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Thus far, the few weeks following syllabus week have been moderately productive and only slightly shameful. I’ve managed to attend all of my classes and have only failed one online quiz (why does it automatically submit when you refresh the page for a better internet connection?), which is nonetheless progress from the first days back.  Syllabus week was, to put it delicately, a total shitshow. My life was like an episode of Jersey shore; I would wake and rally every day promptly at three o’clock, conveniently having slept through all of my classes. At one point I tried to attend a lecture, just to humor myself, but I had to leave shortly after taking a seat to upchuck in the first floor bathroom of Arts and Sciences.

But you know what? I’m proud of myself. I managed to successfully make it through the infamous first week back with nothing but one unexplained scratch on my leg and a slightly dwindled bank account balance. Granted, I had to mend a few friendships due to my Oprah Winfry-esque generosity when it comes to brutally honest drunk texting (YOU GET A TEXT! YOU GET A TEXT! YOU ALL GET A TEXT!). I’m actually surprised that the NSA didn’t show up at my front door to forcefully admit me to rehab after monitoring my phone records, which included roughly 20-30 drunk Snapchats. But I still consider that week a success for all of Mizzou. I’d like to formally apologize to the trees of our beautiful campus that had to work overtime, producing extra oxygen that allowed you to dry heave the morning after your shameful Big 12 romp.


Let’s be honest, the weeks following syllabus week are the worst. You have to buckle down and actually take your schedule seriously. This is the time when you have to pick up the pieces of your shattered ego and shell of a life, and actually get shit done. As a barely functioning college student with no prior accredited claims to speak of, I will now offer you some advice as you continue to recover from syllabus week:

1. Resist the temptation to throw up your papers dramatically with a “Fuck school, I’m just going to marry someone rich.” Because chances are nobody with money will actually want you.

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2. Forget about any shameful syllabus week incidents that you remember. Instead, choose to believe that everyone was too drunk to remember whatever you did to make an ass out of yourself.

3. Always remember that if you’re basking in a moment of free time, you’re probably just forgetting about something important that you have to do. There is no such thing as leisure time.

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4. Hit the rec to sweat out any toxins still lingering in your bloodstream. Be sure to wait a while if you’ve been drinking. Bicardio is never a good idea, and the smell of vomit on expensive gym equipment will be sure to linger long after cleanup.

5. If you pass someone whom with you previously had a particularly bad drunk encounter with while on the way to class, pretend not to see them. You’ll save yourself a miserably awkward conversation that neither of you want to have.

Ginger out.



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Over the past weeks I’ve been keeping a note of the hilarious shit said by my drunk ass friends, who buy storebrand groceries in order to afford top-shef booze. I swear, these peoples’ livers have workweeks that begin at promptly at 9PM on Thursday. But I can’t hate on these people. I mean, they’re the ones who are always there for me when I need to get wasted and talk shit on people who bother me. You have to have a high level of respect for a group who’s sole form of exercise is bar crawls, and who discusses drinking problems over pitchers of beer.

I have to admit, I’m very happy to finally be writing this. Taking note of every funny thing that my idiot friends say is almost as hard as deciphering the drunk typos in my designated iPhone note the next morning. I should mention that there are about ten quotes that couldn’t make it in here, because I have no idea what I meant when I jotted down “JI dfobt” wasnr yo seert ny fuckib ecc.” Nevertheless, the following are 25 actual things that my drunk friends have said in the past month or so:

1. “Then I went skinny dipping with my guy friends and it was really cold so my tits looked awesome.”

2. “I’m horny and pissed. This must be how Rosie O’Donnell feels all the time.”

3. “I’m not going to just sit here and let this cheese not be in my mouth.”

4. “Fine, but if I can’t handle this shot you assholes are carrying me home.”

5. “Is a Vodka Cranberry a different drink from a Cranberry Vodka?”

Image6. “How do you feel about the fact that you dated a lesbian?” “I’m a little bit upset about it.”

7. “Perfect boys only exist in books. But no one even reads books anymore, so perfect boys actually just don’t exist.”

8. “Dude, I’m so out of it, I’m never doing cocaine again.”

9. “She’s not cute at all. She actually has a really crusty face.”

10. “I felt way too drunk so I brought a bagel to the frat with me.”

11. “I’m going to make him feel bad so he’ll agree to watch Love Actually with me.”

12. “These tights are so small that they barely even cover my hoohah.”

Image13. “Wait, so was his boner in your ass?”

14. “It shouldn’t be illegal to stab someone if they’re being a fucking idiot.”

15. “I have a boyfriend, so yeah, I haven’t shaved in two months.”

16. “I don’t know man, I don’t think they would show a baby zombie on TV. It’s indecent.”

17. “I was so drunk that I called him and told him I was a cat.”

