Bucket List

In one of the many awkward exchanges I've had this year with a person I hardly know, a guy read me several items off his "bucket list." He had an actual physical list, several pages long (I would guess about 15-20. Not exaggerating.) He insisted on reading part of it to me, for whatever reason. Just part of it, not the whole thing. It was weird. When I tried to grab it and read it myself he flipped out and snatched it away from me. I never really understood why the contents of his list were so special that only his eyes could see them. I tried to explain to him that I wouldn't judge him for whatever crazy things he wanted to do (a lie, naturally), but he was very stubborn. What's funny is the parts of the list he chose to tell me were stupid and cliche. From what I can remember, these are the things he told me: One: drive across the country by himself. Two: On this trip, see how fast his car can go. Three: also on this trip: Camp in the desert and do long lasting hallucinogenic drugs. After that, I think my whiskey kicked in and I was no longer interested. However, I do remember him telling me that I needed to make a bucket list.

In case anyone was curious, this guy turned out to be a total and complete jack ass. But he's right, I think. On the day I die, I'm positive I'm going to be happy anyway because that's just my nature. That being said, I want to be able to know that I truly lived life to my satisfaction. So here goes, in no particular order, the beginnings of my bucket list. It's not by any means the most exciting list of activities, but then again I'm not the most adventurous person alive.

* denotes the ones I want photographed

1. Meet a real life Elvis Impersonator.*
2. Eat a crumpet in the English countryside.*
3. Stand in every state in the US.* (not simultaneously, obviously) (and I've already been in most of the states anyway, so yay!)
4. Visit the home town of each of my grandparents.*
5. Go to the Eastern/Western-most points of the country and watch the sunrise/set.*
6. Go to Dollywood.* (Don't judge me, I've never been and I want to go.)
7. Goto Graceland.* (Again, no judgement.)
8. Go on a road trip with my friends. (A trip to grandmama's house does not count. It has to be more than one friend and it has to be somewhere far away.)
9. Eat escargot.*
10. Ride a camel/elephant.*
11. Bungee jump (this one I'm very afraid of. I have to do it at least once! I realize it's something that's on everyone's bucket list, that doesn't change my mind.)
12. Pet a tiger.*
13. Successfully learn some useful phrases in a language other than English. (To some this may seem easy, and to those people I say bite me. Foreign Languages were never my "forte." Who was the girl that  counted in spanish without realizing it on her first day of French V? Libby Genz.)
14. Knit something. (It doesn't have to be good. It just has to be something. Something that I can hold on to and say, "That's right, bitch. I knit this.")
15. Drive by every residence in which I've ever lived.*
16. Go back to Village Deli and eat a giant chocolate chip pancake.*
17. Actually fill an entire diary. (I've never been able to do that. For some reason the starting of the diary is always more fun than writing in it every single day.)
18. Get a tattoo. (something meaningful in a discreet location. Not "God's Gift, Daddy's Angel" on my lower back, or a mickey mouse face on my boob, or the name of my crazy redneck boyfriend-at-the-time.)
19. Learn to play at least one Elvis song on either the piano or guitar. (Good luck to the person who attempts to teach me this in the future. I have no rhythm and no patience.)
(SIDE NOTE: gotta love how about 15% of the things on my list some how relate to Elvis. Damn, I'm cool.)
20. Kiss a wonderful man at the top of Tri-State Peak. (he has to be wonderful. It can't just be some stranger. Besides, any stranger you pick up in the Cumberland Gap is probably not a good catch.)
21. Tell every person I love that I love them.


That's all for now. I'm quite sleepy. I'm determined to not spend tomorrow as I've spent every other day on break (waking up at noon to eat breakfast and then falling back asleep until dinner), so hopefully I'll come up with something lively to do. I very much miss the comfort of my apartment in Nashville, where there aren't small children waking up at 6am to get on a big loud school bus, and my parents aren't around to ask how the tub of frosting found its' way onto my night stand. ("It walked in with a can of pringles, was I supposed to tell it to go away?")

Thanksgiving is awesome.

(Written on the car ride home. Just a warning, it's really lame.)

Random List of Things That I Am Thankful For
By Libby Genz


It’s 11/25/10, aka Thanksgiving Day. Or night. Since it’s 8:00pm. Whatever. Here’s my list of things I’m thankful for!

I am thankful that I get to listen to Christmas music now. Well, if we’re being honest, I’ve been listening to Christmas music since November 1st. So I guess I mean that now I can shamelessly listen to Christmas music.

I am thankful that I got to spend the past couple days with my wonderful and quirky family. I am also thankful that those couple of days were spent in Owensboro at my grandmama’s house. Which reminds me:

I’m thankful for Owensboro, KY. I love Owensboro. If you haven’t been, go. I’m thankful for the Famous Bistro downtown and it’s delicious food, also Old Hickory and Ale 8 (even though my mother refused to stop and let me get some on the way out of town). I’m thankful for the Winter Wonderland that happens every holiday season down by the riverfront. It has an outdoor ice rink, and even kiddie rides, which come to think of it is pretty stupid because who would want to ride those things when it’s 40 degrees out? It’s still charming though.

I’m thankful that I got to stuff my face today.
I’m thankful for turkey, specifically the dark meat.
I’m thankful for Aunt Beth’s amazing gravy.
I’m thankful for cranberry sauce.
I’m thankful that I actually like cranberry sauce now.
I’m thankful that every Thanksgiving, someone tells the story of how when I was a baby, Pop gave me some cranberry sauce and it made me cry. Everyone had to wait another hour to eat, and when Grandmama had finally calmed me down and brought me back to the table, Pop gave me another bite. I cried again. He for some reason really enjoyed seeing what unpleasant food he could get me to eat. I remember once he convinced me to eat a pepper from a pizza box. And then when I inevitably squealed in pain, Grandmama offered me a glass of milk, and he said, “naw, give her water!” and then he laughed when the water made it worse.
I am thankful, arguably most thankful for Grandmama’s stuffing. It is literally the best stuffing in the entire world. I could eat this stuffing for every single meal and I would never get sick of it.
I’m thankful for butternut squash.
I’m thankful for broccoli casserole.
I’m thankful for rolls.
I’m thankful for derby pie and pumpkin pie.

I’m thankful for Grandmama’s cooking in general.

I’m thankful that I get to see some best frands when I get back to St. Louis. I’m thankful that Anna is having a good time in Morocco and that she is safe.

I’m thankful for gooey butter cake.
And my dog. He’s super cute. He’s curled up by my feet right now.

I’m thankful for my fellow 2711 inhabitants. Incase no one knows, I have really cool roommates. I am thankful for Brittany, Kristen, and Nina. They make it fun to live at Belmont. If they weren’t there, it would suck. Hard. I’m also thankful that we have such a cool RA. Pukey Lukey is the best.

I’m thankful for all my friends at school who make going to class entertaining.

I’m thankful to have a good job with two spectacular bosses. (It sounds like I’m sucking up. I’m not. If you knew them, you’d know they’re just awesome. It’s the best job ever.)

I’m thankful to have a good family, Genz, Reynolds, and Moehrle. A Daddy and a common-law-step-mom in Denver, and a Mom and Step Dad in St. Louis. I have a beautiful sister and adorable brother.

Moldy Potatoes

I am super tired. Just got back from a small get together at my friend Ari's house :) haven't seen those bitches in a loooong ass time. I've been really busy this weekend. I am currently in the process of writing a 14 page paper, and making up a bunch of other work. Oh, and the rough cut for our historical documentary is due Tuesday, so the group is working on that. Blah blah blah. Lots of stress.  I needed a little release on a blog where I don't need to sound professional (stay tuned for a post on Napiers, it's coming once I get this paper done.)

I wrote this on Friday? I think? Anyway. I needed something to write about that really didn't have any substance, to get out everything that was on my mind so I could be productive (It didn't work, but it was worth a shot.) So, here it is. Ready go:


I was in class today, and found myself distracted (as usual). I started thinking, in this, the 21st month of my single life, of all the things I find attractive about the opposite sex. It should not surprise anyone that this list of things is very, very weird. Men have it so easy in the world of Libby.

