What is happening in here?

Hello, comrades. I am currently in the library looking immensely fashionable and cute because I looked so heinous for the greater part of the day and am trying to make up for it. I even brought out the très chic pink lipstick. It brings out the color in my eyes and makes me look great, or so I tell myself. I may just look like I drank a bit too much red Kool Aid. Regardless, I have even sat myself down at a table facing all the people walking by in the hopes that my bright lips might help me lure in a decent, straight male. Ha. Let's just go ahead and say this will not be happening, especially since I am now done with my work for tomorrow and therefore have no reason to stay here after I finish this post, unless I want to watch Weeds. However, I would probably rather do that in the privacy of my dorm room because I don't want all the hypothetical men I lure in to think I'm one of those dumb girls who just goes to the library just to watch TV shows. Not like I haven't already started my Netflix account in front of the cute guy in my lecture yesterday or anything. Not like any guys have actually walked by since I got here about an hour ago.

*     *     *     *     *

The other morning C and I combined forces and took on the dining hall bright and early. Since she arrived before me, she found us a table. However, the table was not a table, but a large booth better suited for about 8 people. I commented to C about how glad I was to have room for all of my male suitors. Too bad they are all non-existent. Yes, there is Paul, but we are officially single, rather far apart in terms of physical distance, and not entirely functional, but working on it. Anyway, sad but true fact of my life: Friday night presented the first occasion on which an attractive, seemingly suitable straight male has asked for my number in college. I'm just telling myself that I'm taking baby steps. That must be why I haven't heard anything more from him. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. Perhaps I will just lure in the men with my Halloween costume this weekend...it's actually not that scandy, but I think it's definitely something to talk about.

Speaking of Halloween costumes/suits, C has so many suitors she doesn't even have a suit to wear. (I believe that quote was taken from some emo song I listened to at the age of 13.) Okay, I might be exaggerating. However, she is now officially not a single lady! I will leave the disclosure of any details up to her, though.

Also on the topic of suits, Lee, C, Ellen, and I tried to get Frank in his birthday suit last night! No, not that kind of birthday suit. We're talking about the Snuggie Varsity XXL that we purchased in honor of our good friend's 19th. Unfortunately he refused to fully put it on because of how musty and chemical it smelled. We're hoping to see him shake his little tush on the catwalk in full Snuggie garb soon, though. We'll alert you immediately when it happens.

Another piece of news that we have decided is worthy of GCBIMH is Ellen's new budding romance. She and Oliver have potential, but she isn't comfortable disclosing too much since she doesn't want to jinx it. They have plans to go on an excursion tomorrow, but depending on the price, E may foot her own bill if it seems that that would be a strategic move to help prolong what could turn into a relationship. This is a huge step considering that E usually rocks things old school and takes advantage of all the free things a girl can get out of a boy who likes her. =)

I am now bored out of my gourd and am going to sashay back to my dorm room where I will soon be watching a movie with Ellen as we drink sleepytime tea. THIRSTY THURSDAYY WOOOOO!!!!

Yeah. No.

Boredly yours,
M.

Thoughts from an Approachable Human

To whom it may concern:

Greeting from Friday Fun Day. C here--back after what seems like an eternal hiatus. Sorry about my leave of absence: midterms kind of bit me in the butt (that phrase REALLY doesn't work past tense) and last weekend I traveled to the beautifully trashy Jersey Shore for a campaign trip. Regardless, we did not return until around 1 AM on Sunday night which, obviously, left me TONS of time to complete my work for the week. Needless to say, I did not go to my first class on Monday morning. Yes, it was the first class I'd ever skipped in my life. To celebrate, I painted my nails black and listened to tunes by the Queen of Angst, Kelly Clarkson. It was epic.

Anyhow. To the topic of today's post. Recently, M and I have been discussing (with the occassional input from Jack) what makes someone approachable. As in, what someone has to be like, what kind of vibe they have to have, in order for random people to just want to talk to them. Dear readers, let me assure you, I am the missing link in this experiment. I have the approachability gene--wherever it came from, God knows, but for those of you who think it is a blessing, you are incorrect. It is a curse.