18. “The only kid I haven’t accepted on Facebook was this asshole who threatened to murder our rush chair.”

19. “I do not find your presence necessary.”

Image20. “People always talk about their wedding nights but, like, I probably won’t even remember mine.”

21. “My left areola is way bigger than my right areola.”

22. “I’m gonna whisper drunk nothings in your ear.”

23. “That kid’s a fucking dipshit. Unless you like him, in which case he’s chill.”

24. “I’m not puttin’ out tonight.”

25. “He drank too much but he’ll be okay, I mean look at the kid he’s wearing a fucking peacoat.”

Image*BONUS* Nine things my drunk guy friends have peed on this break:

1. A refrigerator

2. An outdoor speaker system

3. A cop car

4. An ornamental bird bath

5. A Christmas Tree

6. The KU flag

7. A Kindle

8. My neighbor’s cat

9. Into a laundry machine while screaming “DO MY LAUNDRY BITCH.”

Image1. Learn how to dance, because I’ve told enough people that I’m a great dancer.

2. Stop drunkenly convincing people that I’m a natural blonde.

3. Engage myself in a television series other than Dawson’s Creek.

4. Say hi to people I that I know when I see them in public, despite my urge to avoid eye contact and run in the opposite direction.

5. Befriend an attractive deaf boy.

6. Be more like Jennifer Lawrence and less like Kristen Stewart.

7. Take up yoga so that I have an actual excuse to wear yoga pants. And so I’m more bendy.

8. Quit obsessing over Loki. It’s not going to happen because A) I’m not cool enough for him and B) he is a fictional character.

Image9. Stop being the kind of awkward you only find at a middle school mixer.

10. Talk less about The Hobbit, because seriously, no body cares.

11. Don’t befriend random drunk girls in the bar bathroom anymore.

12. Stop dressing like Wednesday Adams.

13. Refrain from guilting my friends into going out when they have huge exams the next day, just because I don’t want to drink alone.

14. Stop siding with the villains in movies and books.

15. At least attempt to be less inappropriate and more of a lady.

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16. Stop answering the door to my sorority house with, “Oh good, my strippers are here” when innocent frat guys visit.

17. Try not to watch Miss Congeniality until at least April.

18. Pet an elephant.

19. Stop doing stupid shit that will bite me in the ass when I’m trying to get a job later in life. Like this blog.

20. Spend less time on Tumblr and more time improving my social skills.

21. Drink the same amount, but choose to drink alcohol that won’t wreak havoc on my stomach the next morning.

22. Quit wearing sunglasses in lieu of makeup.


It’s that time of year again; finals are quickly approaching and everyone is going apeshit. I get it, it’s a stressful time. You basically have seven days to save your entire semester and pull your grades out of the toilet. Maybe I’m just a naturally chill person, but I really think everyone needs to calm the fuck down. Let’s face it, finals week is like an episode of Whose Line is it Anyway- everything’s made up and the points don’t matter. Okay, maybe they matter a little bit. But you’ve already learned everything you’re about to be tested on, so I think it’s time to pop a Xanax and chill out. If you’re still stressing after a little self medicating, the following tips could help save your sanity.

It’s important to stay hydrated. Water is okay, but if you’re serious about surviving the week, I’d suggest something a little stronger. In case you haven’t heard, a Starbucks Trenta cup can hold up to 31 ounces of fluid. The following is a list of drinks that could fit into a Trenta cup: an entire bottle of wine, two and a half beers, a fifth of whiskey, or just over 1.3 Four Lokos. This information is also useful when dealing with the aftermath of a stressful exam. You many not end up a straight A student, but you can always end up hammered.

Due Tomorrow = Do Tomorrow
I’ll never understand a teacher’s thought process in assigning ridiculous amounts of homework the week before finals. “Oh, You have finals coming up? I’m just going to go ahead and give you a test, a presentation, a quiz, and a paper the week before.” Fuck that. I say, take a break. Allow yourself 6 hours of aimless web surfing tonight, and half ass that shit tomorrow morning before class. At the end of the day, we all know we will have successfully plagiarized Wikipedia enough times to earn a degree.

Devise a BS-Proof Study Plan
It’s probably a good idea to have a good study plan other than crying in the shower and letting the hot water pour over you as you wallow in self-loathing. I’d suggest studying in the library, because there are probably enough studious Asians there to motivate you to actually get shit done. Don’t forget that no matter how many signs you see deeming specific rooms in the library as “quiet areas”, crying is always permitted.

Buddy Up
It’s a good idea to find a reliable study buddy when trying to cram for a tough exam. But you have to be sure to pick your friends carefully. Last year I went to study for a Political Science exam with a frat guy, but when I showed up the douche didn’t even have the damn textbook. Why? He had sold it a few months earlier because he was desperate for money to buy more weed. It’s also important to remember that if a guy asks “Do you want to come over and study?”, what he actually means is, “Do you want to come over, hook up, and then complain about how you’re going to fail all your finals?”. But fuck it, go anyway. You deserve a break.