They are as follows. Not all are necessary for the guy to be considered attractive, but the more qualities he has the better:

Has Brown Eyes. Now, to be fair, a guy needs to have more than just brown eyes. But, between a hot guy with blue eyes and a hot guy with brown eyes, the brown eyed guy always wins. Unless he's an ass hole. Or shorter than me. Or has weird facial hair. Or wears fake glasses. Or is a hipster.

Has Brains. I find smart guys extremely attractive. Being intelligent is probably my biggest turn-on. Some girls need muscles and guys who are into sports and, you know, beer and tools and other manly things. No no. Not Libby. Libby needs more than that. Science Olympiad champion? Sexy. Does he take pages and pages and pages of notes in class? Like, more words than the teacher actually says out loud? Super hot. If he uses a word I've never heard before within the first 5 minutes of meeting him, I am automatically smitten. Unless he's too pompous. That ruins it. And, honestly, it's really hard to find a non-pompous smart guy. But when I find one, I'm all on it.

Rocks a mohawk. HOT. HOT HOT HOT HOT. To be clear: NOT one of those half-assed shaved ones that you can't really see at all. A big ass, balls to the wall mohawk. Or a grown out one.  If it's colored too, all the better. I have a theory about this one. I think it falls in the category of "my mother would hate this and that's why I like it."


Obsessed fan of something, not sports. For example: obsessed with Star Wars, or Harry Potter. I find this incredibly endearing. It could be whatever really. My weird obsession is pirates. I can talk about pirates all fuckin day. Whatever it is, his love for this thing cannot be lukewarm. It has to be deep and passionate. He needs to know the stupidest and most random facts about it. If he has a collection, its even more awesome. When someone asks him about this topic, he gets really excited and doesn't shut up.

Is a lefty. I don't know. Lefties are just indubitably more attractive than righties.

Has a southern accent. The only thing that could possibly beat a sweet, smooth southern accent is a British accent. British guys win by default.

Plays guitar. Or any other instrument really. Mainly guitar though. It's very cliche, but a guy is more than just a guy when he's holding a guitar.

Loves his mom. This one doesn't need a explanation.

To the Love of My Life

My dearest Colin Firth,

First, let me just say, that I adore every movie I've seen with you in it. You are my ideal man. I know this to be true, even though I don't actually know you personally. I know enough. 

"Born into an academic family - his father is a history lecturer at Winchester University College (formerly King Alfred's College) in Winchester and his mother is a comparative religions lecturer at the Open University"

High Educational values. Check.

According to IMDB, born in Grayshott, Hampshire, England, UK .

English. Check.

Super, bloody handsome. CHECK.


That's really all that I ask of a man. Handsome, English accent, well educated. It also doesn't hurt that you're famous and rolling in dough. And so, my dear, you will be mine.


Now. I realize that achieving this will be difficult. We face many obstacles, my darling, but don't let that get you down. I've thought everything through.

First obstacle, is of course, your current wife. I'm sure she is a lovely woman, but she's no me. She needs to go. This is the one thing I'm going to need you to take care of. I'll handle everything else.

So once she is rid of, we will need to meet face to face. I'm still working out this particular part of the plan. Perhaps there will be some kind of sweepstakes I can enter, and you'll fall in love with me. Maybe you'll receive a plane ticket to Nashville from an anonymous sender. If you get this, you'll need to come to Nashville right away. Or maybe I'll claim that I'm pregnant with your child. If all else fails, I am not above kidnapping you.

Once we are physically together, I need to obtain a machine that makes people younger. Not too much younger. Just about 15-20 years younger. You are 50, after all. Don't get me wrong, the silver fox thing you have going on is so very sexy. However, I can't bring myself to marry a man who is older than my mother. So, we'll need to fix this.

After all of this is finished, we can finally live together in peace, my Colin, my darling, my love.

With Love,
Libby Genz (You're Future/Next Wife)

Aparecium

(DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ ALL 7 HARRY POTTER BOOKS. I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU WOULDN'T HAVE AT THIS POINT, BUT JUST IN CASE, I DON'T WANT ANYONE YELLING AT ME FOR SPOILING THE STORIES)

I am on a Harry Potter kick lately. The obsession comes in waves every few months. It may be building now because the 7th movie will hit theaters November 19 (which also happens to be my dear little brother's birthday). To say I'm excited would be an understatement. I can't think of a word to fully express my anticipation.

I got this awesome Gryffindor scarf. It just needs to get colder so I can wear it.

I remember when I started reading the books in about 4th grade, I couldn't wait to turn 11 and receive a handwritten letter from an owl inviting me to join Harry and Dumbledore. I like to believe that deep down I knew Hogwarts was not a real place. "But what if it was..."


In my fantasy I was always in Gryffindor, but in reality I would probably be in Hufflepuff. Everyone hates hufflepuffs though. They're such pussies! They're like the happy-go-lucky dirty hippies of the wizard world. Charms and knowledge of plants doesn't get you shit. Hufflepuffs are like the people in society who run daycares out of their homes, or sell soap and necklaces out of a van. It's all nice and beneficial, but nobody really gives a shit about them. A Hufflepuff would never be President.

Ravenclaw isn't much better. What do they do, sit around and have intellectual conversations? Where is that gonna get you? While Harry and his Gryffindor friends are out fighting fucking Voldemort, Ravenclaws are playing a goddamn game of chess and discussing their views on current affairs. What the fuck ever.

Slytherin at least gets shit done. They're all a bunch of smarmy selfish assholes, but they're successful. I wouldn't make a good member of Slytherin because I don't have that "every man for himself" attitude. I prefer to work as a team, which probably lands me back in Hufflepuff. Damnit.

Gryffindor is where it's at. Brave, intelligent leaders. A Gryffindor would be President, no problem. I bet Obama would be in Gryffindor... I don't know about Clinton. (Bill. Hillary would be in Slytherin for sure.) Bill might be in Hufflepuff actually... Bush is definitely not in Gryffindor. Bush isn't invited to play in my Hogwarts fantasy. Neither is Palin. She doesn't have what it takes.

I think the thing I would've liked best about Hogwarts was Dumbledore. I was so pissed when he died. I had been going through a whole emotional roller coaster regarding Snape. I couldn't figure out whether or not I was rooting for him. Of course, the more I learned the more I adored him. But when he killed Dumbledore, I was still pissed.

I really wish Dumbledore was my Grandpa. He would be such a tight Grandpa. He loves you even though you're a moody little weirdo who talks to snakes and puts everyone around you in danger.

I've also always been curious about Hogsmeade. I wish there was something as magical in real life. I want butter beer and chocolate frogs! The Hogwarts castle fascinated me. It would probably scare the bajeezus out of me if I was actually there. Also, I KNOW I'd trip up and down those steps every damn day. I trip on normal steps. Make them move randomly and I'm totally screwed.

You know what, maybe I would be in Gryffindor. Neville Longbottom made it in! He's more of a spaz than I am! Gosh, that scene when he accidentally rides the broom without knowing how to fly? It reminds me so much of me that it's just sad.

Now, every girl/boy who loves HP (and has a sexual attraction towards males) has a boy they fancy, whether it's Harry, Ron Weasley, or Cedric Diggory, whoever. Some love Oliver Wood. (He was fiiiiiiine.) Some love Draco Malfoy. Those people are idiots. Draco Malfoy would get a girl pregnant and treat her like shit, like Ryan and Maci on Teen Mom.

"Well, Draco, I don't have time to focus on my Potions class because I'm taking care of Bentley."
"Nah you don't have time to focus on Potions cause yer a lazy fuck."
"Why are you so mean to me Draco???"

To be very frank, if I went to Hogwarts, I would totally bone George Weasley. George specifically because Fred ends up dying (my heart literally broke into a thousand pieces). It's just good sense. I would've boned either one though. Class Clowns/Troublemakers? I'm all on that shit. They're the best characters anyway. Now in real life, the movies/actors, I'm totally a Rupert Grint (Ron Weasley) girl.