I have yet to go a full seven days of life without at the very least three instances of random encounters. And by random encounters I mean complete strangers coming up to me and striking up a conversation. Perhaps I just look like I know where I'm going? Or I just love to help? Here--allow me to cite some of the most recent examples:

1. Last week, standing in the stir fry line in our dining hall, and alternative male in front of me turns around and says, in a heavy accent, "Um, excuse me, what do you think are the three largest issues facing America today?" Seriously? I'm pretty sure I was wearing bedroom slippers at the time--it'd been a rough day. After I did my best to respond, he explained he wasn't from America. I asked him if he was visiting and he said no, he had been a student at my University for three years. Ok.
2. Monday, waiting in line in a public place when a park ranger comes up to me and asks me about my t-shirt. Before I can answer, he has about a billion other questions about my life which then, for some unknown reason, launches him into a discussion of Baltimore (I can assure you, I have absolutely NOTHING to do with Baltimore). He regaled me with stories of the "Kinetics in Art" museum for the following 15 minutes.
3. Getting off public transportation today, an older man looks at me, completely baffled. He probably hadn't seen a female since he escaped from the assylum. After giving me the standard up-and-down roughly three times, he sees that I saw him do this and, apparently, whatever dignity and social decency he had left reminded him that that was actually rude, and not socially acceptable. He then stammers out: "d-d-do you know if there were delays?" What the hell kind of question is that?

I mean, is this normal? M claims this never happens to her, but we agree, that M comes off as more than intimidating in a first impression. Jack believes that I just have an approachable face--that I seem more approachable then I actually am (backhanded compliment, Jack?).

If you have any insights on this, please share. Gotta get back to husband searching in Fortune 400.

I shake you warmly by the hand,
C

Guest Blog #2: Lee

Hey everyone!

This is Lee. M and C have started a series of guest blog updates where you can hear from some of the other characters playing roles in this fiasco called freshman year.

So, basically, I have stumbled upon a new and exciting opportunity. I'm in the executive board for a club on campus and at our latest event, we hosted a diplomat to come and speak to a group of students about life abroad and working for the government. All that jazz, ya know?  Part of my job was to be a friendly host to our speaker and make sure his time at our university was a pleasant one. Evidently, I did my job well because at the end of the presentation I had his number and a Saturday lunch date with a diplomat twice my 18 years. Hehe...

Now I find myself in the same place that Ellen, M and C have all thus far have been. We've gone to texting and flirtatiousness, but there are some added variables with which one must deal.

A. He's twice my age. I don't know how these creatures called adults operate. Also, we're in different stages of our lives. When we talk about our day, my complaints are about mid-terms and homework; his are about employee training and American commercial endeavors in the Far East. There is a clear connection, but I wonder if the difference is too great.
B. He's a man and a I'm a boy. Now, I am sage and crafty in the ways of girls texting boys for reasons I don't know, but whenever it's my time to take hold of the reins as amant and not Cyrano de Bergerac for a friend, I am lost. The role of lover is hard for me.
C. This is the most important. He clearly wants to bang me. He also offered me an internship and future job opportunities. This is something I'd like to take him up on, but obviously it's a conflict of interest and unfair to other applicants. Unethical.

I'm always really quick to like people. Then I burn out and want to move on. I'm a person defined by my wanderlust and I'm still learning to deal with that. I want to take this slow and explore what I feel about older fellows before I make any hard and fast decisions.

At the same time too, I am still hopelessly obsessed with Francisco Lachowski. *sigh* Oh Francisco...

Apart from my love life, M and I have come to the conclusion that there is only one possible career option for the two of us. After discovering that our movie tastes are hopelessly not alike (mine: dark, foreign, gay dramas. hers: light-hearted, indy comedies with cute people who like cute music) and our future as bffls was frighteningly on the rocks, we reconciled over our shared desire to be models. So, watch out fashion world! Our model-like good looks would also explain why boys have not been throwing themselves at us at their normal frequency. We're just too intimidatingly good looking and too unapproachably well habillé. Did you like that French word? It means "dressed" and is the kind of word models throw around without thinking.