Take a Nap
It’s also imperative to be well rested. You’re probably surrounded by people who are claiming that they haven’t slept in days… they’re lying. Sure, they’re probably staying up all night, but they’re definitely taking 10-hour midday naps. Also, don’t be that bitch who whines about not getting any sleep when you’re drinking three cups of coffee and eight Redbulls a day. That’s your own damn fault and no one feels bad for you. Keep it in mind that an all nighter doesn’t count for shit if you weren’t actually studying.

The only lesson I really end up learning from finals is the importance of marrying rich. So so raise your 31 oz. Jack and Coke, and here’s to making our college memories last as long as our student loan payments. Good luck to everyone, and may your grades be a gateway to finding shameful entry-level employment after you graduate.

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I think it’s pretty obvious at this point that Facebook is going down the crapper. This is upsetting to me, but I really believe that we can stop this madness by pinpointing those responsible and telling them to cut the shit. To be exact, I find that there are 9 kinds of douchebags on Facebook today. They are as follows:

1. The Brag
This is the asshole who cannot feel accomplished in life unless they post every small feat to their wall. You know, the dick who posts pictures of exam scores with captions like “Nailed it!”. Look, we understand that you’re excited to get a 135/140 on your Bio exam, but when it comes down to it, NO ONE GIVES A SHIT. Do you think it’s going to make me think, ‘Gee, that fella is super intelligent!’? No, it makes me feel like I’m an idiot for getting a C, and you’re a dickwad for rubbing your A in my face. Send that shit to your parents, so they can pretend to be happy for you. I’m just not interested. Plus, most of the time I’m pretty sure its fake. We’ve all seen that dumbass girl post a status informing all of her incredibly indifferent Facebook friends that she got a 4.0 this semester… Okay, sure.

2. TMI
These people are on the top of my unfriend list. Facebook is a social networking site, not a day planner. Stop posting pictures of next semester’s schedule. Stop telling us that you’re going to the mall with Kelly, then lunch with Grandma, then possibly taking a nap. If I wanted to know what your plans are (which I guarantee I don’t), I would text you. Facebook is not twitter.

3. The Happy Couple
We’ve all seen those couples that constantly make statuses about each other, post cutsie things on each other’s walls, and tag each other in pointless pictures. I think we can all agree these people are high up on the list of Facebook douches. Every time I see this, I fight the strong urge to regurgitate. Their lame attempt at a brag has made the prospect of being single forever an absolute dream. They make it seem as though they are unable to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide when they aren’t with each other… let’s be real, you two don’t actually like each other that much. I have a theory that if you have to broadcast a perfect relationship on a social network, you must not actually have that great of a connection. There was one couple that kept popping up on my news feed recently that wouldn’t stop posting on each other’s walls. And they were saying the dumbest shit. She would write, “i luv u baby”. And he’d respond, “i luv you more xoxoxo”. So forth and so forth. Eventually I commented on one particularly annoying post and asked the two, “DO YOU NOT HAVE CELL PHONES?” Text that shit to each other. No one wants to see it.


4. She Doesn’t Even Go Here
This is the bitch that posts every emotion she’s ever had. And she’ll be really vague, too, hoping that you’ll inquire about more. She’ll post shit like, “Not a good day….”. Cool, thanks for the update. I was really interested in how you were feeling. I can sleep now that I know how you are. Phew. The worst part about this person is that they have SO MANY FEELINGS. I like to think I’m semi normal, but in a given day I only experience two or three strong emotions. And it’s mostly hunger, which I don’t even think counts as a feeling. So the fact that this bitch is going on about how blessed her wonderful life is one minute, then droning on about her horrible luck the next is just too much for anyone to handle. Stop the feels.

5. The Opinion
This guy has an opinion on every single event, ever. And he will state ever single one, with links, to your newsfeed. Involvement in Syria? Opinion. Gas prices in China? Opinion. Your Mom’s sex life? Major opinion. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t argue with anyone who didn’t agree with him. Look, I get that you’re super involved and I can respect the fact that you actually know what’s going on in the world, but don’t flood my Facebook with your political rants. Also, don’t send a novel to the first guy that insinuates that you could possibly be wrong. Because you probably are wrong. My friend Sara is pretty into current events, but she isn’t a total douche about it. She’ll post important shit on Facebook that people should actually see. And on the off chance that someone disagrees with her, she’s not a total dick to them about it. But the typical Facebooker’s opinion is irrelivent and overlooked, so you assholes need to stop telling me how to feel. I already have an opinion- I don’t care.