I mean, how could I not be? Look at that face!!!

Although, hands down, my absolute favorite character is Sirius Black. (I don't know what it is about all of my favorite characters dying. Dumbledore, Sirius, Fred. Awful.) Sirius Black was a straight up bona fide badass. He's like, yeah go ahead bitches. Put me in fuckin Azkaban. I'ma get the fuck out and pwn the shit outta Voldemort and his candy-ass Death Eaters (well, you know. Until Bellatrix kills him. Hooker bitch.)

Back to this Snape thing. Actually, what I really want to talk about is my love for Alan Rickman. I love Alan Rickman. He is so so so so so good as Snape. He's so deliciously dark and evil. It's wonderful. If I could talk like one person in the movie, it would be Snape. "Clearly... fame...isn't....everything...is it... Mr. Potter?" "The winner... of America's... Next...Top...Model...Is..... Harry Potter."

You know what character I despise? Percy Weasley. What a little shit head. I hate that guy. He's like this pompous, square, wet blanket. Ass.

I think I'm going to sit back and enjoy the movie now. I'm watching the first one :). If anything else comes to me, I'll make an edit. Also, all HP aficionados feel free to discuss whatever. I love talking about  Harry Potter when I'm supposed to be reading A Brief Introduction to the New Testament.

I'm So Stupid.

Let's say you have a really cool electronic device. For me, it's my Macbook or my droid. But anyway, say you have one of these items. You ever notice how kids love that shit?

Every time you see that kid, he hugs you and says hello. He answers your questions about how school is going, or his soccer team, and he asks you about your dog or your best friend. He introduces you to his friends, "This is Libby, she's awesome." You start to think, aww, how sweet! This kid thinks I'm cool! That's so sweet! And then you get a phone call and take out your phone.

"whoa, you have a droid?"
"Oh, yeah! Haha"
"Cool!! Does it have games??!"
"Uh, yeah, it does!"
"Can I play one!"
"Aww! Of course you can!!"

You give the kid your Droid and he plays a game on your phone for hours. You even have a competition to see who can get the highest score. You are officially Cool Awesome Libby. This little kid thinks you are so cool, and that makes you feel so good about yourself.

But you're a fool.

You think that kid cares about you? That kid doesn't give a rat's ass about you.

Your conversations will become this:

"Hey Bobby! How's 4th grade?"
"Good. Can I play Paper Toss on your phone?"

Maybe his parents ask you to babysit him. He asks as soon as you walk in the door, "Did you bring your droid?"

You start to get the feeling that this kid doesn't think you're cool, he thinks your phone is cool.

"Oh, I did, but you know what? It's almost dead, and I'm expecting a call."
"Oh. Okay. Well, I'll be in my room playing Mario Kart."

It becomes very clear to you that your existence beyond your cell phone means absolutely nothing to the child, and might even be an inconvenience to him. You're just in the way of his ability to play Paper Toss.

I mean, sure, Paper Toss is an awesome game. That's why you bought it. But you thought what the kid enjoyed was your company, not just the game.

After a while you wish you never had a phone in the first place.

Now, it's not as though you need this kid to think you're cool. You have no qualms letting him play Paper Toss, or Tetris, or whatever. Because lets face it, the kid is cute and you can't help but give him what he wants. It makes you happy to share, and you don't mind the freedom from the typical enslavement of your cell phone. It just kind of sucks that something so adorable has reduced your existence to a source of electronic entertainment. It would be different if the kid was obnoxious, or ate his boogers. But why give the phone to a booger eater when you can give it to a good kid?

And now, years later, every time a kid is nice to you, you wonder if he is just nice or if he wants to see what games you have on your phone. It sucks. It's getting to the point where you want to leave your phone at home to avoid any confusion.

This metaphor is getting weird... And I'm overanalyzing something that was absolutely wonderful that really doesn't matter anymore.

I don't know if anyone's told you this before, but you sir, are yummy.

You know those melodramatic facebook statuses that you post about a guy, thinking that he doesn't care enough to read? Well, it's really embarrassing when you find out that he does read them.

At that moment, you're like, "you know what? F- you. F- men!" You don't think that he cares about you because he hasn't responded to your text message and its been 5 WHOLE MINUTES. You start to get sad and picture yourself old and alone in a pink and purple house filled with 17 cats that you affectionately refer to as your babies. You immediately, for whatever reason, decide that the internet needs to hear all about this grim destiny of yours. You type out exactly what you're feeling at that moment, "All I need in this life is a spoon and a tub of cookie dough." (real status of mine, btw.) I suppose we sincerely feel in the moment that the internet is our only true source of comfort. You pause for maybe a second to consider the chances of him seeing the status. You think it's impossible. He's not going to be looking at my page cause clearly, he's too busy banging 5 other chicks at once to care about my ass. And even if he did, you figure it's way to vague for him to pick up on it.

Nope. You're wrong. You're so wrong.

I'm going to tell myself I'm not alone in this ridiculous freak out. I remember back 65 million years ago when dinosaurs roamed the earth and I actually had a boyfriend I did stuff like that all the time. It was a huge problem. Especially then, because it's like, who else could I possibly be talking about? "Libby Genz: feels so alone." Text from John 5 minutes later: "I told you I was having dinner with my grandma, calm down." Oops? I always tried to play it off.

"I.. I wasn't talking about you."
"Libby."
"I wasn't!"
"Okay, who were you talking about?'
"You don't know him. It's no one."
"What?"
"It's...They're just song lyrics."
"Song lyrics."
"Yeah."
"What song?"
"I don't know, I don't know the name of it."
"Where did you hear it?"
"... the radio..."
"Is there really a song?"
"Yes! Quit overanalyzing things! I hate when you do that."

Since then I've for the most part learned my lesson. A) Don't freak out about a guy not texting you back. It's not a big deal. B) Don't post ridiculous things about boys that you think are just vague enough that you could post them without him knowing but really, he'll know right away who you're talking about. (that was the worst sentence ever in the history of grammatical tragedies. But I'm keeping it.)

Every once in a while something slips though. I guess it's a maturity thing? Or maybe it's because I've witnessed so many messed up relationships by now that I don't really feel compelled to worry about dying with no one but my 17 cats to miss me. The way I see it now (and it comes and goes with my happiness level): I'm young and single and I have options. The freedom is nice.

If only I could've remembered this before I made the embarrassing cat-lady status...

I refuse to let this be my future. I REFUSE.

In other news. I'm done living on campus and being treated like an 11 year old away at summer camp. We're looking for an actual apartment. One where we can use a toaster and candles, and my plastic water gun won't get confiscated.

I'm a good girl, I am!

I haven't posted in a while. Mainly because my life has been rather uneventful for the past couple weeks. Well - actually it's been pretty eventful. A lot has happened, but it's all pretty much too personal for me to blog about. So I'll just ramble, and y'all will have to deal. Or, you know, not read it.

I'm currently in the midst of watching My Fair Lady, a movie I've had memorized for as long as I can remember. I'm beginning to see eerie connections between myself and Eliza Doolittle.

Of course, in the world of Audrey Hepburn characters, I would be Eliza Doolittle. I just would.


The similarities are as follows:

1) I make dreadful noises when I'm upset about something. 
For those of you who haven't seen the movie, Eliza makes this noise whenever she is upset or distraught. It's impossible to reproduce in print.

You can hear it in this video.


I don't make that exact noise. And I don't make just one. I have a whole collection of sounds that leave my mouth. On the way back to Nashville today (I went home for the weekend and got back today), this car kept riding my ass, and then whenever I would get over, it wouldn't pass me. It would slow down, shining its blinders right into my side view mirror. Consequently, I would get stuck between the car in front of me and that stupid ass of a car. I would have to brake, thus disrupting the cruise control. This happened 4 or 5 times. I have terrible road rage, so obscenities were shouted. But by the fifth time, there were no words. Just a scary guttural screech. Very unpleasant. Probably did permanent damage to my throat with that one.