I hope you enjoyed today's guest blog and I hope to be back soon!

Love,
The Lovely Lee

Freshman Failure?

Readers,

I'm coming to you from the comfort of my home this weekend. No, not my dwellings in the dormitory, but real, live home. Ellen, C, and I are all apart this weekend, and while I miss them both dearly, I hope they will not mind me saying that it is good for all of us to get away, to be by ourselves a bit, to be in different surroundings.

Home is great, though it doesn't feel the same way it did before. Though I was looking forward to seeing my beloved pets and eating some fresh, identifiable food, I knew that a discussion of the tough questions would arise soon after my arrival back here. Sure enough, within an hour of being home and without even meaning for the conversation to head in this direction, my mom and I analyzed nearly every aspect of my college experience so far. We talked about the food (tolerable but boring), my job (a necessary mind-vacation from schoolwork), and people (maybe a few too many bros, but a great few close friends and slightly larger circle of more distant friends and acquaintances). The conversation then headed to the topic of academics, and this was a giant showcase of my vulnerability. It needed to happen, though. It was humbling, and I felt rather guilty admitting that I'm quite possibly wasting my parents' money on classes I don't like, but my mom also assured me that lots of people feel lost their freshman year, whether academically, socially, spiritually, mentally, or in a number of other ways.

I don't mean to be vain, but let's use the most readily available example (me) for a case study of academic confusion. I signed up for 5 classes, 3 of which are either above my level or clearly just not my thing. Because I'm bored by the material, I have less incentive to work. Both because of the nature of the classes and the nature of my professors, I have received grades in only one class so far. I don't know how I'm doing, and I don't know how my professors grade. One of my professors is on a completely different plane of thinking, and I would probably have to do heavy drugs (no thanks) to understand the meaning of his words, which are so above me. I sent one of his essay prompts to my dad, and even he couldn't figure out what the prof wanted to know. Another of my professors seems like a great person to sit down and chat with about life- she's quite jolly, really- but I don't think she knows how to handle a class. The same can be said about the third professor in question, an expert in her field, for sure, but not the best at commanding a giant lecture.

Now, I told my mother about all of my professors and classes yesterday, perhaps with a bit of exaggeration, but nothing that really obscured the truth. More importantly, though, my mom helped me come to terms with the fact that yes, I could work harder to seek out my professors and figure out what's going on in my toughest classes. Equally true, we decided, is the fact that past a certain point, working too hard at something you hate doesn't get you anywhere. She and I both know a lot of people disagree with this outlook, and I can definitely understand why. It's not an excuse to lower your standards of your own work or to give yourself reason to wallow in self-pity over how much you hate your classes. It's a realization that life throws us for a shitty ride every once in a while, and the shitty ride tends to open its doors to a lot of us during the first semester of college. I clearly made some pretty significant mistakes when it came to choosing my classes, but Mom reminded me that half of college is spent working through requirements and figuring out what you don't want to study. The same applies to people and clubs and activities- sometimes you have to throw yourself out there and go fishing, and eventually you'll find your niche. I know there are a lot of people in my class filling out transfer applications, and I would be lying if I said that I hadn't at least thought of doing the same. I thought of transferring to a college that was academically easier, as if it would be easy to just shove myself into someone else's established social circle. But I'm deciding to take a leap of faith. I'll trust that there are majors or minors or even just good sets of classes that are meant for me at my college. Maybe it will take a while, but it will all get better. Maybe this semester will turn out to have been my lowest point in college (academically speaking); maybe it will have only served as preparation for much worse semesters to come. But I'm all right with it now. Shit happens to everyone. I screwed myself over with my classes and some of the professors I chose.

