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Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Ellen and Portia: Dunzo



So I try to write in this blog semi-regularly, but sometimes, dear readers, I get too busy. That's right. TOO BUSY TO BITCH. Oh wait, I'm never too busy to bitch. But sometimes I'm too busy to bitch in semi-coherant blog form. This is what has been occurring over the past few days. One reason is that it was quasi-Halloweekend and I was busy getting my long blonde wig cut to look like Ellen Degeneres. That's right, I dressed up as Ellen Degeneres for Halloween.

I had decided to do it even before the whole dog controversy, but in light of those events, it was even more hysterical. Of course, I had her entire wardrobe already (trousers, collared shirt, sweater, tennis shoes), but the wig and the accessories (tissues and a dog toy) really completed the ensemble. The entire night I just kept crying into tissues and screaming "OMG JUST GIVE THE DOG BACK." Wonderful.

But speaking of Ellen Degeneres, there's been even more apparent heartache for everyone's favorite non-offensive lesbo, as reported by
Star Magazine and Perez Hilton (two of the most revered sources in journalism). Apparently, sources say her freak-out crying jag was not entirely because of her puppy being stolen, but because her girlfriend of three years, Portia De Rossi, wants to call it quits. While this hasn't actually been confirmed, the rumor mill is spinning like Jack and Rose in Titanic (remember that scene?)

Of course, everyone feels bad for Ellen, because she's oh so unlucky in love. Everyone jumps back to the whole Anne Heche debacle, and totally forgets her girlfriend of four years, the love of my life, Alexandra Hedison. Ellen broke up with her after four years and started dating much younger, much more famous Portia De Rossi. The details on when Ellen started dating Portia and when Ellen broke up with Alex were sketchy at best (read: Ellen cheated). I took the break up personally. I boycotted watching Ellen for quite awhile. HOW COULD SHE DO THAT TO US?

I mean, Alex. Especially since Alex is such a fox. Of course, Alex got her revenge by doing a very naked love scene as a recurring character on The L Word.

Ellen, you blew it. Alex, call me.

Note: that photo of Ellen and Alex was from circa 2003

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Thursday, October 25, 2007

The Game of LIFE; The Game of STRIFE



Have you ever wondered why board games aren't spelled "bored" games? Because that's the only time I'll agree to play board games. When I'm bored out of my fucking mind.

So this past weekend at home, my brother convinced me to play LIFE, and unfortunately, it didn't have any of the options that real life affords you. You have to get married, presumably to a member of the opposite sex. The passenger in my car was a lady, I'ma tell you that right now. Ironically enough, I never landed on the square that required us to have children. The other squares you can land on are "buy a house," "run a marathon," "purchase flood insurance," "pay for your children's college," etc. And sure, most of these things happen to an average person throughout their lifetime, but where's the color that makes life interesting/awful? How come there's no "one night stand with a hooker- got crabs... move back 2 spaces" square? Where's the "drunkenly made poor decisions" square? Where's the "It's not you, it's me- Get a Divorce" square? I think we need to make some major revisions to this LIFE game. This game is teaching kids out there that everything will be great if they get homeowner's insurance and have a carload of kids to take care of. So not true. I'm gonna make a game reminiscent of life, called STRIFE.

Here's a preliminary template for the game:

Determining who goes first: Determine which player has slept with the most important person. Sure, you may have slept with the captain of your high school football team, but Sally over here slept with the CEO of her company. Sally goes first! Just like in real life...

In LIFE, you can choose to either go to college or jump right into the work force. In STRIFE, you can do the same, but the outcome is a little different. In LIFE, you go to college, you have a ton of loans to pay back, and then within 2 squares, you're in the work force. In STRIFE, you go to college, and it's a little more drawn out. Sample squares include:

-Took a bunch of caffeine pills and were able to finish that term paper on time. Move forward one space.
-Addicted to caffeine pills. Move back 2 spaces.
-Drank so much you blacked out. Lose your turn while your friends help you piece together your night.
-You got that awesome unpaid internship! Lose 4 turns while everyone else enjoys life while you're stuck in front of a copy machine.
-The cab actually showed up and there's no cover on Mug Night! Move forward 2 spaces.
-While searching for a job, you realize the new HR person at a company you're applying to is that alum that you drunkenly called an asshole TO THEIR FACE. Lose a turn while you wait for a call back that never comes.

