I receive e-mails from the University whenever a student gets robbed or mugged or what have you. Recently one came up that said somebody had gotten robbed a few blocks away from where I live. The guys demanded his wallet, he gave it up, and that was that. All I could think was that if someone robbed me, this is what I’d have to fork over:
I would hope we’d all get a few laughs out of the absurdity of the situation, and then they’d give it back out of a sense of newfound camaraderie and we’d go on our merry way. More likely they’d take a look at the two bucks and fifty cents (plus like 50 movie stubs going all the way back to 2004) I have in there and give it back, disgusted.
THE COUNTDOWN BEGINS. I have 19 days left in the school year, and here’s what my life has become:
- I need to write my 5-page essay on medieval misogyny by Saturday
- I need to write a 10-page (minimum) story for my creative writing class by Tuesday
- I need to write an 8-page rough draft on the role of storytelling in Native American culture by Wednesday
- I need to settle on a topic for my research project, but I’m terrible at making decisions
I need to start studying for biology because the exam is cumulative, and honestly all that stuff from the first half of the semester has been banished from my brain, probably forever, so there’s actually no hope, so I’m just going to go ahead and cross this one off
So that’s the stuff I need to do. Here’s what I’m actually doing:
- Developing an unhealthy co-dependent relationship with Netflix
- Eating the last of the Thin Mints
- Staring forlornly around my room and thinking, “I should clean this, or something.”
- That’s it
I’m hoping this post will help me put things in perspective… like I’ll publish it, and I’ll step back and take a long, hard look at my life. Past experience tells me that the only way to get me to take things seriously is to make a big, scary list with lots of scary essay page lengths, and then watch as all hell breaks loose in my brain.
FictionalDeathsIWillNeverGetOver is trending on Twitter. I’ve composed my own list, which looks a lot like a previous list of fictional characters I made, but with a few additions. I feel inclined to tell you that there will be spoilers, because I was looking through the top Tweets on Twitter for ideas for this and I spoiled myself for Vampire Diaries, Dexter, and Doctor Who. You’d think I would’ve stopped after the first couple, but that’s just not the way I do things. I troop valiantly onward until I am emotionally crippled by the sheer amount of spoilers and difficult childhood memories.
1. Will Smith’s dog from I Am Legend
2. Littlefoot’s mother
3. Charlie Pace
4. Rudy Steiner
5. Every single person who ever died in Harry Potter
6. Gabriel from The Patriot
7. Enjolras (OBVIOUSLY) plus all of Les Amis
8. Jenny from Forrest Gump
9. Ellie from Up
10. The old couple from Titanic
11. Winnie Foster
12. Augustus Waters
13. Old Dan and Little Ann
14. Amber from House
15. Bailey from The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
16. Pippa Cross from A Great and Terrible Beauty
17. Finny from A Separate Peace
18. Goose from Top Gun
19. Lennie from Of Mice and Men
20. Alaska Young
21. Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web
And this probably shouldn’t count but it DOES IN MY BOOK because when ASH TURNED TO STONE IN THE POKEMON MOVIE I SWEAR IT SNAPPED MY HEART RIGHT IN HALF.
I have had a smattering (okay, okay, a copious amount) of real, actual crushes on real, actual people. (Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Cough.) But I also frequently develop those massive obsessions with fictional characters that are only slightly less attainable than JGL. Come on, this is the Internet. We all know that feel.
I present to you that list:
1. Sirius Black
2. Fred Weasley
3. Kartik (from the Gemma Doyle trilogy)
4. Bernard (from The Santa Clause. I went through this phase from approximately the ages of 10-16, and I never truly grew out of it)
5. Jack Sparrow
6. Flynn Rider
7. Sayid (from Lost… until that last season, he was literally the only character that didn’t throw all logic out the window at the slightest provocation. Also those EYES)
8. Rudy Steiner (The Book Thief)
9. Sawyer (also from Lost. Good God)
10. Sam (Dulé Hill’s role in Holes… I don’t know why I picked the most obscure minor character to develop a crush on when there were loads of perfectly good juvenile delinquents to choose from, but the heart wants what the heart wants)
11. Finny (from A Separate Peace)
12. Enjolras (from Les Misérables)
…And what do they all have in common? They all (spoilers. Seriously, turn back) DIE, in some form or fashion. I didn’t even realize that until I was about halfway done with this list! Jesus! They all die! What’s up with that? With the exception of Bernard the Head Elf, because The Santa Clause would have taken a bit of a dark turn if THAT had happened. But you know what? I consider him dead. He’s dead to me, because where the hell was he for The Santa Clause 3? Scheduling conflicts, my ass. Scheduling conflicts TOYING WITH THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF IMPRESSIONABLE VIEWERS, more like. Thanks, Bernard. You’re a god among men. (No, really. You are. I didn’t mean any of that. Let me love you?)
Here’s a recipe for a perfectly adequate disaster of an essay:
1. A really awkward introduction with no legitimate thesis.
2. A body paragraph that uses lots of fancy words but actually presents no worthwhile information.
3. Same as the one before, but with less fancy words and more semi-colons (in an effort to compensate for the lack of fancy words).
4. A body paragraph that might as well start off with the sentence “Allow me to baffle you with the following bullshit…”
5. A body paragraph that simply says, “This is body paragraph number four. Now would be a really good time to write words.”
6. A conclusion that accomplishes nothing.
I don’t know about you guys, but I smell an A+.
Today I moved into my college dorm. The goodbye with my parents was excruciating; I miss them, and I miss my little brother, and I miss my dog, and I miss my bed, and I miss not sitting in bed and hearing shrieks and yells and thinking, “Well, there go the frat parties…”
I went to this “game night” thing, which dissolved into a twelve-person conversation about Doritos. We were all exchanging cell numbers and things like that, and I when I said mine, this cute guy immediately whipped out his phone and got it all down. Now, I haven’t eschewed the idea that he could have just realized what was going on and wrenched his phone out of his pocket in a panic, like what I do when I hear someone reeling off a phone number and I don’t have any means of writing it down, whether it’s directed at me or not. That is a likely theory. But it’s been a hard day. Let me dream.
My parents are having a party. I am struggling through The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and studying for my Euro test. My bedroom walls are literally vibrating from the pounding bass and I can hear people whooping out there. Something’s wrong.
I’m sitting in the library reading over an essay that’s due next hour. It looks exactly like an essay that was finished at two in the morning, which is what it is. It starts off decently enough (which was the 9 p.m. range) and progressively spirals downward into the realm of repulsive. At that point, it was 1:56 a.m. and I’d been listening to Backstreet Boys on a loop for forty-five minutes. (It was in my iTunes library! I got curious! I rediscovered the magic of my 90’s childhood!) Seriously. It’s one of those papers you’re ashamed to put your name on. We’ll see how this goes over with my teacher.
GAH. So, there I was, trying to “manage my blog,” which is a loose interpretation of what I was actually doing… clicking all the wrong things while trying to delete a post that didn’t make any sense. Somehow I wound up deleting three posts, none of which were the post I originally intended to delete. I feel like my technology-impaired grandmother who tries to post things on people’s walls and instead makes them her status, so we all get to see this: “Sarah hon i dont know how to tell u this, but ur profile picture makes u look like a cabaret dancer.”