Unfortunately, while my situation (or 'shituation') could have been avoided, there are many that can't be, and it can be even harder to acknowledge their presence. In the same way that I didn't want to come to terms with the fact that I'm unhappy with my classes and academic performance, I didn't want to accept that my best friend from home is going through a really rough patch right now. I've been having a ridiculously hard time trying to figure out what to do for him and how I can somehow keep our friendship the same way it's always been. Is it true that nothing is ever as good as it was? Or is it true that everything is going to be okay? Will we ever figure these things out?

My apologies for the massive slew of philosophical rants that I've been throwing out here lately. I swear that when C and I are united again tomorrow night that we will have many new observations about life to share.

Thinking, for now, that it will all be okay-ily yours,
M.

Struggly times abound.

Friends, foes, lovers, and haters,

Today just wasn't my day. You know how sometimes you look at yourself after getting ready in the morning (after waking up feeling like P. Diddy), and you tell yourself, "Damn, I look good. This must mean I'm going to have an excellent day with lots of [straight] male suitors." Well, my dears, that is not true. I told myself exactly that this morning, and I was not successful in being successful at anything.

I might be exaggerating, I'll admit. The bulk of the day was really quite productive aside from a few blips of crappiness. I paid attention in the class in which I normally show symptoms of ADD or narcolepsy. I made headway on homework, though, of course, mountains of it still remain. Alas, the lows of the daytime included the following (Please do not point out my stupidity and/or how I am at fault for all of these occurrences. I really don't want to hear it right now, and I'm well aware that most or all of these things could have been prevented had I used my noggin.) :

- Speaking in English in French class. In my defense, my teacher asked me a question in English. How was I to know she wanted that response in français?
- Making an idiot of myself in front of my TA, a PhD student. I got a term we've been studying from day 1 mixed up with a term that has nothing to do with the subject. Oh, the look on his face. Oh, the redness on mine.
- Having doors shut on my face repeatedly because boys are not men on this campus and do not know how to be chivalrous. Wait, no, that's a lie. Not yet being a man is no excuse- my first boyfriend (approximate age during relationship: 14) ALWAYS held doors for me, and I would not have called him particularly manly. Boys, men, know this: chivalry is not dead. Yes, sometimes we ladies like to do things for ourselves and rock the Betty Friedan, but that doesn't mean we don't want you to at least TRY to be chivalrous. Unless you and your girl have established that you don't ALWAYS need to open doors, you need to play it safe and open doors for every girl. I don't care if it is an able-bodied but unattractive girl. I don't care if it is the ugliest woman you have ever seen. PLAY IT SAFE AND OPEN DOORS FOR US. At the very least, HOLD DOORS. You would hold a door for your bro. You would hold the door for your mother. Consider all the unknown ladies of the world your bros and mothers. Therefore, you need to have proper door etiquette. That is all.
- Attending a yoga class. Now, I am all about the benefits of yoga, and I really enjoyed yoga when I was younger. I had a "Yoga for Kids" video, and I would twist myself into a pretzel at least 3 times a week. Perhaps the fact that I had not done yoga for 6 months before today had something to do with the fact that the class was so miserable. But I also take no shame in blaming the instructor. She kept us in downward dog for at least 42 of the 60 minutes. She did not speak audibly. She played Alanis Morrissette while we were supposed to be relaxing. C came up to me in the middle of the class, when she had to run to the supply closet to grab something, and whispered, "Slavedriver, take me home!" I couldn't have agreed more. I was asking myself the whole time if it was socially acceptable to leave halfway through. I also contemplated whether it would disturb the supposedly peaceful atmosphere if I were to discreetly release a bit of flatulence. No worries, readers- I am a lady, so I waited until I was well outside the yoga room after class.

Now, like I said, the day really just got progressively worse. The worst occurred approximately 75 minutes ago when I spilled my tea all over the study lounge. Part of if splashed onto the hair of the girl next to me. Part of it spilled onto my French. Part of it spilled onto me. Most of it is now chilling on the carpet intended to conceal barf stains. Hopefully it can pass the tea test as well.

The icing on the cake was when I made a rather inappropriate comment a few moments ago. Long story short, the person about whom I made a rather unkind insinuation saw what I IMed. Love it. It wasn't a big deal, and apparently she laughed, but I did not need that immediately after the Great Tea Disaster.