If you opt to go right into the work force, things can also be just as bad as if you chose to go to college. Sample Squares include:

-You didn't know that you need a BA to be a manager at McDonald's? Well, you do. Lose your turn while you realize that you made a big mistake.
-You're saving a ton of money still living in your childhood bedroom. Move forward one space.
-Ran into ex-girlfriend and her new college boyfriend. They think they're so great. Move back one space while you wallow in your own bitterness.

In the game of LIFE, you are required to get a job, get married, and buy a house. In the game of STRIFE, you'll have all of those options, but if you're smart, you'll avoid all of the above for as long as you possibly can, like for example, writing a long, ridiculous blog entry instead of studying for a midterm.

I think it'll catch on.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Why are there security guards in the library?



The subject line says it all, I suppose.

I mean, okay, so I guess I should say that I've been in the library for a total of four hours today with no end in sight and I've had Starbucks, Mountain Dew, and M&M's all within an hour and a half period so maybe I'm going a little crazy right now, but seriously. What's with the security guards?

Am I really going to steal this book on Native American Mythology? Are they here in case some highly caffeinated student (ie: me) flips out because they can't possibly write anything more on the significance of corn in Native American religion? Will they drag me out as I'm screaming about the Navajos and corn (or "maize" as they call it)? "Okay, ma'am. I think you've had enough of the library for tonight..." I actually wish they would do that. It'd be like the gym. Let's impose a 30 minute limit for the library. I think we'd all be a lot happier.

If the security guards are really going to patrol the library they should do more than tell me to put my drink under the table. Apparently, only "spill-proof" mugs are allowed in the library. Can someone please tell me what the fuck a spill-proof mug is? Because I'm pretty sure that in order to drink liquid out of something, there needs to be a hole somewhere. And if that hole is open, the liquid can spill out. Whatever. I swear to God, I could have my giant flask (you know, the one engraved with the words DON'T CRY OUT LOUD on it) on the table next to me, and the security guard would walk by and ask me to put it under the table. If the guards are going to yell at anyone for anything it should be for the dickhead that is TALKING LOUDLY ON HIS PHONE. It never fails, there's always some asshole on their phone sitting right next to me. Hey buddy, we go to the library to work, we go to the bar to socialize. It's the simple taxonomy of college life. So for the love of Christ, take it outside.

In other news, I just re-read this entry and if the paper I'm currently writing is anywhere near as (in)coherent as this is, I'm definitely going to get an A+! Actually, this professor is one of those professors who doesn't believe in giving A's. First day of class: "A's are for excellent, and people are rarely excellent."

I wish I was dead.

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Monday, October 22, 2007

Weekend at Home



For me, a weekend at home means that my liver can detox and that I can catch up on my sleep that I've neglected while I'm out punishing my liver on a regular basis.

My family, however, often has plans for my visits home that have nothing to do with sleeping and watching hours and hours of Court TV and/or The Simpsons.

They want to go out for dinner. They want to play Scattergories. They want to go to the movies. Of course, none of these things sound particularly painful or trying, but I hate having my mind made up for me. I'll play Scattergories when I'm damn good and ready! Regardless, my mind was undoubtably turning throughout my visit home (there's no off switch), and thus, we have a hodgepodge of random thoughts from the weekend:

I Think I Love My Wife is One of the WORST Movies I've Seen: When I was working at Righteous Babe over the summer in downtown Buffalo, once a week, my father and I would meet for lunch at a sandwich shop within walking distance of my office. Basically, they have the best sandwiches of my lyfe. So my father suggested that we meet there for lunch while I was home. Unfortunately, when I'm not actually at the office, the convienience of this sandwich shop is lost, meaning that in order to meet him at "our place" as my father affectionately calls it, I had to drive 45 minutes just for lunch. Needless to say, this severely cut into my sitting around time, but I humored him and went. Then, he drops the bomb that he wants all of us to go out to dinner that same night. Clearly exhausted from eating lunch, I refused. "Let's order in," I suggested. At that point, my father sighed and pointed out that I will be running around from 10am to 4am, taking no breaks in between when I'm at school, but when I'm at home, I can't do anything more than an hour of activity. I told him them's the breaks. We got pizza, and I instructed my father to pick up a movie on the way home. Big mistake. He got Chris Rock's craptastic I Think I Love My Wife, about a guy who's happily married but bored out of his mind and is torn on whether he should have an affair with some dumb skank. I don't want to ruin it for everyone, but the movie ends with him deciding he shouldn't sleep with the ho, because after all, he thinks he loves his wife. Wonderful.

