this last winter) was cook a meal that Bruce would eat and possibly want to hug with his mouth. Now, I'm kind of a kitchen daydreamer. I always find awesome recipes on Pinterest and other blogs that I follow, but I
never actually cook any of them because I'm afraid of messing up and just being a terrible cook. So, I finally took hold of my life and cooked something (Of course, Bruce gave me all kinds of helpful pointers, so some credit must be given to him).

Sunday night, I made a very delicious lasagna soup for the two of us (oh, and Bruce made bread, but this blog isn't about his perfect bread, dammit!!). The recipe I used as a base came from Shugary Sweets. I'll admit I went a little crazy with the Italian seasoning, but it was still an orgasm for my deprived tastebuds. And I'm just going to toot my own horn for a moment because I'm pretty damn proud of myself for making something that didn't kill anyone. Yet. Hopefully me cooking things will become a regular thing I take a whack at because I'd really love to try some of the tasty things I have bookmarked in my "Recipes" folder. Also, I bet my flatmates wouldn't be too upset if I made them things every once in a blue moon.

But, you know, while I'm not being a total badass Italian in the kitchen, I have been thinking about packing my stuff because I'm moving in less than 48 hours. You see, I hadn't even started packing until about 30 minutes ago. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a little behind on the times. Sue me.

The thing about packing is that I mysteriously forget how to do it every single time I have to do it. Like, I just packed this shit up in May. How have I already forgotten how I managed to do that? It's only been 3 months! Suddenly it's like I don't know what to do with any of my stuff. You know, it also probably doesn't help that I buy things all the time.

I'm not too stressed about it because I always find a way to make things work. I have a gift, I suppose. I'm good at improvising when I suddenly can't remember what I'm actually supposed to be doing. Some call it bullshitting, but I'd rather be full of shit than be without all my prized possessions, ya know? So, if you're reading this and also working on packing your stuff and moving, here's my advice: wait until the last minute and end up throwing everything into random boxes and storage containers and suitcases and throw it in your trunk like you just don't give a flying fart in space. Because you don't.

In other news, sometimes I find really good music and consider sharing it with other people. This is one of those times. I've been having an affair with the super duper theatrical band Panic! At The Disco since like 2005, so it's no surprise that when they started releasing new music from their upcoming 4th studio album I immediately fell in love all over again and I got the musical tingles. Their first single "Miss Jackson" featuring Lolo was freaking weird and exciting and had a slight flair of Fall Out Boy throughout it (and that makes perfect sense because the two bands will be touring together this fall).

Today I'm talking about Sunday's release of "This Is Gospel." I was totally taken by surprise when I noticed the sudden flailing among the fangirls on Twitter and Tumblr. I can't even put into words how interesting this song is, and the video concept is crazy one-of-a-kind (as usual!). I'm not normally crazy about the electronic/ autotune sound, but Brendon Urie makes it sound good. Dude. I can't even put into words any feelings I have for this song or the band or the upcoming album, so I'm just going to leave you with it so I can get back to thinking about packing.

The Thing About Country Music

I've lived in Oklahoma my entire life, so I've pretty much been exposed to the great wonder that is country music since day one. Although no one in my family is gun-hoe about the genre of music, it's definitely made its way into our programmed radio stations on several occasions over the years. That being said, I kind of hate country music. Sure, I probably know all the lyrics to every Rascal Flatts song released before 2006, but that means nothing at all. Yeah, yeah, don't yell at me via hateful comments or whatever it is you trolls do. It's just not my thing.

Or at least that's what I keep telling myself every single time I accidentally find myself liking a song about driving a pick-up truck.

Basically all summer long, I've been bumming off of Bruce by convincing him he should trust me to drive his car and stuff when he's not around (Thank you best friend. I love you!). Now, Bruce has like six different radio stations programmed. Four of them are pop stations that play what's hot and what's a decade or two old. Another is a station that plays a lot of music that is so loud that you can't hear the super depressing lyrics about really sad things that people do and feel. Then there is one that really stands out. You may have already guessed what it is because why else would I be talking about Bruce's programmed radio stations. It's country music.

I'll admit, when there's nothing good on the other stations, I sometimes settle for country. But I'll never admit that to anyone else.

Bruce knows how much I am irritated by the hick-ish-ness that is country music, so when he wants to get on my nerves and be a little shit face (just kidding!!!!), he puts on country music and refuses to let me or anything change that.

So, when we're driving places, it starts totally fine. We're both just jamming to some tunes....

and then it happens. He changes the friggin station unannounced like he's king of the world! Like "Ooooh I pay for gas and I pay my bills and go to work and eat bologna so I get to control the radio!"

And what happens next can only be described as pure agony.

Jokes on him, though. Because I do actually like some of the songs he thinks drive me crazy. But sometimes it's more fun to make fun of them than to just sing along like a normal person.  

To be honest, this post makes no sense at all. I just wanted to try out this comic maker I found. 

So, do I like country music? No. Not at all. Never. In. A. Million. Years. I just like that song about the guy trying to drive home and boink his girl but she is all up on him and he's all over the road. Don't judge me. 

Why The Rush, August?

Wow. How prompt am I in welcoming August to 2013? Well, in all fairness, I have barely been home or mentally awake for the last couple of days, so don't hate. But seriously. I haven't even changed the page on my calendar. I didn't even see my family or bed or dog or a clean change of clothes for 2 days, so my bad for not being on my game!