Fortunately, Ellen, ever the heroine, showed up soon after the IM Struggle. She informed me of some excellent news. Turns out that both boys (they are boys, NOT men by any measure) who have been less than kind to her thus far BOTH talked to her today in ways that were très amusant. One singlehandedly sounded like the attack of the drones with the amount of the humming he did, and the other asked her something about working out. That's right, pathetic boy, Ellen the heroine has a better body than you. Jealous much?

Anyway, C and I just keep doing what we do. We drink Tang. We carry large, awkwardly-sized objects. We test the abilities of the food in the caf to satiate our hunger. We even do the occasional booty-grabbing.

To end things on a note worthy of a chuckle (or heinously loud guffaw, as we prefer), I have for you a Text From The Day.

"I def just walked into the men's room. There was someone using a urinal. We made eye contact." 


Slightly crazily yours,
M.

PS Jack will be guest blogging soon! As will C! These next few posts should be pretty epic.

[Belated] Weekend Update.

Hello, world. It has been far too long since we've offered you an update, so we're coming to you tonight with a summary of key events from the past week.

On Thursday, which is, of course, part of the weekend in college, the two of us, along with Ellen, got gussied up and went out. We had some excellent G-rated fun, but other people thought it was a lot more scandalous. We put on our dancing shoes and brought out the moves we normally save only for the most special of occasions; however, it seems that many of our fellow party-goers interpreted our excellent moves as drunken spasms. On Friday morning, Ellen was asked by a classmate how drunk the three of us were. To which she replied, "Not at all." My mother, at least, was proud when I told her this story.

Friday night was spent at a local restaurant with Ellen and Jack. Ellen was kind enough to inform the waitress that it was M's birthday. I will tell you this about M's identity- October 8 is not her date of birth. However, she did get a cheesy restaurant-style birthday song and free dessert out of it. So that counts for something.

In other news, C is now swearing off men for the time being. She, like M, has determined through not one but TWO case studies that men, in general, have no brains (excluding Lee). She has this new theory, that the cells/fleshy material men have "below the belt" is actually taken from their brain. Therefore, they do not have the capacity to think or act rationally. See, what happened is that not once, but TWICE, boys have expressed interest in C and then, much later and after some commitment, have explained/been found out that they are actually in love with their ex-girlfriend. Not C. Actually, C doesn't matter at all. She's simply a warm version of a blow up doll. It's fine. No one is bitter. But, regardless, two is enough, so TO THE NUNNERY (Hamlet, Act IV, Scene 5)--[C totally made that up, but I hope those of you dorky enough get the reference].

The boys next door do all of the following:

• Refuse to help girls carry large amounts of stuff back to their dorm.
• Shower longer than M (who shaved her legs AND her armpits in an impressively long cleanse).
• Listen to their alarms at 11 PM  and 8 AM at ridiculously high volumes. For enjoyment, we presume.

Last night, C's dad arrived with a giant chair, a huge bag of clothes, 4 plates of cookies, and a large bag of DVDs. The two of us attempted to carry this load back to our dorm, but man oh man, we were riding the struggle bus. Actually, a bus would have been nice. Anyhow, a cop on a bicycle asked us if we were carrying a body. One of the boys next door saw us but did not acknowledge us. Several other strapping young men stared and laughed. Finally, a petite girl who looked ready for a party helped us out for the last eighth of the journey with the giant chair. It didn't really help that much, but it was something. Thanks, girl.

Finally, some...

TFTW (Texts from the Weekend)

Frank to Jack: "Hey I think I left a banana on your desk- sorry. Do what you want with it."

603: "I just want to cuddle. I don't even want sex. I love smiling with boys."

603: "I want to go to a psychic. Or a masseuse. Someone who touches me."

210: "If a guy doesn't have the balls to ask a girl out, he doesn't have enough penis to have sex with her and make her feel good."

M to Ellen and C: "Watching small children look in the windows of the sex shop..."