2) I'm not graceful. At all. No where close.
I can try, but I will fail. Now, granted, Eliza becomes graceful as Professor Higgins teaches her to be a "lady." I have not been so fortunate as to meet such a person who is willing to give me lady-lessons. In sixth grade, I was invited to a cotillions class. I asked my mom what that meant, and she told me if I would go I would learn proper manners, how to ballroom dance, blah blah. I was insulted. "What's wrong with my manners?? I don't need cotillions!!"

3) I have dignity and will hold true to my beliefs. However, I can be swayed by chocolate. 
Eliza comes to Higgins' house, willing to pay for speech lessons. He insults her, because, well, he's Henry Higgins and that's how he is, and she decides against it. Higgins is able to keep her from leaving by offering her a chocolate. She has one, and he tells her that if she stays she can have all the chocolate she wants. I can't think of many things I would say no to if chocolate were my compensation. He also threatens to take away her chocolate-eating privileges to get her to say her vowels correctly. This is also an effective method to get me to do things I don't want to do.

4) I cannot for the life of me differentiate appropriate and inappropriate topics of conversation.
It's such a problem.


This video also applies to another tendency of mine, 5) If given the opportunity, I can and will make a fool of myself. I say the stupidest shit sometimes. And then rather than admitting it was stupid, I try to convince everyone that it wasn't stupid at all, in fact, perfectly correct. I was simply speaking on an intellectual level that the average person can't comprehend. "If I did it right then what was you sniggering at? Have I said anything I ought'nt?"

6) When I am smitten, I act JUST LIKE THIS.


Earlier in the scene, before she starts singing, Higgins is talking to Colonel Pickering, and looks over at Eliza, who is looking at him with large eyes and a goofy smile. A look that makes you doubt she would notice were you to crumble up a piece of paper and throw it at her face. I wish I could find a picture, because it so accurately shows how I look. Although the video does a pretty good job. Sleep doesn't happen. I become ignorant to any and all interactions with other people, and all things around me become blurry. Very pathetic indeed.

7) I fall for ass holes. 
Higgins is a straight up ass. It's actually really funny. He's rude to her. He's rude to everyone. He's a smooth talker. He's arrogant. He's ridiculous. She loves him. I feel her pain. I really do. There's something about cocky men that intrigues me. In the movie, the cocky guy actually grows to care about her. Hasn't worked out that way in my life. The cocky guy remains cocky and I remain, well, a commoner.

8) When I get mad, I get melodramatic. 
Probably my favorite scene in the whole movie is when Eliza gets pissed off and throws Higgins' slippers at him. It's so funny. Well, only when you think about it through Higgins' point of view. The viewer knows she is feeling worthless because Higgins and Pickering are given all the credit for her succuess, the man she loves doesn't care about her at all, etc. Higgins is caught up in his victory, and then this bitch starts screaming and throws slippers at him.

Higgins: (asking himself) What the devil have I done with my slippers?
Eliza: (suddenly begins screaming, seemingly out of nowhere) HEEERE ARE YOUR SLIPPERS!!!!!!! (She chucks them at him one at a time) THERE! AND THERE! TAKE YOUR SLIPPERS AND MAY YOU NEVER HAVE A DAYS LUCK WITH THEM!!!!!!
Higgins: What on earth? What's the matter? Is anything wrong?
Eliza: No, nothing wrong with you. I won your bet for you, haven't I? That's enough for you. I don't matter, I suppose.
Higgins: You won my bet! You presumptuous insect! I won it. What did you throw those slippers at me for?
Eliza: Because I wanted to smash your face. I could kill you, you selfish brute. Why didn't you leave me where you picked me out of in the gutter? You thank God it's all over, now you can throw me back again there, do you?
Higgins: Oh, so the creature is nervous after all-
Eliza: (screams and starts swinging at him)


So funny. I don't get mad often, so I guess when I do, somewhere in my tiny mind that means I have an excuse to act crazy. 




Now I'm tired. And I've paused the movie enough to stretch it well past its 3 hour run time. And I have to get up at 7. Damn.

Good night.

A Very Interesting Weekend Ruined by Some Dead French Guys.

This weekend started off good, and then it got better, and then it got better again, and now it's dumb cause it's over.

Friday night was ladies night. The roomies and I grabbed some dinner and saw Easy A, a movie about a high school girl who lies about losing her virginity. Wow. That brief of a synopsis makes it sound like a porno.

Not realistic at all. He would never go for her.
And 17 year old boys don't have that much chest hair. 

Anyway... In this movie, which was rated PG-13 and had no nudity, the "weird girl who no one notices," played by Emma Stone (who is of course, drop dead gorgeous) has boys pay her with gift cards to pretend like she had sex with them. She doesn't actually have sex with anyone in the movie. No one has sex with anyone in the movie. Oh actually, that's not true. Oh well. She ends up prancing around the school in lingerie and everyone hates her and then she gets the guy of her dreams, played by Penn Badgley.

Weird-girl my ass...

So pretty much it's one of the most inaccurate portrayals of high school to ever hit the big screen. But it's still hilarious. I'd see it again.

Seeing that movie paired with other events which occurred this weekend has made me a little nostalgic.

I was a legitimate weird girl in high school. I was as weird as they come. None of this hot red hair, beautiful complexion, effortlessly gorgeous nonsense. Braces. Bangs that I thought were edgy but really made me look pre-pubescent. Acne. Freshman year I wore an army surplus jacket and a Green Day t-shirt almost every single day. It was kinda nice because I didn't really care about what people thought of me. However, one too many criticisms from my then best friend led me to second guess myself.

Living with the weird girl is much, much less painful than suppressing the weird girl. Because, let's face it, she's bound to come out. You can put a horse in American Eagle jeans, it's still a horse. (I don't know why you'd ever put American Eagle jeans on a horse, or why a horse was even my animal of choice. I digress.)

I really wish I could go back and tell my 16 year old self to chill out.

I went through my old facebook photos to find the most embarrassing high school-y high school picture I could find. I'm having trouble finding one where I'm not holding up a peace sign whilst puffing my lips out (why did we do that? Did we realize how stupid we looked?).

oh lord. Okay. Just one trout-pout picture. And Anna, If I'm going down I'm taking you with me.

the first boyfriend

Okay, not really embarrassing, but still the best friends
anyone could ever ask for.

So glad it's over.

Ammiright?

I Can't Afford to See.

I was supposed to have an eye exam today, but I had to cancel it. Wanna know why? Cause I only had $10.47 in my bank account. I took $10 out of my savings, so now I have $10.99 in my savings and $20.47 in my bank account. That's hardly enough for food let alone an eye exam. Hell, that's not even enough to get gas to drive out to get my eye exam, which is another problem entirely because I'm on E.

When I called to cancel I told the receptionist I couldn't make it in because I have no money. She became uncomfortable and asked if I wanted to join a payment plan that would make the payments smaller by spreading them out over 12 months. No. I don't need a payment plan. I'm in college. I have shit to do.

Being an adult means giving up luxuries like 3 meals a day and the ability to see clearly. And that's even from me getting money from both of my parents. Nobody told me that, so I feel like I should let everyone know that when you're in college and not on a meal plan, it sucks. You can't eat because you have to buy medication or toothpaste. Toothpaste is like $5. That's crap. Toothpaste should not be that much damn money. I will use a bar of soap, thank you very much. On second thought, no. I wont.

I want corn bread. Or a hot meal that's not ramen or Velveeta instant mac n cheese. Why is it that when you can't afford to eat anything, all foods sound so incredibly tasty? How is that fair? It's not! I WANT SOME DAMN CORN BREAD.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanttttttt

I Need a Mouth Filter.

I have a problem y'all. 

I have a bruise that started about the size of a dime and has grown to about a silver dollar. (holla) (If anyone besides Nina gets that reference, you win.) But for real. This bruise is purpley blackish green, I think. And I say I think because this bruise is on my arse. My right arse cheek, to be specific. 

