Things that I hate.

1) The entire state of Michigan.  Kid Rock and Eminem don’t count because they left.

            This has been a growing hatred since about 1999 when my dad decided that Detroit would be a great weekend getaway for the fam.  My mom and I were posing for a picture under signs that said “No Standing” and onlookers actually scowled at us.  They were just assholes.  Then there’s the “I live right here” while pointing to his or her thumb.  Every time they use their hands as a map I want to smack them in the face with it.  “Oh yeah?  Why is your state slapping the white off your face?!  Bitch.”  And really, “Michigander” like you warrant extra consonants to name your inhabitants.  I also hate your gay all blue license plates.  Get a graphic artist, it’s not hard. 

2) When perforated paper doesn’t tear on its perforation.

            Now, who among us does not hate when this happens?  Ok, so you might not actually care.  But it’s quite annoying when you have to turn in a paper all ratted at the edges when you paid a good three cents extra so it wouldn’t happen.  Perforate it more you lazy sons of bitches. 

3) Guilt trips.  Giving or receiving.

            Yes.  I do not like to give guilt trips just as much as I despise getting them.  If you have to get someone to do something out of guilt it just isn’t worth the same as if they offer to do it for you of their own accord.  It is also the surest way to get someone to do poor work, gossip about you the second you leave and hold a general resentment that will more than likely show up every time you ask them for a “favor”.  It sucks.  So if I do it to you, than I’m sorry.  Please kick my ass for it. 

4) Walking to the 3^rd floor of Upham.

            Going to the 2^nd floor is doable, but there is a point two steps beyond the third flight of stairs when your legs start to feel heavy, your lungs suddenly forget they’re breathing and you immensely regret wearing that Miami hoodie in this weather.  I know there is an elevator.  But then I’ll feel fat if I take it.  And inevitably there will be that crazy Gerontology professor that decides to strike up a conversation on the way up.  No I do NOT care about the new “Old People and Walking” course you’re teaching next fall. 

5) Econ or my lack of understanding of it.

            I think I might just dislike my professor.  My micro and macro profs were fine.  But for international economics, if I hear one more wisecrack about ITS majors I’m going to shoot someone.  Oh, and how is the difference between a quota and a tariff anywhere close to interesting? 

6) Broken nails, because they always do so below the quick.

            There are many types of pain.  The worst is broken nail pain.  Now.  For those of you that have not broken a nail below the quick (the part of the nail that is attached to the skin) please grab some pliers and rip your pinkie’s nail off.  There are thousands of nerves just chillin at the end of your fingers and that area is used to being comfortably protected by the nail.  When you break a nail there is usually blood, much pain and if you don’t have nail clippers, you’re fucked to snag that bitch on EVERYTHING within 20 ft, just ripping it further.  Not only do you have unbearable pain for the rest of the day, possibly the rest of the week, but you have just completely screwed your manicure.  You know how dumb one short nail looks?  You have to cut the rest to match and wait til they grow out before you can cause any damage in the scratching department.  Lame. 

7) Poorly mixed drinks.  Especially with cheap booze.

            This needs no explanation.  A bad drink is a bad drink.  A bad drink is made worse when it is made with liquor from plastic gallon jugs.  It is made worst when it is purchased at the Dirty for $8 plus tip. 

8) “Lips of an Angel” by Hinder.

            First off, it isn’t a good song.  He has a generic voice, they are generic instruments played in generic ways.  If the radio (or my little brother) plays this one more fucking time… so help me.  And then, does anyone listen to these words?  It is NOT a love song.  He’s secretly talking to his ex, practically plotting an affair.  Don’t compliment your girlfriend by singing her this song.  She should slap you in the face.  And is that the only thing you remember about this girl on the phone?  Her lips.  Was she bad in bed?  Did she need a nose job?  Was she fat?  Missing a limb?  What was so wrong that you must only miss her lips?  At least she gave good head, I hope. 

9) Slow drivers and heavy traffic.

            I have a bit of a lead foot.  Even in Car (my former Mercury Tracer Wagon with the tan hubcabs) I would zoom past little sports cars at 90 mph down the highway.  I like speed.  There are two lanes on most highways; one for slow people to the right and one for people like me on the left.  If you are in my lane and decide to drive about 67 mph in a 65 zone you are not speeding, you are in my way.  Get back in the slow ass right lane with the truckers (which I’m quite afraid of) and let me pass you. 

10) Kettle corn.  It’s an abomination to popcorn.

            I do not like caramel dribbled on my popcorn.  But at least this you can see.  You grab a handful of kettle corn all unsuspecting and BAM this sick sugary blast hits you in the teeth.  How do you people eat corn on the cob?  Do you slather it down with some maple syrup and sprinkle on some sugar?  NO.  You use salt and butter.  It is the significant other to popcorn.  Popcorn.  Salt.  Butter.  The trifecta.  Yet, popcorn has its limits.  I do not like extra fake butter on my movie theater popcorn.  There is only so much butter that popcorn can take before it just becomes creamed popcorn, and no one likes that shit.  So keep it real. 