M to Paul and C:"Spotted: Girl in the caf eating a a giant bowl of ice cream with a ridiculous amount of sprinkles. By herself. Oh wait, that's me."

Crazily, slightly frustratedly yours,

C. & M.

An Electronic Hole-Puncher: The Epitomy of Laze

Dearest Devoted Followers,

I'm sure questions are pinging through your brain right now, but, not to worry, I will answer them. First: Yes. I did just create a new word: "Laze." It's a verb. It means "to be lazy". Let's use it in a sentence: We lazed around yesterday, only getting off the couch once to make some more popcorn. Capice?

Two: Yes, it has been forever since M and C have blogged together, but, not to fear, that will come to pass soon enough.

And, Three: No. C should NOT be blogging while she is technically "interning" seeing as that if her "boss" has any way of tracking what websites she has been on and happens to come across one entitled "gotchobootyinmahhand", all hell could break loose. We will therefore hope for the best. Plus, as a decoy, washingtonpost.com is opened in another browser. I am the queen of stealth.

I have finished all of my laborious work as a big-city intern this afternoon. When I walked in at two, I was assigned the duty of hole-punching roughly 300 pages of paper. But, lucky for my nails and lack-of arm muscle, some lazy-ass invented this thing called the "E-Hole Punch". I'm not even kidding. You plug it in and feed in like 60 pages at a time. After a couple seconds of a noise that sounds like Cookie Monster stuffing his face, the pages come out hole punched. Voila. Those days of brute force, breaking your back trying to dig through as many pages as you can are gone. Welcome to the twenty-first century. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the image of Progress.

Anyhow. Back to college. A three day weekend quickly approaches and many of our colleagues have begun packing their bags to head to the motherland to visit Mom and Dad and that significant other they broke up with in August. All this for the glorious excuse of a holiday-Columbus Day. Thank you, Christopher, for sailing a ship, thinking you were someplace, being totally wrong, and coming back. We all (especially those of us getting some ass this weekend) really appreciate it. Some of us, however, have more elaborate plans for a more adequately named "staycation". Some of us will remain in our dorms, conscripting friends and burly men to move around the furniture in our room so it doesn't feel TOTALLY like a prison cell, or shopping trips for clothes to wear when it's below 80 degrees. And, that time will also include heading to the dining hall with some of the worst food imagineable.

Ok now for a little bit of a dining hall rant: college food may be notoriously bad, but this place, I believe, MUST be the worst. First of all, they shut off the soft serve ice cream at 8:00. Secondly, the way in which they house the marshmallow fluff makes you wonder "who the fuck would think of that?". And, thirdly, they don't even have sprinkles daily! I mean, what kind of place are they running here? [So you may have noticed that all of these complaints pertain to ice cream....but that's because all of the other food is completely unedible. I swear--Jack was talking today about the lack of orange juice. I mean, technically there is orange juice, but, in the words of Jack: that's not even orange juice! It's "premium orange blend"! I mean what the fuck is that shit?! Thank you, Jack, for putting it into terms we can all understand.]

In the meantime, the "boss" just came back--I gotta pick up some boxes.

a very whipped yours,
C

Meet Ben

Hello world. Today, rather than being in M or C's hands, your booty is in mine. Ellen. The so-dubbed 'heroine.' And I am a lover of butt-pinching.

If only that's what we were here to write of today. Rather, because there is little booty-pinching in my life, I would like to discuss one of the current fixations: characters, or otherwise ridiculous people.

Of course, I don't want any readers to stop here because of our biggest celeb's rendition of this subject already. A character in himself, did in fact produce an insightful video on how he feels that there are too many of us college students who take too many things for granted. I have to say, I tend to agree with him on this point; we shouldn't forget to be grateful for the many opportunities with which we are blessed. This is far too serious a topic for me to tackle at this point in my already rather boring life. (Yes, I know I just said my life is boring, thus being hypocritical. Clearly, I'm flawed.) But we're getting distracted here.