6.  Old People
The absolute worse. I just cannot. I’m not talking about grandparents here, because that shit is just hilarious. I’m talking about middle aged parents, who are using Facebook as a communication. You straight up PAY my cellphone bill, so you therefore HAVE TO know that I have the ability to text. I don’t have this problem often anymore because I’m a loser and my mother is more popular than me online. Also because I yelled at her to cut the shit. But everyone has that Aunt who will comment on a drunk picture of you holding a red solo cup and screaming at the camera. She’ll say something like, “Looks like you’re having fun at college LOL! Uncle Bob and I are thinking of you– See you over break!”. Please just stop. It’s actually just humiliating. The worst is when it’s not even your picture, so the random girl who posted the picture gets a notification from your Aunt Sue and then you just want to die.

Image7. The Philosopher
This guy shares a lot of thought provoking pictures and makes statuses about how small we all are in the grand scheme of things. I love these people in person, but fucking hate them over the internet. They’re the people who act like they smoke a lot of weed, but they’re not actually chill to hang out with. Hippies, only way more hygienic and way less fun. And no matter what you think about what they’re saying, you’re wrong. They’ll reference Buddha even though they went to the same Catholic school as you did. Please stop acting like you’re so enlightened…. you’re on a macbook, so no one’s buying it.

8. The Promoter
The shameless promotions have to stop. I’m sorry, but I don’t care about your cousin’s crappy band or your Mom’s friend’s overpriced boutique. This is Facebook, not eBay. I think deep down these people know how annoying they are, but they just don’t give a shit. The full well realize that while maybe 5% of people actually look into what they’re promoting, the strong majority of their friends are plotting ways to kill them. The worst of these is college students looking to fill a sublease. We all known that fucker who’s trying to transfer and WILL NOT stop posting, looking for someone to take their crappy lease with three random bitchy roommates. Isn’t there a way to network that doesn’t pop up on my newsfeed? Please find it and use it, before I knife you.

9. No Fucking Clue
These are usually teenage girls. They post links to articles and then voice their opinion on it. Which is all well and good, but they have NO FUCKING CLUE what they’re actually talking about. They probably just think its cute to look informed and intelligent. Recently a girl I’m friends with posted an article from The Onion, a news satire organization, and then proceeded to bash the article and state how offended she was about it. She had no clue that the whole thing was a total joke. I’m going to be honest, I didn’t even correct her because the whole situation was just way too funny. I would’ve been embarrassed for her had she not been a total fucking moron.Take a lap.


Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that I’ve been guilty of a few of these from time to time. But I like to think I haven’t been so douchey as to constantly to fall under one of these categories. And if you do, I do not apologize because you are annoying and I probably hate you. Let’s save Facebook, people. Cut the shit.

Good Lord, it is so cold today. There were probably ten people in my french class. Pretty sure half of Mizzou woke up today and was just like NOPE.

As I cower in my bed (art class just wasn’t in the cards today), I can’t help but feel chills up and down my spine. And it’s not because of the fucking tundra outside of my window. It is because I just saw a meme referencing my least favorite, fast-approaching day of the year: Black Friday.

Wikepedia defines Black Friday as “the day after Thanksgiving, noted as the first day of traditional Christmas shopping, during which crowds of consumers are drawn to special offers by retailers”. I, however, define Black Friday as nothing less than the fiery pits of hell. I loathe everything that the day after Thanksgiving stands for. I refuse to acknowledge the existence of a day dedicated to the expectancy of pandemonium as nothing more than the sole reason that aliens won’t talk to us.

The day after Thanksgiving should be dedicated to three things: eating left overs, being hungover, and emerging from your food coma. The idea that you should get out of bed and be active is completely corrupt, and it has to be stopped.

Black Friday is terrifying. I’m not lying when I say that it is my biggest fear. Crowds of people fighting to buy shit they don’t need the day after they claim to be thankful for what they have? I hate every aspect of that idea. Especially the part with the excessive amount of people. I’d honestly rather hook up with Osama Bin Laden post-mortem.

But when you think about it, it totally makes sense. Think about the first Thanksgiving. The Pilgrims were like “Hey, Native Americans, you’re tight as fuck, lets eat some noms and be friends”. Then right after that they’re like, “Just kidding, we’re going to alienate your entire race, steal your land, and mislabel you as Indians for all of history”. Fastforward to 2013. Now on Thanksgiving, we gather with our families and drink enough shitty beer to appreciate each other. Then we instagram pictures of our food and say shit like, omg sOoooOoOoO thankful for my family!! Then BOOM. It’s Black Friday, and you’re shoving people out of the way and completely disregarding the safety of others. That’s not even an exaggeration. Remember last year when that video of the mob rush in Walmart went viral? Like, are you serious? This shit only happens in other countries where there is extreme poverty… and they’re fighting over food, not barbies and hot wheels.