I love Hennessey and Coke. 

That is all.

actually, it's not all.  i would like to discuss how i looked on saturday.  i was not "copying" fergie.  i do not care what she wore in her video, i haven't seen it.  i am sexy.  if i choose to wear a strapless top/short combo with stilettos, don't front.  i just wanted to hit all the bitches that laughed as i walked by, stop being jealous, you fat, fucking prude.  i've worn less in public, and let's be honest here, it's ghettofest.  there are maybe three people at this school that could tell you what a real ghetto is like without stereotypes, cliches or by quoting pop rap lyrics.  i'm not saying i'm the ghetto authority, but if you're in a popped collar and some khaki capris trying to drink a 40, you cannot say shit about what i have on.  you're welcome that i didn't act all ghetto and beat your fucking asses right in front of your boyfriends that were checking me out. 

on that note, i'm going to read out in the sun on this lovely day.  i have much work to do this week if i want to have fun this coming weekend.  later, hos.

so holy shit columbus was awesome.  life is always better when i'm hanging out with allie and josh. 

funny story:  we decide that i'm not going to pick up guys this time (we do not want to recall last time...).  so we make up a story where i'm married.  he's on a business trip.  he works at citibank.  his name is jim.  we've been married for two years.  allie was the best woman (maid of honor).  we were even going to go so far as to buy a cheap gawdy ring at walmart.  but that would've cut into our drinking/dancing time.  unacceptable.  this story got pretty elaborate.  it was funny.  of course, we didn't have to use it ever on a guy.  a simple no dealt with the hundreds (maybe thousands?) of guys that wanted a part of the three way action we got going.  it always looks like i'm the third wheel, but we're really a small dance troop.  a troop of three.  with more skills than everyone else in the club.  especially the goofy white guy with his eight black friends cheering him on. 

i did call someone for approval though.  why?  i'm not dating anyone, why can't i make out with this hot guy that just so happens to be drinking jack and coke like me? 

[side note:  josh said i drank more than they did.  and i didn't fall once.  in stilettos.  thank you.] 

but i couldn't go through with it.  i called allie in to save me.  he was not shady.  he had a nice place.  his body was soccer player ripped.  he was wearing an a&f shirt, which was, by appearances, his only fault.  and i straight up said no.  i don't know if it was the jd acting on my behalf.  or if i might actually have feelings for the guy i called to "make sure it was ok with him to do anything with someone else".  like i needed fucking permission. 

no.  i do not have feelings for him.  i did not feel guilt.  i don't feel guilt when it comes to guys.  they have no soul.  (kidding...)  so what made me literally flee from this guy?  i'm at a loss. 

there was so much more that happened this weekend.  but i don't have the strength to go into detail now.  i'm glad that my plans changed so much.  i'm excited about my plans for this weekend getting blown out of the water, too. 

with my plans to chicago completely blown out of the water, and my plans changing up to the minute, this weekend rivals last weekend in "insaneness".  last night i had two bottles of sparkling wine.  one of my employees and i started the dancing at a techno party.  i'm now going to be labled a porn star for the rest of the semester.  craig and rick sound the same when you're in decibel and he's definately not calling me back.   i met some bulgarian that was excited when i told him all i could say in russian.  "oh how big it is"  and "yes".  when i move to moscow, if i can't find a job, i can always do porn.  because what other things would i need to say besides "oh how big it is!"  and "yes, yes, yes!"? 

so i'm going to columbus to hang with my girl allie and my boy josh tonight.  they are better dancers than you are.  we are going dancing.  i feel like i should not drink tonight.  but the sheer fact of me saying i won't drink really means that i'll refuse one drink and eventually give in to "just one shot".  the next thing you know, i'm topless, vomiting and missing one shoe. 

well, if you want more details about this weekend, the previous weekend, or my activities between the two, drop me a line.  i don't want to spend an hour typing all the details.  and really, they're better with my hand gestures. 

We're both such magnificent liars.
So crush me baby, I'm all ears.

as you all know, my history prof decides to ask us a question of the day while taking attendance.  today's question:

what would you do if you could have any job in the world?

many people were saying president.  and i was going to edit myself and be good.  but really, why?  i don't care what these people think about me.  so, i answered "it's a toss up between president of the united states and a porn star, they're about equal difficulty".  there was like two laughs.  i'm sure most of the people in the room are wondering who the hell i am and why i have such a sick and twisted mind.  that, or they're totally embarrased at the mention of porn in an academic setting.  i can see them now, facebooking me.  trying to figure out if i'm for real or not.  maybe i'll be some story at their party tomorrow night "omg! this girl in my history class totally wants to be a pornstar!  yeah isn't it crazy?!".  maybe the prof will stop asking stupid questions.  we can only hope.