100

Cheers to everyone celebrating Valentine’s Day/Singles Awareness Day and getting ready for the super sexy long weekend! Life is truly amazing!

Oh, are there any seniors in the house?

One hundred (100) days left until that thing… What the fuck is it called?

Curse of the Cupid

I have recently realized that Halloween isn’t the only holiday that comes with its share of curses.  Tomorrow marks the day that PDA zombies take to the streets and lactose intolerant individuals run for the hills in fear of tiny heart shaped boxes of chocolate doom.  Yes, it’s Valentines Day.  And this year has solidified the concept that I am among the thousands of females blighted with the Valentine’s Day Curse.

That’s right.  I have never had a significant other on February 14^th or even an insignificant other for that matter.  My ninth grade boyfriend played sick on the legendary day and then called me on the phone that night saying that he had eaten all the heart shaped candies he bought me.  This served as the first sign that Cupid’s Arrow chooses to hit my boyfriends in the balls on Valentine’s Day instead of in their hearts.

What Am I Doing with My Life? Funny You Should Ask…

Ever thought about starting your own company? Disgusted by the idea of listening to someone? Or are you just damn near convinced that you’ve found the next big thing? Well then, entrepreneurship may be the thing for you.

Even though we matriculate at one of the finest institutions the American college system has to offer and are most likely over qualified for a majority of the jobs we will inevitably accept after we walk out those gates, the real world is fucking scary. We have to start doing our own taxes, paying our own bills, and most horrifyingly, we’ll have bosses. Mean, portly men who smoke cigars and kick up their heels on their mahogany desks.

Bosses are basically in control of our happiness from now until we die; yet everyone is racing to get a real job and ipso facto a real boss. Count me out. My definition of boss reads something like this: someone who has a position of superiority over you for no other apparent reason than their age. They definitely aren’t more capable, or more experienced, let alone more intelligent, so why would I ever want to have one? Especially a mega bossy boss that I have to appease day in and day out and who is always telling me my goddamned TPS report needs a cover. Fuck that.

However, my Brown encouraged stupidity / vanity / elitist behavior has led me to make a promise that has quite literally changed my life. About 18 months ago, a best friend and I made a pact to never be anyone’s bitch (it was a little more elegant than that, but that was the general gist of it). It was a vow to live a life outside the system (whatever the fuck that meant, I am still unsure) and endeavor to create something of our own design. Sure, it was going to be hard, we said. Sure, it meant leading a life of incredible uncertainty for the next 5+ years. But it’s like whatevs. LET’S BE ENTREPRENUERS!!! Yay, go us.

New Year’s Resolutions You’ve Already Abandoned

1. Eat healthy

NOM NOM NOM…. damnit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2. Work out more

…Still unopened…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Curse of the Shave

To shave, or not to shave: That is the question.

That bitch Venus

It’s the classic dilemma that every girl faces on a Friday night. Murphy’s Law insists that if one shaves her legs (etc.) with the intention of “gettin’ it in,” “gettin’ some,” “gettin’ laid,” or “gettin’” anything for that matter, said sexy time will not take place. Why, you ask? Because Venus (the female deity I’ve decided is in charge of shaving-related mishaps) works in mysterious ways and likes to fuck with us a little.

Why my Strict Indian Dad would be Appalled I Go to Brown

Thanksgiving finally allows you and your family to reflect on the beginning of your freshman year…

This is why my strict Indian dad would be appalled I go to Brown.

Side note: When I say Indian, I’m not referring the politically incorrect term for the people to whom we gave turkey and blankets.

When I got into Brown, my dad was thrilled. I am convinced that it’s because he knows nothing about Brown University except that it’s an Ivy League school, and he can subtly show off to other Indian parents by wearing his Brown University polo. If my dear old father knew about half the crazy shit that goes on, I’m positive he’d drive up I 95 every day to ensure that his dear child does not get corrupted by these Brown hooligans (not like, “brown” hooligans, because Indian people are always well-behaved).

1. The availability of *gasp* condoms…for 15 cents…on every floor…with signs practically begging us to take them: Oh, I am sure that my dearest parents think I don’t know where babies come from. Never mind the fact that I took AP Biology and FOUR DAMN YEARS OF SEX ED. If they knew that my room was so close to these…prophylactics, they’d then be obligated to give me the most awkward sex-talk known to man. Or they could try and convince me that they’re balloons (the people who live below me have already used them as such). Then my dad would proceed to send Brown University a long email chastising them for exposing such tender minds to such pornographic language as “condom.” “Lube.” “Dental Dam.”
2.  The audacity of people to NOT spend every waking moment studying: I called my parents on Saturday out of some sort of filial piety. My dad proceeded to then ask where I was, (I was at Waterfire with my friends, and it was about 10. On a Saturday). I can’t believe I made the rookie mistake of telling my dad where I was. He proceeded to yell at me, asking me why I wasn’t in my dorm room, about to fall asleep. At 10. On a Saturday. I apologized. Moral of the story: don’t call dad past 9. If he calls past 9, don’t answer and pretend you’re asleep- it’s probably a trap.
3. The one-ply toilet tissue: Okay, even I’m appalled at this. So much tuition, so few plies. Come on, Brown! (I still love you.) 

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is the time to say thank you.  Literally, it’s the time to sit down and list EVERYTHING that you are thankful for. Are you blessed with something? Good eye sight?  Naturally white teeth?  Live in a good education district? Then say it.  Or, at least that’s how it works in my family.

Thanksgiving dinner (really lunch since no one can stay awake past the half time show):  The table is set.  The food is served.  Grace has been said.  Now before we eat… What are we thankful for?  Don’t be distracted by the smell of fresh rolls and pies.  What are you grateful for?  Um… I’m thankful for the cranberry sauce right in front of me. NO! WHAT ARE YOU THANKFUL FOR?