I Miss Righteous Babe: Because I was at lunch just down the street, I decided to pop in on RBR and see what was shaking. A lot, apparently, as I planned to stop in for a little visit and ended up being put to work for almost an hour. Whatever. What can I say? I love those guys. Sadly, while I was gone they designed the new fall merch catalog with photos of everyone in the office modeling the clothes. It was adorable. Wah wah. That's what I get for leaving, I was told. Before I left, I made off with seriously
one of the coolest shirt designs Tim has come up with. It doesn't even matter if you like Ani. This is one cool fucking sweatshirt.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

All Aboard the Tila Tequila Trainwreck



Tila Tequila, former Playboy model and stripper who's claim to fame is having "2 million friends on MySpace" is a self-proclaimed bisexual now has her own reality show on MTV, A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. The show is centered around Tequila, who apparently just can't decide whether she wants to be with a man or whether she wants to be with a woman (typical bisexual). So enter 16 straight men and 16 "gay" women who will all be competing for Tila's looove. Kill me now, please.

Here's what I predicted would go down, and not surprisingly, did go down. A group of straight guys hear that they're going to be sharing a house with 16 "gay" women, and their primary reaction is "you wanna let me watch? Can I get a free feel?" Greaaaaaaaaat.

This, of course, begs the question, how many of these women are actually gay or bisexual? Because come on, a ton of girls claim they're bisexual, just like a ton of girls make out with girls at bars in order to get some male attention. These girls don't really like girls. There are a few exceptions, though, and we'll see how it pans out. One who is definitely a lez is Steffanie, the only one of the girls I'd actually be interested in. While this picture makes her look like a cross between Johnny Depp and Billy Corgan, she's definitely channeling Shane and my lesbo professor who I'm currently crushing on. Too bad that she got eliminated. Probably because she's a real lez, and Tila's not looking for that. OHHHHHHHHHHHH DID I JUST SAY THAT? Yeah, I did. Whatever.

My least favorite is the ever-charming Marcus, who in one episode got into a fist fight with one of the other guys and slapped one of the girl's asses, really shone at the "walking in high heel" competition, stating, "I probably wore them high heels betta than half them girls... cuz they dykes." Eloquent.

While this show is all of the things most reality shows are (vapid, sexually exploitive, offensive, etc.), one thing this show really is at its core is a battle of the sexes, and dear God, this show makes men look like dumbasses.

Stay tuned for more on this trainwreck.

In other news, I'm going on mid-semester break, so I won't be posting from home, so my regular readers (population zero) will have to wait until Monday for my musings.

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Who Says Scrabble Isn't Fun?



I'm strange, so I go through short periods of obsession that quickly fade out only to flare back up again. The best example I have of this is The Sims. Back in high school, I would play for hours. Then, all of a sudden, I stopped playing for about six months. One day, when I was bored, the obsession was rekindled.

There was a more mild version of this obsessiveness that came and went, and now, for some reason, is back again. Online Scrabble-
Scrabulous, in fact. I can't get enough of it. For the record, I never win because my opponents are far more obsessed than me and have downloaded the Scrabble dictionaries the site provides where you can type in your letters and a suggested word will come up. Maybe I'm a purist, but I thought the whole point of Scrabble was using words you have in your head. Using dictionaries while playing Scrabble is like taking steroids before the Olympics. You didn't really win, Marion Jones. That being said, I enter each game knowing I'll probably lose. And that's okay. I play for the love of the game.

At one point, the other day, I was playing, and I surveyed the board almost all the way through the game, and I realized we had some really racy innuendo going on:


Notice the words "throb," "fat," "boner," "nail," and "felt." I don't know what the guy I was playing against was thinking, but I swear that I wasn't putting these words down intentionally. Freud would have a field day.

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Monday, October 15, 2007

The Story of Snaggletooth



Gather 'round, kids... this one's a gem.


The story of Snaggletooth started many moons ago. Well, if by "moons" you mean "years," then it stared two moons ago. Anyway, when you're an underclassman at Marist, you have basically four options to get food, as they are the only places within walking distance and you either don't have a car or don't know any better. In the plaza across the street, we've got a McDonald's, an Applebee's, a Quizno's, and a local pizza place. Back in the day, we frequented all of those places, but McDonald's especially because it was open late and the drive-thru was open 24/7.