In my little corner of the universe, August means 2 very important things: 1) Time for school to start again and 2) Time for me to spend way too much on cool school supplies I'll probably never use at all the entire 9 months that I'm in school. Yeah, I'll admit, even at the age that I am, my favorite kind of shopping is school supplies shopping, and it saddens me so much that college doesn't require me to have a big box of crayons and an assortment of Lisa Frank folders and pencils. Instead, I'm good to go with a few Five Star notebooks and a pack of pens. Maybe a mechanical pencil or two. This is just growing up, I guess.

In other news, August now means me moving into my *drumroll please* very first apartment! In about a week and a half, I'll be making the 2 hour trek back to the sometimes-too-dangerous-for-anyone Norman, Oklahoma to begin my junior year at college, and I'll be living with three other girls (let's see how long it takes before I go all Carrie on their asses. Just kidding) (Nope.) I think it's finally hitting
me that summer is coming to a close soon and that I'll be living like a legit adult. (Like buying groceries and cooking and having my own full-sized bed. Those are adult things, right?)

August also means me no longer being employed. Oh what fun it has been to not come home smelling like chow mein or having sweet and sour sauce in random places on my body these last couple of days! I mean, I am so grateful that I was able to make some good money this summer, but you know I am even more grateful that I don't have to worry about that shit anymore (that is, until I'm back to being poor and unable to afford my Sour Patch Kids addiction). SCREW YOU, CHINESE FOOD! 

So, August is going to be pretty crazy and awesome and wonderful and slightly sad and just a tad bit stressful. This pretty much guarantees me having a 5-star, Emmy-nominated meltdown (and me getting really drunk too) at some point, but that is something future Angela can deal with.  I mean, August has already been pretty awesome, so don't rain on my parade.

But, hey, I'll be blogging pretty much everything this month, so you won't miss out on anything that's clean enough for me to write about without having to put a "Not Safe For Work" warning on here. Just kidding. I'll even include that stuff here.

10 Tips for Incoming College Freshman

Probably. It's college after all.

With my newly engaged "oh-my-god-I'm-going-back-to-school-in-like-3 weeks" panic, it kind of hit me that  I'm not the only person preparing to pack up all the shit I thought I was finished dealing with when I finished unpacking it (finally) just a few weeks ago. I'm sort of a lucky one seeing as I've done this juggling act multiple times now. I mean, does it get any easier each year? No, not really, but I've definitely learned so much from just living and going with the flow of things. 

So, for any readers headed back to college for either the first time or the millionth, I've compiled some tips I think might be helpful in one way or another.

1. As you pack your stuff to move to your residence hall, apartment, or house away from where you normally reside or keep a majority of your things, try to clean your room. The cleaner you leave it when you head out the door, the happier you'll be when you come home for any weekends or major holiday breaks.

2. Don't overpack. I am definitely guilty of having overpacked my freshman year of college. I pretty much thought it was best if I took everything I could possibly need (aka everything I owned). Unless you're unsure of the climate changes in the city or state you're moving to, or are moving so far away from home that you have no other choice, don't take your winter clothes with you when it is still 110 degrees outside. Also, don't take clothes you don't wear. What? You think college is going to suddenly make you want to wear that skirt you bought a year ago that still has the price tags attached? No. If you haven't worn it since New Year's, don't take it. Donate it or sell it. As for books, movies, and other knick-knacks, be conservative,

3. Take advantage of amenities your tuition pays for. Most schools give every student a gym membership with their tuition. My school has tons of locations to play outdoor sports. If you want to avoid becoming sluggish or GASP! gaining the glorious freshman 15, I strongly suggest you go hog wild while you're not paying for these things right out of your own pocket. Also, if your school has a stupid fee for walking on the damn grass, you better walk on that damn grass every single day.

4. Don't pull all-nighters if you don't have to. Personally, I have never in my whole life pulled an academic all-nighter. I love my sleep way too much to even consider it. If you're like me, do your work ahead of time so you're not scrambling the night before to finish a 10 page paper comparing evolution and creationism. You'll thank yourself in the long run.


5. Make a friend in each of your classes. Not only will it make going to class more enjoyable, but you also won't feel like a total outcast if you don't already have friends in that lecture or lab. They are helpful for when you miss a class because you're too hungover or just too lazy. You can easily email or text them asking for missed notes, assignments, or any announcements the professor might have made during that class period. Plus, HELLO! Study buddy! 

6. Join student organizations at the beginning of the semester. Don't be the person who spends all their time in their room playing video games alone or studying. College isn't just about academics. It's also about making friends, making connections, and learning to interact with new people.

7. Orientation weekend is a goldmine! Free everything! Take advantage of any coupons, free shirts or other gear, free food, and learning about what's happening on campus. Also, local businesses might have booths set-up, so walk around and take a peek. Also, and I can't stress this enough, if there is a booth with free safe-sex resources, TAKE THEM ALL. Ain't nobody got time to a raise a baby or nurse an STD/STI. Even if you don't plan on having any kind of sexy times until you're married, take them. They may come in handy at some time for either you or a friend. 


8. You don't have to like your roommate, but you still need to respect them. Think common courtesy. Do unto others as you would have done unto you. Don't be THAT roommate who makes tons of noise while the other sleeps or have unannounced sexy times without a little warning. Maybe make some kind of roommate agreement when you move-in to insure that things won't be a living Hell for both of you.

NOTHING MAKES SENSE ON MY BLOG ANYMORE! 

9. Majors are for schmucks (sometimes). If you don't have any idea what you want to major in or even what you might want to do after college, no sweat. Tons of college students go undecided until the very last possible second. Take your time taking the classes that sound most interesting to you, and then go from there.

10. Make it your own experience. 

So, hopefully some of those tips helped you out. And if not, I don't care. I'm just a junior in college with a blog. What do I know?