Now I get bruises all the time. I accumulate them without knowing where they come from. This wouldn't be a big deal. Except this bruise is right on the sit bone. So it hurts when I sit down, it hurts when I'm walking. It sucks. 

I noticed the bruise Saturday morning after running into something (naturally). I showed my roommates, and tried to think back over all the places I could have possibly acquired that substantial of a bruise. 

My best bet is that it happened at the party we attended the night before. It was at the same man-cave-house as the get together/show was last weekend, but this time there were like 30 billion people there. I don't really remember much other than falling off the toilet (again. I fell off the toilet last time I was there too). It will remain a mystery I guess. 

See, I think stuff like that is interesting. No one else does. And I know, deep down, that no one wants to see the gnarly bruise on my ass, but I show them anyway. Well, not everyone. Actually it was just my roommates and Brittany's sister Andrea. I didn't really give her much of a choice, I had to show Brittany how bad it had gotten and before poor Andrea had a chance to comprehend what she was getting herself into, my cheek, avec gnarly bruise, was exposed. 

Luckily, I only shared that story with one friend today. That's what happens when there are lulls in conversations with Libby. The silence, however brief, makes me panic and then I make things awkward by sharing weird information that no one wants to know. 

Me: How was your weekend?

Unprepared Friend: Awesome (or whatever he said)

Me: Cool

Friend: yep

Me: .....

Friend: .....

Me: I have a big ass bruise on my butt cheek and I have no idea how it got there.

Friend: ........ 

Bam. Ear raped. Poor guy never saw it comin'. Bet you're wishing you would've asked how my weekend was, huh? 

You know, it's a wonder that I even have friends in the first place. Most of them know I'm a weirdo and have grown to accept it. Not sure if the previous friend has reached that level of acceptance yet. Me and the roommates spent last Thursday evening at his show making up interpretive dances to his band's songs. So. Freakin. Cool. 

When in doubt, I say whatever is on my mind. I don't know why I do that. But I do. I should probably learn to control it, but life wouldn't be as fun then. 

On a different note, Bepo is all up in my Kool-Aid. I pretty much deserve it, because I didn't get a parking permit for my car. I kept forgetting/was too lazy to memorize my license plate number. But I finally did it today, after I got a ticket and then a notification saying that if I don't fix it, the rate will go up. I can get out of it by taking this 8 page "test." Such crap. But I don't have $50. F.

I have work tomorrow (bleh). I want to call one of the guys I called Thursday night, or someone else who will be nice and interesting and give me $10. Good conversation, and a new facebook friend! Can't get much better.

After reading Anna's blog (my friend in Morocco) nothing about my life sounds interesting. I don't have cool darija words at the bottom of my entries. I don't live in a medina. I don't have a host family who can't speak English. My life sucks. Go read her blog and soak up the culture. All I have to offer is a gnarly butt bruise.

Well, I guess I could give it a shot.

Word of the day:
Rednecki
Corn Bread (Kohn-brayid) - A type of delicious bread that I really want right now. 

Rejection

This post isn't funny. It's not well written, and it's actually really stupid. Mainly just because whenever I experience any emotion other than happy I think it's stupid and no one should pay attention.

Also, I may or may not be a little drunk again.

If you want happy, go down to the bottom of the post.

You ever freaked out about something dumb? And then wondered if anyone else freaks out about that thing as much as you do? And then felt like a total idiot when you realized that you're the only one freaking out about it? And all your friends are like, "Libby, you're thinking about it too much, its not that big of a deal." And then you feel even more stupid because you can't seem to convince yourself that it's not a big deal and you drive to Walgreens at midnight to get some chocolate because chocolate has never rejected you.

Myyyyyyyyyyy life.

In 5th grade, I had a crush on a guy named Tim. "Tim M" for this situation. My friend Kali told me that since I was moving at the end of the year, I should tell him how I feel. So I wrote him a note. I still remember what it said and what color gel pen I used (It was metallic and multi colored. Coolest pen ever.)

Dear Tim,
I really really like you. Do you like me?
Love (actually I drew a heart),
Libby Genz


I folded up the note and during a break from Poms rehearsal (yeah. I did poms. Good times), I slipped it into his desk. We weren't in the same class. He ended up telling the entire 5th grade that he hated my guts and that I was a loser. It wasn't really a surprise, since I was in fact a loser. He was the most popular guy in the 5th grade. I was probably the most losery girl in the whole entire school. Why I ever thought I had a chance with him, I really don't know. Also, he was 11, so girls weren't really interesting to him. I wish I could go back in time and tell my 11 year old self not to do it. "You are a nerd. It sucks now, and it will suck for a long time, but there will be a guys who like that in high school and college, so hold out."

But, alas, I did not learn from this. Then came 6th grade. New school district. New boys. I'm not going to say his name because literally EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WOLRD knows who I'm talking about. Also, he's my neighbor, so while he is mostly unaware of my existence, we still have awkward neighborly run-ins (in which I look over and kind of wave and he pretends not to see me.)  Anyway. We met. He actually talked to me. I fell in love with him. Well, I mean, as in love as you can be at age 12. I stared at him a lot, and acted like I hated him. I wouldn't dare let him know about my feelings because of what happened with Tim M. Unfortunately however, he found out because it turns out I'm not very good at hiding when I have a crush. Pretty much, he saw that as an opportunity to get me to do stuff for him. So it became a game to him to see how much he could make me do. And then one day he yelled at me in the middle of FACS and called me a freakshow. Also not a surprise. Cause I was still a loser. And he was again, very very popular. Also, my "friends" at the time called his house pretending to be me and apparently told him I like him, or something. That eventually turned into him getting other people to make fun of me all the time. I think that was a little unwarranted. I mean, yes, I was a dork so making fun of me is a natural occurrence, something I expected. But making fun of me for being rejected? Come on! Talk about kicking me while I'm down. Needless to say, it was a pretty shitty year in general.

So, basically, I have this huge fear of rejection. Not just from boys, but from everything. At work, when I fail to get any pledges I feel like all the Alumni hate me, and that my boss hates me, and that my parents will find out how bad I am at getting money from people and be ashamed of creating me. All of the alumni might as well be saying, "I can't give any money to you because you're a loser and I hate your guts. Also, your neighbor hates you still because you're a dork, and you'll never succeed at anything ever, so you should get used to working in retail because that's all you'll ever amount to." I never invite people over to my house to hang out or something because I feel like if they say the can't it means that they don't like me or think I'm weird. I don't ever apply myself to anything because the idea of putting forth everything I can and getting shut down is the scariest thing ever.

I know there are worse things than a guy not liking me. I know that. I'm still scared.

Life would be so much easier if every guy liked me. I could just turn people down all the time. Actually though, I hate being on the other side way more. Rejecting someone is way more difficult than being rejected.

You know what really needs to happen? I need to stop drinking and blogging. That's the most important thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay. Here's a better story. I actually did get 2 pledges tonight!! Also, I got a free nalgene bottle for being the second person to get a pledge. Work is always awesome when you get to talk to cool people. Or just people that aren't mean or old or putting their toddlers to bed. I also really hate talking to people who haven't had any use of their degree. "What am I doing with my Music Business degree? Well, let me tell you. I run the graveyard shift at IHOP. But I have high hopes for my band." That is so so so depressing. Or when someone says they didn't use it and they had to go back to school. Or when they tell me they're unemployed. That's probably the worst. What do you say to that? Sorry? Keep your head up, you'll find a job? You can't say that because what if they're 65 and they just got laid off? How are they going to find a job again? At my job, we take that opportunity to say something positive and ask them for money. It's just the Belmont way.

Labor Day Weekend Was a Success.

However, I am deeply troubled that my most viewed post was one I created while intoxicated. Not something I can be too proud of.

This post is going to be boring. I just wanted to post something while I was sober so I could draw attention away from the previous post.