Sophomore year, my friend Gabe and I were drunk and decided that we had to have some cheeseburgers. However, it was late and the restaurant was closed, meaning that the drive-thru was our only option. Because we were thoroughly toasted, neither of us could drive. So we pretended to drive up to the drive-thru. We placed our order, and "pulled up" (ie: walked) up to the window.

Anyone who frequents this particular McDonald's knows of Snaggletooth, or "Snaggs" as we affectionately call her. She's the portly manager with awful teeth, hence the name. On the previously mentioned evening, Snaggs was working the drive-thru window and refused to serve us. So we did what any mature young adults would do. We whined. We kicked and screamed self-righteous crap, and called her Snaggletooth TO HER FACE. She served us. And ate it. Mmmmm spit sandwiches. I have no doubt that that's what they were. Whatever.

Oh, maybe I failed to mention that this episode happened on Halloween, and Gabe and I were in full costume, me as an army chick and Gabe as Lil Jon, complete with the hair and grill. Hilarious.

That being said, let me tell you that this was not a proud moment in my life. What a mean thing to say to someone just trying to make a living. I hate myself.

So obviously, you remember the person who calls you Snaggletooth to your face, so every time I went into McDonald's after Halloween, I'd get death stares from Snaggs. But since moving away from a short walking distance to the golden arches coupled with the notion that hey, maybe it's not healthy to eat McDonald's on a regular basis, I hadn't been there in quite awhile.

Perhaps Snaggs forgot me, I thought. Well, she did.

A drunken night requires some drunk food to fill the stomach with more than the 15 beers I drank. Someone decided to go to McDonald's and I was in no position to object. When I laid eyes on Snaggletooth for the first time in almost a year, it was easy to notice that she had lost a lot of weight. A friend said that she looked hot. I wouldn't go that far. Of course, I only had ones, so I apologized to her for paying in small bills. Then, it turned out that she had run out of change, so she had to pay me in nickels. We shared a laugh, and then she gave me a high five.

I high-fived Snaggletooth. We made amends. My life is complete.

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Friday, October 12, 2007

Happy Friday!




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Thursday, October 11, 2007

God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on Lou



There was always something creepy about the morbidly obese, Hawaiian shirt wearing boy-band svengali Lou Pearlman, and now it's been semi-confirmed. That's right, kids, Lou Pearlman's a pedophile. While no charges have been formally filed because the only people who are coming forward are the likes of Nick Carter's estranged mother and LFO's Rich Cronin, he was arrested recently in Indonesia, one of the world's well-known hubs for child prostitution rings. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. Regardless of that, he wasn't arrested in Indonesia for pedophilia, he was arrested for bilking people out of almost $350 million back in the US. Classy guy, that Lou.

Some kid from some boy band I've never heard of was quoted by the New York Post saying that "if a guy is paying you a million dollars, you let him give you a back rub." I've never been confronted with a million dollars so I don't know what I would do in that situation, but let me just say that just looking at the picture to the left makes me want to throw up all over my keyboard, so I'm not really sure about how the back rub offer would go. But who am I kidding? I've got a vag. Lou's not interested.

So this begs the question... did America's current picture of manliness JT get some creepy back rubs in exchange for dollas? I think it's pretty safe to say we're not going to get a comment from Timberlake on that one, but it's interesting how the lyrics to "My Love" can be substituted in for "back rub." All I want you to do is gimme a back rubbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb. Is anyone laughing? Just me? Okay, I'll stop.

Moral of the story: Lou Pearlman is a creep, and no one is surprised.

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Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Amanda Teaches America: Be Kind to Tour Guides



About a week ago, I got an email from someone saying they saw my work in the Generator Magazine and they thought that I'd be a great candidate for Teach for America, an organization that recruits recent college graduates of all majors and convinces them to commit two years of their lives to teach kids in underprivileged schools and urban communities. Ok, first of all, "underprivileged" is a word that I've safely avoided all of my life and would like to continue to do so and second of all, what could I possibly teach these children? How to be a smart ass?