I want to discuss the real characters of college life. Those individuals that we can't help acknowledge with an eye roll, a snort, or a guffaw of sorts if it's been a long day. We have the Benjamen (based on a character I went to high school with) figure, who, regardless of what actual knowledge he or she possesses, rarely says anything of substance. True, there may be those rare occasions, but typically Benjamens raise their hands in class or speak out of turn with the regularity that most other students look at the clock. Or fantasize about what peers  might look like naked.

Though there are many archetypes (including the Hank, whose sole purpose it seems is to be the epitome of testosterone in this collegiate experience), the Benjamen is particularly amusing to me and by far the most prominent. Though I was at first annoyed with characters as such, tonight my dinner with Jack provided me with an opportunity to really enjoy these people for who they are. Benjamen N. found me sitting at a table with our dear Jack, and, though I tried not to engage, began to tell me about his day. At first, I was annoyed; but then, as the level of detail increased, I began to laugh a little in my head that here before me was seriously a person who truly believed that I or anyone cared about these few details he had to share while wearing khaki's, a tee-shirt, sneakers, and a fedora.

We all know Benjamens. And at one point or another we have been ready to give up our fantasy about our TA who looks like Mr. Shue from "Glee" and rather dream about smacking them in the face. Hard. But really, today was the first time I appreciated the Benjamen figure for who he or she is: these are the people who we can look at as to the "thank Goodness we are nots." We each have a Benjamen inside, I admit, because we all have moments of horrible insecurity and equally horrible arrogance. Perhaps the sole purpose of the Benjamen is to remind us to laugh at ourselves and that, though this period in our lives is interesting and important, it is not, in entirety of it. We don't to be Benjamen all the time.

Friends, readers, fellow Benjamens, I write to you as a guest today because sometimes all we can do in life is get by. Life in college may take you on a substantial ride on the Struggle Bus, but at the end of the day this is all fleeting. As are these characters. The best we can do is to smile and take it all in strive, and hope that we pinch some good booties along the way.

Adoringly yours,
Ellen.

Also, does anyone else find www.homestarrrunner.com funny? I still do...
ALSO no one told me that in college, 'humming' is a dirty, dirty thing. Look it up on Urban Dictionary.

It's a wild world.

Readers,

Our little pack had some crazy adventures last night. However, only a much longer post will be able to sufficiently recount our tales, and that will have to wait until later, when C and I will be able to blog together.

In the mean time, I will be swearing off boys, guys, men, and all other members of the male gender until further notice. Except for Lee. But that's only because we officially declared our BFF-ness yesterday. In all seriousness, though, it is time for me to focus on my studies, my health, my job, and my friends. Romance needs to be put aside. Perhaps I will become a nun. Perhaps I should just relish in my good relationships and try to keep the fragile ones from falling apart.

I'm sorry to finally admit the truth- that life isn't always hilarious.

Contemplatingly and asexually yours,
M.

Friday Night Fun

Herro,

After an sexciting week, M and I have decided that we must, let me repeat, absolutely MUST clarify the difference between 1. smooching, 2. making out and 3. hooking up. See, there's been some confusion--apparently there are many separate definitions of each. Here is finally what we decided upon (WARNING! Not for children under 10)

1. Smooching: Lip-to-lip. Innocent. Not a lot going on. Not even tongue. It's what cartoon characters do (unless we're talking about anime--then that's a different story)

2. Making Out: The event at the end of High School Musical that prompts grade schoolers to exclaim "Ew!" This involves tongue. Disney movie levels of scandalous, you know? 

3. Hooking Up: Can range from intense making out to flat-out sex. So when you use it you kind of have to clarify. But usually it's just like a "sexual" making out, ya know? It can also imply going past that. But you must judge according to the person you're talking to. 

And now the ladiez be gettin' ready after we watched Glee (which then inspired us to watch a solid 20 minutes worth of Britney music videos....yes, we all have a girl crush on her) and Jack is here saying he wants to do homework...WHAT? and C has to teach children to read at 9AM tomorrow, so, untill tomorrow my loves, 

C. & M.