ImageBut wait, I’ve got a number you: 4,000. That’s the number of Walmart stores that will have extra security measures in place on Black Friday (that’s right, I did my fucking research, assholes). Just let that number sink in for a sec. Josh Phair, Walmart’s public affairs and government relations director released a statement explaining the extra security saying, “Nobody wants to go into an event when they are risking injury for a video game”. Let’s be real, Josh; no one wants to go to Walmart in the first place.

I hear girls talking about how excited they are for Black Friday and I literally cannot believe my ears. What are you looking forward to again? Spending good money on shit you don’t need on a day where thousands rush to riot, just to get 5% off on a fucking sweater? Consumerism and greed at it’s finest. A friend of mine has already asked if I will go shopping with her. She and I won’t be speaking til after Christmas, at the very least.

I could make this post extremely political, but that wouldn’t solve anything. And honestly, I’m pretty aware that the only reason you’re here is to listen to me cuss a lot and make fun of people. That or extreme boredom. I know it’s hard to take this shit seriously coming from me, since I hate people. But you cannot deny there are some legitimate reasons why Black Friday sucks.

And people actually camp out the night before for the damn thing. I will never understand. You have a house, fucking use it. I’m not a materialistic person to begin with, but do you really need to set up tent in the freezing cold for a set of chopping knives just because they’re $12? Am I supposed to give a fuck that kitchen ware at JC Penny is 30% off? Because I don’t.

The idea that you have to partake in Black Friday is a myth. Seriously guys, stay home. I know you’re going to be sad missing out on all the chaos of greedy hoosiers grabbing at anything with a brightly colored markdown sticker on it, but I have formulated the perfect solution: Stay home, spend all the money you would’ve spent on useless crap on beer instead, and invite me over. Let’s get weird.

I’m so happy this weekend is coming to a close. Halloween on top of a home game has just really beat the shit out of my liver. I’ve showered twice and I still somehow smell like the basement of a frat house. There’s so much hairspray still in my hair that I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a hole in the ozone right above my head wherever I go tomorrow.

ImageSo worth it, though. The only thing better than hanging out with drunk people in costume, is hanging out with drunk Mizzou football fans in costume… especially on the night of a win. I’m going to forgive the fact that I saw about eight thousand girls dressed as cats, based on the male shitshows I witnessed at the bar scene these past few nights.

ImageI’m not surprised. At this point, it’s just rule of thumb; Every girl knows what guys to look out for when out drinking. To be specific, there are about five types of drunk guys that will hit on you at bars. I almost feel bad generalizing the entire male population into the following categories. But hey, stereotypes exist for a reason.

1. The Frat Star. First, and most common, the painfully drunk, self-proclaimed frat star. This is the guy who looks like J Crew threw up on him. He’s always double fisting something generic like a Bud Light, and you can be sure there’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear. The one refreshing thing about a drunk frat guy is that he’s not going to come at you with some one-liner like, “Have we met before… because you look like my next girlfriend”. No, this guy thinks he’s way too hot to need a pickup line. He’ll abandon his frat pack and strut on up to you, saying something straightforward like, “Hey, you drunk?”.

ImageAnd he doesn’t need an invitation to talk to you, either. Just the fact that you have tits and you’re in the same vicinity as him obviously means you want his dick. Also, he’ll keep his shit together because his shirt costs sixty dollars, and he’s NOT going to fuck that shit up. If this guy approaches you, you can guarantee that he’s first going to ask if you’re Greek, and if you answer that correctly, he’ll buy you a drink.

2. The Double Leg. There’s that guy who is hanging out with a bunch of frat guys, but he’s a little off. You know, the guy who is wearing letters, but his haircut screams double legacy. He’s drinking something hipster-ish like a PBR, and he’s looking slightly uncomfortable. And he’ll have a weird name, too. Like Griffin or Damon. I have to admit, I fucking love these guys. They always prove for interesting conversation, and they always have fucked up stories to tell. They say shit that inevitably leads to awkward silences; I totally eat that shit up. He’s the philosophical drunk guy, too. You know, he’ll finish his tenth Kraftig and be like, “I just feel like getting a job is just pointless, ya know?”.