The weekend was pretty awesome. Not gonna lie. I spent it like most everybody did. Friday night ended up in a basement of this man-cave-house (I think something like 5 guys lives there) listening to the roommates or friends of roommates or random people who hang out at the house jam for a while. Then Brittany's boyfriend and his friends played a while too. One thing I love about living in Nashville is that live music is always accessible. And not just live music, good live music. Oh, and this basement, was not like a typical basement. It had like a whole light system. Strobe lights, christmas lights, whatever those lights are that put random specks of colored light in random places, all that. And this completely totally wasted/high guy (Never seen a person so happy in my life. I almost asked him for a little of whatever he was on) ran the lights while the other guys played. It was like a mini concert. But more awesome because I was sitting on a comfortable, albeit probably disgusting couch with my roomie, drunk and oblivious. It was fantastic. It's so nice to go to a college gathering that isn't hosted by horny frat guys. Not like any of them come after me anyway. I guess I'm not what a horny frat guy is looking for (drunk, easy, in a sorority, "hot" by societal standards, blonde, etc.) So far, I've spent past college parties not drinking for fear of passing out and getting peed on, and keeping creeps off of Nina. Not very fun. I guess I just never know where the fun is. But damnit, junior year, I'm gonna find it!. 


Anyway, Saturday was a little more mellow. Me, Nina & Ben hung out at the apartment and turned watching Criminal Minds into drinking game, which is a way to make an otherwise grim show hilarious. I don't need to say anything about my mental state. Y'all saw the post. Sunday was boring. Well, it was until I made it fun. We went to IHOP in the morning, and then at night all the roommates who were in town had dates. I apparently did not get the date night memo, so I was left to myself. At first it was kind of a bummer, but then I realized that I had the apartment to myself, so I shut the blinds, turned on Lady Gaga and danced around the apartment with no clothes on. 


I love that quality of mine. I can find entertainment in any situation (for me, not necessarily for anyone else.) Some of you might find it sad that I enjoy these moments to myself, like maybe I should get out more, be social. I'm proud! How many people can honestly say that their entertainment is self-sustained? I love knowing that my life will never be boring. 


Now, yes, it was a little embarrassing when Ben and Nina came back in. Thankfully I was in my robe (I got a little cold), but I was still dancing. But that didn't get me down. I just continued my personal party (ha. sounds so dirty) in the privacy of my bedroom (sounds even more dirty. There's no way to make that sentence not sound inappropriate. Y'all will just have to trust me I guess.)

Monday was pretty boring. So was today. I am having, er, sorry male reader(s?), certain female events that lead to intense cravings for very specific food. The trouble is, I never know what I want until I see it. So I was wandering around Kroger thinking of things I might want inorder to make my trip a little shorter. It didn't help that I was starving. I started off thinking I wanted chocolate. But then I remembered the tubs of Tollhouse cookie dough I saw last time, and thought maybe I wanted that. But no. I settled on a bag of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. They were calling out to me.

It's only after you eat almost the entire bag and you feel like dying turd that you decide to look at the back. You're never happy with what you find.

(That reads: Serving Size: 2, Servings Per Container: 7, Calories: 240. Holy shit.)

I'm not saying I ate the whole bag. I almost did. But that's not the point. The point is, I feel like I could blow chunks at any second, and I'm beginning to realize that I'm going to have to go to the gym tomorrow. Or I could put it off until Thursday....

Milk is Mean.

Today marks the first day of the rest of my life.

I've finally come to accept my lactose intolerance.

I decided to go to Kroger, after a lot of thinking, and make some non-dairy purchases: Lactaid, Soy milk, Kosher shredded cheddar cheese, and just for shits and gigs, some Kosher Animal Crackers.

Picking out the Lactaid was the first obstacle. It's just embarrassing carrying around a box of Lactaid Chewable tablets (I know. Nasty. But the pills were $8 more). I don't know why, and I'm sure no one notices, but it's still embarrassing to me. Anything that says "to stop Bloating! Gas! Diarrhea!" on the front of it is not something I want to have any association with. I don't want the world to know that I have any of those bodily functions. I imagine people walking by and saying to whoever they're with, "Oh my gosh, did you see that?? She has a box of Lactaid! She get's diarrhea!!! What a loser! Hahahaha." I concealed the loser-tablets as best I could and continued to shop.

The next thing I needed was soy milk. I didn't see any Silk, which is the only brand that I'm familiar with. Brittany (roommate) told me that rather than soy milk, her boyfriend drinks Lactaid milk. At least I think that's what she said. I don't always listen. I saw that, and I saw Kroger brand lactose free milk. I immediately went for the cheap choice, and sat there holding it for a while. The Lactaid Milk was over $5, so it was out. The Kroger brand was a little over $2. But did I really want to buy cheap fake milk? Is fake milk something you can skimp on? Then I realized that it was fake milk. That's probably the grossest thing ever. So I went back to the soy milk. So many options. Not too many brands, but so many different flavors. Plain Soy milk, vanilla soy milk, light vanilla soy milk, chocolate soy milk, light plain soy milk. I found myself missing the simplicity of picking out milk. Just Skim Milk. One gallon. Done. I finally chose the light vanilla organic soy milk, and I was so not looking forward to trying it.

I have to admit, it was little fun standing in front of the Kosher food and looking at all the new things offered to me. Growing up Presbyterian, I've never had any need to shop in the Kosher aisle. To be honest, I'm a little surprised that the Green Hills Kroger even has a Kosher section, as there is no synagogue anywhere near that I'm aware of. In St. Louis they're freaking everywhere. Although, we also have actual Kosher grocery stores in St. Louis, not just a section in the International Aisle. I almost bought a box of frozen latkes, but decided against it at the last minute because I'm broke. I may have to go back and buy them though... I decided to go with a bag of Animal Crackers, cause why not. (They ended up tasting like ass hole. I kept trying to convince myself that I'd get used to them and that they didn't taste like pepto bismol, but after about 5 or 6 I gave up.) I also picked up a pack of shredded cheese that hopefully will taste somewhat like cheese. I decided not to go with the sliced cheese that was labeled "American Cheese Food." Cheese Food? Why does there need to be food in there? Is it actual cheese or is it just cheese-like? I didn't want to know. I figured with the shredded cheese I'll only be putting it in my eggs and stuff, so I wont be able to taste the difference.

The Kroger Coupon machine must've been bored. Once I'd finished checking out, it spat out a coupon for Digiorno frozen pizzas. "Get More of What You Love." More like "Get More of What Gives You Gas." I was not amused.

I realize that this whole post is about my experience with non-dairy food. That's really sad. Not much happened today. So I'll keep going with that then.

So I went home, and since I hadn't eaten breakfast decided to try eating the soy milk with a bowl of cereal. Upon pouring the not-from-a-cow-milk into my bowl, I immediately regretted my decision. It was brown and murky. Not anything like the milk I know and love. It's juice squeezed from a bean. A bean! How is that supposed to go on cereal? Someone please tell me! Much to my surprise it didn't taste too bad after a while. I was pleased with my choice. Then came the Animal Cracker fiasco. I needed to get the taste out of my mouth with something. So I decided to make a bowl of instant Velveeta mac and cheese and test the Lactaid tablets. I don't want to give details, but I'll just say they worked. I didn't have a stomach ache all day. Well, except for right after I finished my dinner at Sylvan Park (corn bread, fried chicken, greens, pinto beans, more mac and cheese and a hefty slice of pecan pie. Sylvan Park is the tits farreal). But I blame that on the fried food.

So overall, Soy milk = actually okay, Kedem Animal Crackers = never eat them ever, Lactaid Chewables = horribly disgusting, but they get the job done, Sylvan Park = still the tits.

I'm tired. Good night.

How To Be Cool (According to a Frat Guy)

Foreword: Sorry y'all. I was feeling really spiteful when I wrote this in my New Testament class. I've met a handful of nice Frat Guys in my college experience, so please note if you are my friend, I was just frustrated with your douchebag brothers for existing and being the way that they are. Please tell them to shut up, because really they're making you look bad.

