No, not that finger.
The finger is good for many things. Today I found pleasure in using my finger to:
a. Scrape the sides of the peanut butter jar to better access the junk that likes to hide under the curve in hopes of escaping my mouth. Don't worry, I keep the peanut butter in my own personal closet. It's like a germ-breeding hotel in there. If anyone would like to declare biological warfare on any exes, obnoxious relatives, or telemarketing companies, I'm your woman. Otherwise, you'd do well to stay away from the closet.
b. Stroke the shoulder of some poor man sitting in front of me at a basketball game. Then I realized me knee still had an itch and withdrew my finger at once. The confused glance I received brought me pleasure in a highly twisted way.
c. Click to enlarge pictures of my brother's friends. Preferably the attractive ones in foreign countries. This is not considered Facebook stalking. I do not believe in Facebook. This was an upkeep service, as this brother asked me to keep an eye on his account for him while he's away. That's what he said, and I know this is how he meant it. I was sorely tempted to comment inappropriate/12-year-old girl comments on several walls, but I don't think that qualifies as "keeping an eye on." Clearly, I like to stick strictly to the letter of the law.
d. Point at myself in the mirror, proceeding to wink and smile, then act shocked and flattered, and repeat.
Maybe I should check my surroundings before I talk about the Good Looking Ones in public. Talking with my mom outside of work about how fine they look in their Sunday best, it took me 10 minutes to realize that my boss was listening from her car with the window down. Pretty sure she avoided me for the next 2 hours. Which was fine by me. The one time we accidentally crossed paths, I could swear she gave me a weird smile. She's a nice lady. Too bad today couldn't work out between us.
I wish to share my favorite aspects of the testing center with you. I would argue that it is the creepiest building on campus. That may have something to do with the fact that I always procrastinate my tests until 9:00 at night when it's dark, empty, and cold outside. However, I don't get warm fuzzies when I take the floor and it's filled to capacity, either.
Tonight, I chose to frequent a bench out back for some last-second cramming. I immediately became more smug about life when a guy on his phone walked into the middle of the square and said in an uncommonly loud voice, "Dude, 98% of the cute girls chill at the testing center at night." I was sorely tempted to look up, evaluate his attractiveness, and then enjoy the looks of confusion and amusement on all the other cute girls' faces, but I was much too busy "chilling." When I got up to leave, he gave me the down-up. What a winner.
Finally I was able to wait in the 1/2 hour long line to have the privilege of taking a World Literature exam. I even got to stand behind a guy obviously excited about the privilege to take a Japanese test. His muttering enthused and encouraged me as I tried to remember Aristotle's 6 characteristics of a Greek tragedy.
I especially enjoyed waiting for one of the thousand or so kids taking tests to finish so I could use my animal-like prowess to claim a desk before any fellow vultures could dive. After spending two hours in my refrigerated happy place, I marched out of that building without even glancing at the score screen. I would love to take this opportunity to say, "I showed you, testing center!" But that would be a lie, because in my heart I would be whimpering.
I can not even tell you how ecstatic I am to multiply my bonding time with the testing center by ten come finals week. We are going to have such a solid relationship. Back off, cute testing center girls. I have a sharpened #2 and I'm not afraid to use it.
My roommates/inmates did their laundry last week, while I stood by and watched (another advantage of being close to home: mooching off the free washing machine). This is how laundry night usually goes down for us/me:
Our basement is creepy. And intimate. (Notice anything fishy about the above picture? Minus Dottie's Swedish treat?)
For some reason, we pwn at awkward looking pictures. Again with the lurpiness. I swear I'm only 5'9". Yet here you can see me undeniably eying Sarah's right fingers. Maybe I'm considering dipping them in syrup for breakfast. Beast.
Nasty looking Oreo truffles and grits: the food of the easterners and southerners.
My family is fantastic. My boyfraaaans are attractive. My plasma is plasmatic. Unfortunately, today I only have pictures of the fantastic. And my face looks pretty spazmatic.
It's a sign. I don't know what it's a sign of, but it's a sign.
Saturday afternoon, the roomie had a date with some guy she'd never met before. Obviously that made her uncomfortable, so she asked him if it'd be all right for her to bring another couple along. As we all know, I'm up for anything. So, I took a stroll over to the guys' building and started knocking on doors. An FHE brother named Matt consented to go with me. We had a grand ol' time at the marionette show (which may have been creepy were it not so incredible), even though we sat two rows in front of the couple we were supposed to be accompanying/chaperoning, and we ditched out of ice cream afterwards for the football game (disregard that dumb decision).
Yesterday at hall meeting there emerged a raffle. Feeling really good about raffles (5 of the 13 extras at the yogurt camp-out actually got yogurt by winning a raffle. I was not one of those 5), I tossed in my tickets and slumped in my sweats to the back of the room. Laughing at my daring, I crossed my fingers for the grand prize. Turns out I'm now a firm believer in crossing the fingers, because I'm the proud owner of a Date Night package! Good thing I'm practiced at defying social norms. Soon to come: Date night at Divine Comedy and the Cougar Eat with some poor self-imposed soul mate. Sounds pretty ghetto-fab to me.
I went camping last weekend! Soooooo good! My roommate Sarah and I gathered supplies (junk food, water bottles, and card games), printed off a map, and made the journey down to the can't-get-over-it unbelievably gorgeous parking lot by Fat Catz Bowling.
It was sort of grease nasty.
The ground was a bit hard for sleeping.
I need to practice beating pegs into asphalt.
But---we got free yogurt, and I would do it again.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Please note: creeper faces (you may want to click to enlarge for maximum creepacity, especially on #3), ghetto setup, and arrangement of the poles. I feel really good about my wilderness survival skills. It only fell in on us twice.
Journal entry:
Today I camped out in a parking lot in a ghetto tent to receive a year's supply of free frozen yogurt. 113 people showed up. 100 received the frozen yogurt. I was not one of those people.
We did, however, walk away with $20 gift certificates, sore backs, and only slightly wounded pride. I forgot to grab an extra sleeping bag, so we shared one on a single foam pad and cozied up under snuggies that our smarter roommates brought us before they went back to the apartment. We met some cool people. We watched Indiana Jones until 3:00 in the morning, until the violence and gore had numbed our minds and we couldn't remember what the plot was anymore. Somehow I woke up miles away from the pad on the cold, asphalt-hard ground. We couldn't find a single person in the state of Utah to give us a ride back. We felt like mighty homeless warriors lugging our haul up campus drive in our jammies. I now understand the novelty of a shopping cart. Please shopping cart man, don't be dead. You are a newfound inspiration to me.
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