ImageAnd you totally agree with everything he says. You leave the bar being like, holy shit, I need to go buy a beanie and take up photography. Another good thing about this guy is that his friends always like you. They’re just really happy that he’s talking to you instead of the weirdos he usually brings home. I always fall for this guy. My friends give me shit for it but I’m just like,

3. Persistence is Key. You will for sure run into that really annoying guy that HAS to talk to you. He’ll be wearing a shirt that says “YOLO” or “SWAGG”. You just know once you make eye contact with him, this fucker is going to be a constant annoyance in your life for the next three hours. And once he has started, he will not stop. He’ll get a drink for you before even approaching you, too. So you have to literally refuse alcohol that has been presented to you, which is just downright painful. But you have to be strong, because he is a persistent guy. If you don’t make it known right away that you are not interested, he’s going to grope the shit out of you all night. This weekend I was out with my friend, and we met the epitome of this character. This dude is like fifteen feet away, staring at us when all of the sudden he just points at us, pauses, points at he and his friends, and then smiles and gives us a thumbs up. Look, I’m not expecting you to send a pigeon with a poem written in blood, but seriously, a fucking point? He then came over and pestered us until Sara just repeatedly told him, “Just no”. I’ve found there are only two ways to shake this guy off: First, tell him you have a boyfriend. Maybe tell him he’s in the ROTC too, just to give him an image. If that doesn’t work, tell him you have herpes.

Sidenote: The rest of Sara and my night:

Image4. Tarzan. Probably the worst guy you’re going to meet is the guy who is just looking to start shit. He’ll hit on you and be a total gentleman to all your friends. He’s obviously loaded and is buying rounds and being a total baller. Then, right when you’re mentally high fiving yourself for scoring such a great slam, he’ll try to start a fight with the drunk kid at the table next to you. He’ll say something he thinks sounds real tough, like “The FUCK you say to me?”. And we’re all still sitting there like wow, Tarzan, your brute strength and aggression is so appealing! Oh wait, no it’s not, and you’ve officially ruined my night.

5. Life of the Party, But Definitely Puking Later. You have to be sure to meet that guy that is so drunk, he’s buying drinks for the whole bar. This guy has had too many tequila shots, and he’s doing weird shit like sliding down bannisters and requesting the Black Eyed Peas. He’ll buy like ten shots before even knowing who he’s going to give them to. He’s for sure going to talk to you at one point, but only for a minute or two. He’ll probably ask you a weird question to settle an argument he’s having with someone, just to bring you into the conversation. He’ll say something like, “The third Pirates of the Carribean is At World’s End, right?”. And whether or not you have any idea what he’s talking about, he’ll keep talking to you. You’ll see him periodically throughout the rest of the night, but that’s the extent of your time with him. There’s really nothing you can do for this guy, except pray he has a friend who is sober enough to remind him to close his tab at the end of the night. Spoiler alert: He doesn’t. He totally came alone.

ImageI really can’t even complain about these guys though, because the list I could make on the kinds of drunk girls at bars would be ten times worse. It’s not even a double standard, we’re just honestly more annoying. Sorry to set feminism back like three hundred years, but someone had to say it.

I may bitch about these guys, but I love them all. And so does every girl, don’t lie. Sure, when guys pester us, on the outside we’re like “Ugh, can you not?”. Maybe flip our hair and roll our eyes. But do not be fooled. On the inside, we’re totally like,


And, ImageAnd,


The most horrible thing just happened to me.

So I’m sitting on my bed during a period of boredom and procrastination, innocently youtubing videos of people falling. I finished watching “Scarlet takes a tumble” for the tenth time and looked to the right column, to see what the site recommended I watch next. Up towards the top was the new Avril Lavigne music video for her duet with her new husband, Chad Kroeger.

If you don’t know who Chad Kroeger is… count your blessings. He’s the main singer of Nickelback, the band that God sent to the music industry to punish us for piracy. The guy who used to look like Jesus but has since shopped of all his hair and bleached the tips. He doesn’t even sing, he just screams. In every one of his songs, he sounds like he’s been on the toilet for an hour and is really, really constipated. And don’t even get me started on the patch of pubes he for some reason REFUSES to shave on his chin. I don’t know whats worse, that or his frosted tips. Someone needs to tell this guy it’s not 1995 anymore.

Look at This Photograph.


I like to imagine that he proposed 20 different ways and they all sounded the same. Much like his music. Also, I’d just like to point out: FUCK YOU, MAYANS. If you had been right about the world ending we could have avoided this crisis.

I could not be more upset these two are married. Avril is awesome, and should be worshiped by all. I know I’m biased, since she spent many former years as a redhead. But if you don’t have many fond memories of screaming Sk8er Boy in the passenger seat of your mom’s van while wearing a choker and some sort of platform sneaker, you seriously need to revaluate your life. She’s like the female equivalent of Clooney, in that she just keeps improving with age. I honestly couldn’t guess her age… is she 17 or 40? I’ll never know.

Chad Kroeger is gayer than AIDS. I’m sorry, someone had to say it. So why in the hell she decided to let this sad excuse for a man wife her up is just beyond me. Is it because he’s always wearing leather jackets?