So you've decided to join a fraternity. Congratulations! Welcome to the party. You probably decided to participate in Greek Life to get laid. It makes sense. You don't play on any of the sports teams, so without the Frat you'd be hopeless. You feel as though your skills: ability to drink a lot, ultimate frisbee, and a rich father, would be best used in this way. Here are some guidelines to help you become the best Frat Bro you can be.

1) Get yourself a pair of pink shorts. 

They must be light pink, but if anyone asks, you say they're "salmon." If they can't be pink, khaki or any other kind of pastel works. If they have little sailboats or alligators on them - even better.

cool pussy-magnet

2) Wear a shirt with a collection of Greek letters across the front. This makes you automatically cool and the ladies will throw panties at you all the time.

3) If you haven't seen Animal House - no. If you can't recite the entire movie line-by-line, you will fail at being a frat guy. Just give up now.

4) Get yourself a HBSGF (Hot Blonde Sorority Girl Friend). Most likely, all the sorority girls will be looking for a FGBF (Frat Guy Boy Friend), and none of them will be picky. You don't need to be hot by any standards. You just have to be in a fraternity. That's why you need to be fast and pick out a blonde one while they're still available. If the worst should happen, and all the blonde ones are taken, a brunette or a redhead will do. But, she must be hot, although, admittedly not as hot as a blonde would've been. Maybe encourage her to dye her hair. The HBSGF doesn't serve as a typical girlfriend. She's not a companion. She's a trophy displaying your manhood. 

If you don't want to settle for a lowly brunette, you could always go the single route. That way you can have sex with other girls and not get it trouble! Just make sure you get a couple rubbers and go to all the beginning of the year parties. There will be lots of loose freshmen looking to shoot their reputation to hell. 

When it comes to sex: if it breathes, smells like booze, and has decent-ish tits, it can and WILL go home with you. If you're looking for a sure thing go for the girl with 6 or more solo cups stacked in her hand, or the one who's walking around asking everyone where her shoes are. If all else fails: roofie her drink. Your brother's will not find this to be immoral or wrong, rather they'll think it's funny and give you fist bumps. 

If you haven't had sex, lie. There are no virgin Frat Guys. Well, except for a couple in the Christian Frat, but they don't really count.

5) College is a vehicle for you to get stoned/wasted/laid, and serves no other purpose. While you never do your homework and outwardly express your disinterest in class, you should always come prepared with things to say. Especially if you don't even know anything about the topic. Just talk as though you are an expert on everything, because let's face it, you're in a frat so you must be. And when you run out of things to say, repeat what you said before but rephrase it to make it sound as though you're saying something different. Talk for a really long time. Everyone in the class will be super impressed by how effortlessly smart you are, even though they should've guessed. I mean, you are wearing pink shorts. What more do these bitches need?

6) Beer = water. Always beer. Always. The only exception is protein powder shakes. If you can find a way to mix that with beer, go for it. It will only make you look that much cooler. 

7) Lingo is important. Once you join a fraternity, it becomes okay to throw out racial slurs, as you probably won't have any black or asian brothers. If there is a token black guy, call him Brownie. Trust me, he'll think it's hilarious and you two will be best friends in no time. You also need to know the greek alphabet. The word dude and bro are acceptable ways of greeting anyone. 

8) Since you aren't good at any real sports, you need to become super serious about your frisbee throwing ability. You can't play baseball or football. Frisbee is all you have. Women will find this to be refreshing. Baseball and Football are such pretentious sports anyway. 

9) Important people who you must know:

-John Belushi

-Ralph Lauren

-Jack Johnson

You now have the knowledge to go out and conquer the Greek world. Use it wisely, and best of luck to you.

PS: if you really want to, maybe go play frisbee in the middle of Wedgewood around 5pm and get hit by cars. That would be awesome.

Maybe I should start early and get a cat now.

Watching Bridezillas. Mainly because I'm bored, also because My Fair Wedding with David Tutera isn't on and I finished the episode of Firefly I was watching.

There is something about this show that always puzzles me: These women are complete and total nightmares. Their families hate them, their wedding parties hate them, the vendors are afraid of them. The groom-to-be always looks like he could burst into tears at any second. But that's just it - how do these women manage to get a guy to marry them?

Now, okay. I really don't want a husband anytime soon. I couldn't handle being married. I just learned how to make a grilled cheese sandwich a couple days ago. I can barely manage to clean up my own mess, let alone anyone else's. And the idea of having to share a bathroom with a male sends me into a frenzy. I was with a guy for 14 months and I maybe pooped at his house twice. And those were only dire cases. When we went on Family vacations together, this proved to be a major problem. I could avoid it when we went to the beach with my family because we didn't have to share a bathroom. I could tell him to go play monopoly with my sister and I'd sneak off and say that Anna or Taylor called with boy problems. When I went with his family to the Poconos for 10 days, we had to share a bathroom. I couldn't come up with distractions. And you can only hold it for so long. So I was forced to, well... All I'm saying is we broke up 2 weeks later, and I'm fairly certain that's why.

Anyway, other than my tendency to digest and dispose of food, I think I'm a pretty decent person. Sure, I'm no saint, but I'm definitely better than a Bridezilla. Which brings me to my point:

I don't understand how the women on this show found men who want to marry them, and I don't even have a boyfriend. I feel like that's insanely unfair. I'm not asking for much! Just a date every here and there with a guy who's not crazy, or boring, or stupid, or secretly involved with a psycho-bitch girlfriend back home. And you know what? I'm nice. I'm warm and friendly. I won't yell at you. I have nodes, so yelling isn't really an option. I won't throw your cigarettes in the sink and then shove them down your shirt and tell you I'll divorce you if you get lung cancer, and then tell you that I'll show up to your funeral and replace the flowers with a pack of camels to let everyone know how you died. (Real bitch said that to her fiance. She also told him she'd break all his Star Wars collector items. She called them "toys." I almost cried.) All these crazy women are snatching up all the good men and I'm left with, what? NOTHING.

It's crap, I tell you. Hot steaming crap.

Life in My Big-Girl Apartment

Pretty Kitchen 

I'm back at Belmont! I've been quite busy. Move-in day was the 22nd, class started yesterday. So far, I'm really enjoying living in an apartment vs. a dorm. First off, I have a kitchen (actually that's kind of a blessing and a curse, cause since I don't have a meal plan, I have to learn how to cook.) I have 3 roommates: Kristin, Brittany, and Nina, and we each have our own rooms, so I can be in my underwear for about 40% of the day and let my alarm ring for 10 minutes without disturbing anyone. Also, we have a washer/dryer in our apartment, so we don't need to lug our clothes to another building. We live on the 4th floor, so we have a little bit of a climb, but it's no big deal.  All of the roommates get along well. Kristin is adjusting to Nina's and my weird behavior (making weird noises, replying to sexual innuendos with a chuckle and "that's what she said," and affectionately calling one another "poopy." I missed my best friend.) My plan was to slowly ease her into our weirdness, but Nina agreed to no such plan. Hopefully she doesn't grow to resent us too quickly. 

Pretty Living Room

Aside from the beautiful apartment with the beautiful view, my classes are going well. I've only been to each class once, so they haven't really had much time to be anything other than mundane. I had Historical Documentary Filmmaking today, which I'm rather excited about. A few familiar faces: a girl who(m?) I've known to be very severe when it comes to prepositions, specifically their roles in sentence structure, and a boy from my sociology class who has a name like "Daniel" or "David" but, for whatever reason, prefers to be called "Chaz." Other classes are pretty similar. A lot of douchey frat-bro types in my New Testament class, an unfortunate way of making an already uncomfortable class that much more unbearable. I'll be spending the whole 50 minutes praying that they all get chlamydia or testicular cancer so that they feel ashamed of their penises and no longer feel the need to talk about them all the time. I think Media Ethics will be rather stimulating, as the first class involved a lot of discussion. Anytime I get to be obnoxious and state my opinions as if they were facts I tend to have a good time. 