Anyway, this idea of me teaching America coupled with the fact that clearly no one knows what the fuck is going on anymore, I decided that I'd start a fun little blog series called "Amanda Teaches America." Sure, it's self-righteous. Did you expect anything else from me?

Our first installment is Be Kind to Tour Guides.

I've mentioned it here before that I'm a campus tour guide. I've done it for 3 years and I have a love-hate relationship with it. Sometimes it can be a lot of fun, and sometimes it can be absolute torture. While I get annoyed by stupid Mom questions, ("what ply is the toilet paper?") what's a million times worse is trying to give a tour to a group of 30 unresponsive, dead-t0-the-world people. Here are some things you should to do when you're on any tour, whether it's a college campus or some random tour while you're on vacation:

Hang up the phone: Would you pick up your phone and talk on it if you were on a job interview or in class? Unless you're spectacularly rude, the answer is probably no. Don't pick your phone up while on a tour. Not only does it throw the tour guide off with your talking, it lets them know that you don't give a shit about anything they're saying. Thanks for that.

Walk faster: Dear God, people. Don't you know that I have to do laundry and go grocery shopping and write 4 papers today? Hurry the eff up.

ASK QUESTIONS: I swear to God I won't even make fun of you when you ask me if the school provides every student with their own laptop, I just want something to talk about. When I'm giving a tour, I have a script in my head of what I'm going to say when we're at every point in the tour. However, when walking in between buildings, I ain't got nothing. The silence is deafening, and I feel like an asshole because I have nothing to say to you. Believe me, though, it's hard to come up with a solid hour and a half of constant talking, especially because the things I love most about Marist aren't really tour-friendly topics. Thus, ask me a goddamn question. One time I threatened a tour because they weren't asking questions. Not with physical violence, mind you. I told them if no one asked me a question that we'd end the tour and that we wouldn't see the freshman dorms. Someone in the back raises their hand. "When are we going to see the freshman dorms?" Thanks, man.

Don't check out the undergrads: There's always a pervy father who seems to look a little bit too long at the girls running by in booty shorts. I saw that, you creep.

Laugh at my corny jokes: Enough said. Just laugh at me, please. I know your kids either think I'm super cool because I'm older and in college or they think I'm a major tool. I really don't care. My tours are always for the parents because the kids are always concentrating so hard on pretending not to care (ohhhh remember high school?) that they look sad and withdrawn. I like to find the quintessential Mom-type or the corny Dad and make friends with them.

Remember that I'm a real student: Yes, I work for admissions, so I will sugar coat a lot of my responses ("The cafeteria food is great!," etc.), but unless I don't know something (ie: What should I get on my SATs in order to get in? My response? "I dunno man, I think you need like a 3400"), I'm probably not going to lie to you. I'm the REAL DEAL, motherfuckers. But the parents don't always think so. As soon as we get into one of the dorms we show, they barrage the inhabitants with questions. "Do you like it here?" Right, because clearly I'm lying to you. Make sure you ask the random girl in the library instead of your tour guide.


I have a million things more to complain about, but I think I'll stop here. The thing is, I usually love giving tours, if the people follow the basic rules listed above. Also, there seem to be a lot of MILFs on my tours, and I can't say I'm bothered by that at all... they always laugh at my jokes. WINK.

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Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Great Minds Think Alike



So I was perusing one of the old US Weeklies out of the collection we have on my kitchen table and I come across the photo below, of P. Diddy wearing the
exact same crown I bought for my Flava Flav Halloween costume at Party City. I never thought P. Diddy and I would have anything in common.

Really though, Diddy's a millionaire. You think he could afford to buy a real crown.

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Saturday, October 06, 2007

I Need a Job, Yo




So I started this blog as a poor man's version of a website to promote my book. To be frank, I don't care about my book anymore. I'VE MOVED ON. But really, buy a copy.

Funny story: it turned out that I wasn't making posts with the headline "Watch Me on Oprah!" and I ended up writing posts in a similar fashion to my old Livejournal. That being said, I feel like this blog is a little more relevant than my Livejournal, which just consisted of posts that were like "OMG LOOK AT WHAT I DID THIS WEEKEND HERE ARE ALL THE PICTURES LOL." Needless to say, I've moved on from that voyeuristic way of life.

Well, sort of. Most of you who know me know that I'm a big asshole and I need to get credit for everything I do. This is why I have always kept my first and last name on the blog. An anonymous blog would be far more interesting because I could write what I want with no qualms, however, in that situation my brilliant and hilarious writing would go unrecognized! I couldn't do it.