I’m pretty sure it’s because they’re both from Canada. Which is completely redundant because Canada actually sent us Avril Lavigne to apologize for giving us Nickelback. Which reminds me, I can’t wait to see the Goddess they’re going to give us to make up for Bieber.


Seriously though, Nickelback sucks. Back in 2007, they were performing in Portugal and the crowd wouldn’t stop booing. So Chad Kroeger gets all upset and asks, “Do you guys want us to leave, or do you want us to ROCK?”. As if on cue, a member of he audience threw a rock at his face. I’m moving to Portugal.

Jokes aside on this union, I’m pleased for Canada. It’s finally going to get the royal wedding it deserves.


If you have ears and/or and eyes, I recommend you don’t watch the Music video. It’s called “Let Me Go”, which is ironic because thats EXACTLY WHAT AVRIL NEEDS TO DO. The song actually doesn’t suck until 1:52, when Kroeger comes in. In the video, Avril is totally kicking ass, being all emo and moody and shit. She’s wearing tons of eyeliner and a super cool gown, playing this old piano in an abandoned mansion and belting it out when all of the sudden he comes out of nowhere and puts his hands on her shoulders. He then acts like a total creep and stands behind her for three minutes, gripping her and singing. I literally cringed when he touched her. I imagine his hands to be very clammy.


The only thing worse than Chad’s acting was the product placement. Halfway through the video Avril starts sentimentally watching him play the guitar on a tablet and it’s so painful you just want to reach into your screen and flick him out of the shot.

Why am I so upset about this? I’ll tell you why. It’s not just that I’m about to watch one of my favorite childhood musician flush years of her life down the toilet by marrying a guy who has for sure murdered at least one hooker. It’s the fact that, if a girl like Av Lav ends up with a dweeb like Chad Kroeger, there is absolutely zero hope for me. I’ll be lucky if I can end up with one of those guys that sits on the curb outside of 711 smoking cigarillos.

Avril got it right on the first try, when she married one of the Deryck Whibley from Sum 41. Maybe Deryck will get really pissed about the whole thing and give Kroeger a Fat Lip. God help me if Avril and Chad reproduce… at that point I’ll probably just call it a quits and leave earth.

Chavril’s future lovechild:


Oh, Chad. Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?

I immediately regretted my decision to go out last night. Not only did I spend around $60 buying fireballs for anyone within a fifteen foot radius, but I have a killer headache. So that’s why they tell you not to drink after you donate blood. Hangovers really aren’t that terrible… when you don’t have a three hour art class. But I can’t complain about my drawing class; I love that shit. I can, however, complain about the walk to the fine arts building.

If you’ve never been, the Fine Arts building is where the hipsters, GDIs, and myself congregate to do artsy things. Some seriously weird shit goes down in that building. But let me tell you what I love about the people you find in the fine arts building- EVERYTHING.

ImageFirst off, they wear the weirdest shit. Most of Mizzou dresses relatively normal and even pretty uniform. For example, on a given fall day there’s more riding boots in ten square feet than in all of the Kentucky Derby. But not in Fine Arts. There’s this girl named Tiffany (Name not changed to protect identity, I really don’t give a fuck) in my class who wears a  poncho every. single. day. I seriously don’t think I’ve seen her wear the same one twice. And I stare at her a lot, because she has a penis-shaped tattoo on her neck. It’s a great mood booster when I’m grumpy from sitting on a hard stool for three hours and I look over to see a boner right on this chick’s throat.

Probably my favorite part of the crowd is that since everyone looks so terrible, I get to worry less about whether or not I look cute. Who cares that I didn’t straighten my hair when the girl next to me has an eye patch and dreadlocks.  I can literally wear whatever I want, because just the fact that I’m wearing legitimate fabric is a step up from most of the fuckers working there.

But you don’t realize how weird these people are until they open their mouths. I’m sitting in the studio the other day, just innocently finishing an assignment when this girl starts bitching about her roommates. She’s complaining that they keep the temperature too hot and I’m like, sure, that’s a legitimate complaint. But then she adds, “I’m just worried that the high temperature will make my rats sick or something”. The fuck? There are so many things wrong with that statement. First, I have an issue with anyone who considers a fucking rat a legitimate pet. Second, ratS? Plural? How many of those do you have? She’s probably the daughter of that obese lady on My Strange Addiction who huffs her rats and craves the smell of nacho cheese. After hearing that shit I felt bad for judging her roommates. They’re probably just trying to smoke her out; that’s what I’d do.