As for campus life, things seem to be pretty normal. I re-established my status as loser when my dress got stuck in the bottom of my back pack (partially) exposing my ass-area. I didn't realize it until I'd already walked across campus and into the apartment complex. I went to Bongo Java today and observed the wide-eyed hipster new-comers soaking in the indie-snob coffee shop in all it's smokey, tattooed glory. It's like the mothership has called them home. 

You know what I've noticed/been told that I'm really bad at? Flirting. I'm not a good flirt. A guy that I like is much more likely to think that I don't care for him or that I'm just a weirdo before he ever believes that I actually have feelings for him. The whole ordeal stresses me out. 

What am I suppose to talk to him about? How can I even talk to him while we're in class? Am I just supposed to turn around and give him flirty looks? How does one look "flirty" without being scary? When I finally figure out something to say that isn't completely ridiculous, how do I make it come off as flirting and not sexual aggressiveness? What if what I intend to be flirty comes off as creepy? How do I bounce back from that? What if I turn around to talk to him and I fall out of my chair, or I let out a big fart? Maybe I shouldn't have had grilled cheese for lunch. Would he buy it if I blamed it on someone else? What if he becomes aware of my lactose-intolerance and finds it repulsive? 

By the time this all runs through my head, I get myself too scared and I end up talking to him like he's no one special. Even when I plan ahead of time, going through all the possible scenarios, it never pans out like I want it to. I think maybe I'm trying too hard and thinking about it too much. If only he knew me better, he'd know. The reason I look nauseous whenever you talk to me and why I can't look you in the eyes is that I like you. You know how sometimes, when we do talk, I'll touch your arm or your knee just for a second? Yeah. That's because I like you.  I wish he knew that. I wish it was that easy and I didn't have to change anything and I could be awkward and unusually shy for the rest of my life and not end up alone. Crap. 

I eat my feelings.

I should really stop doing that.

I find some temporary comfort in stuffing my face with an entire roll of chips ahoy cookies after a long day at work. Cleaning up after people until 11:15 was immediately followed by a cop pulling me over. (Apparently I almost caused a serious accident. I'm a shamefully bad driver.). After crying the whole way home (partially because I'm a wimp and cry every time anyone yells at me, and also probably because I realized I could've seriously hurt someone), I knew that only those cookies could truly understand what I'd been through. Besides, they always know exactly what to say.

There are certain foods for every shitty situation. In really dire times, all I need is a spoon and a jar of Nutella, and hopefully a house to myself so no one judges me. The stereotypical pint of Ben & Jerry's is reserved for boy trouble, and is usually paired with an episode or two of Friends. However, I may need to switch to something different, because as my age has increased, so has my lactose-intolerance, and, well, that's not fun for anybody. Another thing I find particularly wonderful when faced with boy trouble, or any kind of stress that I don't want to deal with: a box of chocolates, like Russell Stover or a Whitman's Sampler.

I guess the cookies made me feel better because the cop made me feel like a 5 year old, and chocolate chip cookies always made me happy when I was little. Although, Chips Ahoy has nothing on Grandmama's cookies. You wanna feel like you're biting right into love itself, eat one of Grandmama's cookies. Hell, eat 5 or 6. The dough is even better. Now I wanna go to Owensboro and eat cookie dough.

All I'm saying is that I need to find other ways of making myself happy before I turn into a hippo.

Sleepovers

Today Allison Moehrle turned 14. She had a birthday party. Actually all the girls are still in our basement, probably exchanging stories, gossiping and at least 3 of them are talking about boys, leaving the other 4 completely lost. It's very interesting observing sleepovers from an outside perspective. My mother hates them. Absolutely completely totally hates them. When we got out of the car to go play mini golf (I wanted to go home and read some more of the Walking Dead comic that I got in Austin. I like to read it earlier rather than right before bed because I fear that zombies will come chasing after me in my subconscious, disrupting my otherwise peaceful REM cycle), my mother, who was driving all 7 girls in her SUV, got out and said "You are so lucky you aren't me." I asked her why and she said, "Just listen for a couple seconds." I tuned in to all 7 girls talking/screaming/singing at the same time. "That's what the whole car ride was like."


I've developed a new respect for all she has to endure just by being our mother. She never really had much of a problem with my sleepovers since I never really had very many friends. I think the first one I had was when I lived in California. It was my birthday, Molly Lewis, Mya Randle, and Erin Rogers were my guests. My dad came in from Denver. It was an awesome day. It was "mystery" themed, and we followed clues all over Los Alamitos to get to my party at Shaky's Pizza. If Mom hated putting that together, she sure didn't show it. Although, managing 3 girls she knows well is a lot easier than managing 6 girls.

Erin, Molly, Mya & I at Shaky's

I don't remember how many sleepovers I had. I remember I had at least one in high school, the infamous "Princess Party." We were supposed to stay up and watch Disney movies and dress as our favorite princesses, but, in typical 16-year-old-girl fashion, we ended up gossiping all night.

I've blocked out of my mind a lot the past sleepovers I attended. I mean, I can remember bits and pieces, it's just a matter of if I want to.

I remember the very first one I went to, I didn't really sleep over cause I was too young. The girl's name was Olivia and she was a couple years older than me. She was from New Zealand and was the individual responsible for destroying my childhood and telling me about sex. I'm pretty sure her parents invited me without notifying her first because when I came in she said, in that beautiful accent which I coveted, "Oh no, not her!" Such a warm, sweet little girl. In her defense, I was a really annoying child.

Other than that, I remember one sleepover in which the girls locked me in a closet until the hostess' mother came downstairs and made them let me out. After her mom went back up stairs, she told me that she hated me. I didn't really care. All you can eat Doritos! I wasn't complaining. And then one in 5th grade, I'm pretty sure this girl invited me because she felt bad for me or cause her mother made her. Or maybe she and her friends needed some amusement. I don't know. It was awkward because it was with all the popular girls and I was just so not anywhere near that.

Middle school proved to be a little more successful. Sarah Munfakh always held very interesting sleepovers with lots of crafts or fun games. We watched LOTR at one. I don't really remember much about 6th grade other than Brynnie farting in her sleep (but she did that at every sleepover, a most endearing quality that we very much missed when she switched schools in 7th grade). I remember the summer before 7th grade when I saw Avril Lavigne's video for Complicated and thought I'd discovered something truly unique that I could call mine. However, when we all went to Sarah's sleepover I quickly learned that all the other girls had made this discovery too, and they had also heard her song "sk8er boi" and had her CD.

The middle school sleepovers were never without drama. Someone always got into a fight with someone. The worst was when you went to a sleepover with someone already mad at you about something. Made for a very awkward game of sardines at Anna's house...

Also funny is that Anna's parents would constantly have to remind me to be quiet. It's funny because to this day, 8 years later, they still have to. You'd think I would've gotten the point by now, but apparently not.

Even if I was locked in a closet, or forced to listen to the popular girls talk about themselves, fighting with someone, or having Anna's parent's shush me, sleepovers were probably one of my very favorite things about adolescence. I mean yes, they included a great deal of irreversible emotional damage, but I still loved them. When we're all supposed to be going to sleep, because Anna's parents or whoever have shushed us for the thousandth time, someone would always start giggling for no apparent reason, and that would make everyone else laugh. A game of truth or dare almost always involved mooning and more often than not ended in tears. Someone always had big fluffy slippers shaped like some kind of animal (I had ducks that quacked when you pressed their wings). For me there was always this big question of whether or not I should bring Tigre (stuffed tiger I've slept with since infancy). I didn't want people to think it was stupid, but then again they might think it was cute. I did decide to bring him to college because yes, I am 20 years old, and no, I still cannot sleep without him. Well, I suppose I can, just not well.

My sister got a "zhu zhu pet" hamster thing that comes with this hamster ball, and also a lunch box. My step dad said, "You can put the zhu zhu in you lunch box and take it to school!" I said, "Please don't do that. People will laugh at you."

She just looked at me and said in all seriousness, "You think I care?"

I'm so proud that she has that attitude at such a young age. Being a teenager, while it's often the most treacherous time in a person's life, will be a breeze for Allison. She's so lucky.