This sentiment has changed.

On Thursday, Marist hosted a career fair that made everyone have a panic attack and want to burst into tears because there was no one there of any help and we all need jobs and internships and all Career Services does is send us scary emails that say things like "255 DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Whoa- deep breath, deep breath.

I'd like to get a job. A good job. And while sooner or later my future employer will find out I'm a sarcastic bitch, it's probably not a good idea for them to know it up front. Say, when I email them my resume and they casually Google me and read all about my ridiculous exploits. In other words, if they don't have a sense of humor, (and let's face it- who do you know in HR that has a sense of humor?) my resume will definitely get thrown in the trash can. Possibly the shredder if I said something really offensive.

Moral of the story: I'm swallowing my urge to let the entire internet know about my stupid life, and instead erring on the side of caution and taking my last name off of the blog. If you have my blog bookmarked (as you should), change it because come Sunday night, the blog is changing from amandawaas.blogspot.com to www.narcissisticamanda.blogspot.com.

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Wednesday, October 03, 2007

You Can Deny the Holocaust All You Want, But You Can't Deny There's Something Between Us



Every now and then, Saturday Night Live will actually do something funny (by accident, probably). Like last year's hysterical "Dick in a Box"that won an Emmy. The following clip has been unofficially hailed as the new "Dick in a Box," but as far as I'm concerned, nothing could compare to that, but this is great in its own right.

Featuring SNL's current break-out star Andy Samberg ("ChronicWHATcles of Narnia," "Dick in a Box") and Maroon 5's Adam Levine, they sing a gay love song to Iranian president
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad in response to the ludicrous comments he made at Columbia last week.





I think this speaks accurately of American culture. Rather than respond intelligently to someone's ignorance, we make fun of them instead. I wouldn't want it any other way.

(You say there's no gays in Iran, but you're in New York now, baby)

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Tuesday, October 02, 2007

DRAMARAMARAMAAAAAAAAA



You know, now that Britney Spears has lost custody of her kids, I think I'm thinking what everyone is thinking. What is
Chris Crocker's reaction? I mean, he is Britney's #1 fan, right? He's said in several of his video blogs that if something happened to Britney he would kill himself. Well, here's a video he evidently made a few weeks ago:





So everyone's all up in arms about this, and I don't blame them, but really, this guy is a media whore and he just says things to stir up trouble. I'm sure you know someone like this- I definitely do. They'd probably be BFF. Anyway, back to Britney.

Yes, her kids were taken away and brain-dead Kevin Federline was awarded sole custody. Here's what I want to say: Britney's even worse than we think if K-Fed is looking like Father of the Year by comparison to her awful parenting skillz. Perez Hilton has been making a billion posts about how she wasn't even upset that they took her kids away and she went out for dinner, went tanning, etc., but come on- did she ever even look like she wanted those kids to begin with?

Start the celebration, Brit! You're free, baby! All the women who independant, throw yo handz up at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Oh, wait, that wasn't Britney, was it? Who cares.

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Monday, October 01, 2007

R-E-S-P-E-C-T



Classes are boring. We all know that. Some classes are more boring than others. I've taken classes where I'd legit rather die than drag myself there.

But here's an irritating problem I've noticed in one of my classes: I don't give a shit about the Viking religion. I think it's pretty safe to say that no one else in my class does either. But at least PRETEND to be engaged.

Dear God, why is it so hard to raise your hand every once in awhile? While my professor was lecturing the other day, these two girls were legit talking out loud while he was talking. There's nothing more rude than talking while someone else is trying to educate. How do I know this? Because I'm a tour guide.

Tour groups are usually hit or miss. Sometimes, I'll get really funny people who are really interested and excited to be on the tour, and then it's a fun experience all the way around. A lot of the times, I get people who could clearly care less about the school, and thus make the tour completely awful, so much so that I skip a bunch of the buildings just to end my misery. Oh, McCann isn't on the tour. Donnelly's just a big circle, nothing to see.

So moral of the story, if you're going to talk during class, at least have the courtesy to whisper.

PS: what I said about my American National Government class: I was wrong. Mark it down for the history books. I admitted that I was wrong. It's actually a pretty interesting class, only because my professor is so fucking brilliant it makes me want to cry.

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