Then there’s Harry. Harry is a guy in the class next to me. He is 100% Asian, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t speak English. I only think this because when the teacher calls on him to answer a question, Harry just avoids eye contact, leans back and forth repeatedly, and legitimately groans until the teacher gives up and calls on someone else. Harry has issues.
ImageAnd that’s just the students; the teachers are even weirder. I love my art teacher, but, like most grown men who have ponytails, he’s got a few loose screws. The first time he showed us how to spray our drawings with chemicals to make the charcoal stay, he made a point to tell us that he would prefer if we would not spray the contents of the can into a bag and huff it. Did he really need to tell us that? Apparently so… today as he was passing out sweet tarts, he casually tells us, “When I was in preschool I used to crush sweet tarts up and snort them”. Okay, what? I don’t know if i was even capable of going to the bathroom by myself in preschool, meanwhile this guy was preparing for a life of recreational drug use.

ImageBut this is what’s so great about Fine Arts. Everyone is so delightfully strange, and for some reason, it makes me really happy. Probably because it’s the only place in the world where I’m actually considered normal. All in all, I really don’t think I’d want it to be any other way. I never get tired of watching the hipsters smoke E-cigs in the halls or the anime-obsessed asians gab in Chinese. So if you’re ever bored, curious, or just feeling bad about yourself, I’d recommend a visit to the Fine Arts building. It’s a magical place that will make you feel better about every aspect of your life. Come see me while you’re there, I’ll be the ginger sitting alone in a corner avoiding eye contact and resisting the urge to draw a pair of testicles on Tiffany’s neck.

Hello, nonexistent readers.

I’m currently sitting in bed, procrastinating the process of getting ready for the night. There’s nothing I love more than going to bar and getting uncomfortably hammered with a group of my sisters, but the time spent getting ready can really be torture. I don’t even understand the point; by the end of the night there is a 100% chance that my makeup will resemble that of Amy Winehouse.

ImageI have been advised to not get drunk tonight. Obviously I’m ignoring this advice, but I guess it’s probably important that I warn my sisters to watch me. This is because yesterday, I gave a pint of blood for the Homecoming blood drive.THAT was an experience. If you’ve never given blood, this is how it works:

You go to a vacant gym and sit in line for about four days. They give you this binder and you have to pretend to read all this shit about how if you do crack or have AIDs you can’t donate. They make a huge deal about it too, and I’m just like, If you have AIDS, I’m pretty sure you’ve got much more shit to deal with than not being able to donate blood. Then, when they finally call your time, you go sit in this tiny booth made out of huge pieces of cardboard. At one point I sneezed and one of the damn things actually fell over.

At this point a lady in a lab coat makes sure you qualify. Last year I didn’t because I had gone to the Dominican Republic seven months earlier. They were like, “Yeah, sorry, you might have Malaria”. Are you fucking kidding me? I’m pretty sure I don’t have malaria, I don’t live in a fucking marsh. I get it, there are rules. But come on. So you get on a laptop and answer like a hundred incredibly personal questions. Shit like, “Have you had sex with a prostitute in the past 9 months?”, and “Have you ever had a sexual relationship with a male who has had a sexual relationship with another male?”. I can’t even imagine the number of people who lie about that shit. I’m not saying everyone lies on the questionnaire… but everyone lies on the questionnaire.

ImageSo I get through all that shit, and this douche in a lab coat takes me and sets me up on this metal bed that looks like it came straight out of a Saw movie. The guy starts looking for my veins as he’s marking up my arm and rubbing this gross smelling sterilizing shit on it. I’m being a total champ about the whole thing, by the way. I’m not like those pussies who freak out and tell everyone they think they’re going to pass out. Most people had a friend there to hold their hand, meanwhile I’m sitting by myself googling irregular dick pics to text my friends. Like a boss. But the whole thing was awkwardly quiet. I start thinking, this guy probably thinks I’m really nervous or something. So right as he starts to stick the needle, no, I’m sorry, the cocktail straw in my arm, I jokingly add, “Oh yeah, that’s a good one. That’s my go-to heroin vein.”

Obviously I was kidding. But this guy retracts his arm so fast I thought he was going to fall over. It was like someone cried “bomb” in airport security. He starts asking me a thousand questions like, “When was your last use?” and all this shit. I’m like, chill doc, I was fucking joking. Just trying to ease the tension, I mean, you’re about to stick a noodle in my arm and retract a vat of fluid. I’m just a tiny bit uncomfortable.

But this guy doesn’t believe me. He seriously thinks I do heroin. Like, are you serious? You think I look like someone that does fucking heroin? Not only am I NOT a forty year old hooker, but I’m way too lame for that shit. So now I start to get upset with him. This guy is talking so loudly that he’s actually starting to make a scene. I can only imagine what people are thinking when they turn to see who the Doctor is lecturing on about heroin use, and it turns out to be a ginger in a sorority spirit jersey and uggs. But hey, drugs don’t discriminate.

Moral of the story: Don’t talk about doing heroin. Also, don’t do heroin. We all know what happened to Richie Rich.