Hello all. By all, I mean my avid readers: My mom, and (if I’m lucky) two of my three roommates. I have a quick story because nothing exciting has happened to me lately.

This happened on one of the first days of classes this year. It was a typical August morning here at Mizzou; hot, humid and overall just really shitty. I remember I was in a particularly bad mood this day  because I’d fallen off my dresser trying to gracefully hop off my top bunk earlier that morning. This isn’t a major problem for most people, but I happen to have cheap Irish skin so I bruise like a god damn peach. I looked like a victim of domestic violence, except I’m single as fuck.

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Before proceeding, I should just come out and say it: I fucking hate people. I mean yeah, I have lots of friends and I love going out and partying and shit, but large groups of strangers make me incredibly uncomfortable. No, that’s not even it. They just make me want to hang myself. Last year, I used to sit in the allergy section of the dining hall just to avoid people. I have no major food allergies of any kind. I’m just weird. You know how uptight white people cross the street when black people walk towards them on sidewalks? I cross no matter who’s coming towards me. I’m racist… like, towards the human race. I hate everyone equally. Actually, I’m looking to invest in an incredibly intimidating pit bull because I hear they scare the shit out of people. If I had one of those fuckers no one would EVER come up to me. When I walk to class, I always have headphones. I’m going to level with you, most of the time I don’t even have music on. It’s just an excuse to not to talk to people on the off chance that I run into someone I know. I’m also always wearing sunglasses. Some people wear sunglasses so they can stare at people but I do the total opposite- it’s all about avoiding EVERYONE.

Anyway, I’m grumpy, bruised, and exceptionally unattractive on this morning. I was crossing Lowry Mall and there were people EVERYWHERE. I tend to walk to class either really early or really late so I walk around when the minimal amount of people are on the sidewalks. For whatever reason, on this day I missed it- the streets were fucking packed. So I’m walking across trying to maintain a safe distance from everyone, when all of the sudden, this freshman on a bike fucking PLOWS right into me.

(It was at this point in my blog that I searched “Bike Accident” on google images to place an image here. I do not ever suggest doing this. On a completely unrelated note, wear a helmet and/or a suit of medieval armor next time you decide to bike somewhere.)

You might ask, how did I know he was a freshman? Great question! Well first off, he had a brand new lanyard swinging around his sweaty, nervous neck. I can’t judge much on this because I used to wear one of those damn things, but now I just love to make fun of them. If you’re not coach of a major sports team or a tour guide at the zoo, you don’t need to wear a lanyard. Second, he was clutching, (I’m not even kidding on this), A MAP OF MIZZOU. Are you serious? I don’t care if you need it, hide that shit. You look like a fool. And third, he was dressed from head to toe in Mizzou gear. Like, we KNOW that you go here. The fact that you’re ON CAMPUS, LIVING IN A DORM, AND GOING TO CLASSES is really a big enough hint all on it’s own. You don’t need to appoint your body a throne to the school. We get it.

This is a picture of the guy.

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Okay, so when I say that he ran into me, I’m not saying he pumped into me and it was a little bit awkward but I kept walking. What I mean is that I went flying. Books flew everywhere, and paper rained down like I was in 10 things I hate about you and I was trying to spread the word on Bogey Lowenstein’s fake party. My phone skidded like ten feet away from me and I fucking. ate. shit. The kid’s bike flew to the side and he fell over like a little bitch, screaming the whole time. I hit the ground and I remembered thinking, did this just happen? Like, is this a joke? I think I actually just lay there for a minute, hoping that if I was still long enough my red hair would blend in with the brick and I could just stay there for ever. Like the freshman was a tyrannosaurs rex and if I was still enough, he wouldn’t see me… maybe I could get out of talking to him and just James Bond the fuck outta there.

So after a minute, I eventually start to get up. This poor dumbass kid is picking up all my books and papers and shit, and I realize he’s been spewing out apologies for the last like 30 seconds. Of course I’m not listening, because I’m too busy analyzing the few materials left in my hands, trying to figure out which one would be most useful in ENDING HIS FUCKING LIFE. So I take my shit back and shove it in my bag, looking at the kid for the first time while he continues to apologize profusely. Turns out, he’s sort of cute. Too bad he was a fucking moron.

But this is where he gets really, really stupid. I hold up a hand to stop his talking (I figured it was more appropriate than shoving my fist down his throat), and I tell him that it’s okay, I’m fine, and to just be more careful next time. He relaxes a bit. Then he looks me up and down, squints his eyes a bit, gets this stupid little grin on his dumb fucking face, and asks me “How you doin?”. Um, WHAT?

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I couldn’t even come up with a response because I was so surprised. Before I could come up with something snarky and impressively offensive to respond to the jackass, he extends his hand a bit and goes, “My name’s Ben”. That’s nice Ben, but I really don’t give a shit. You just nearly killed me with your bike, and you think THIS is an okay action to follow your attempted murder with?

Okay, maybe this works in romantic comedies. Obviously it’s chill when it’s like Jo bumping into Freidrich in Little Women, who then challenges her intellectually to be a better author and a more honest person and they fall in love and live in New York and everything rocks. I think they call it a “Meet Cute”. Yeah, turns out in real life it’s not very cute. It’s actually just obnoxious and potentially life threatening.  Jo’s meet cute just doesn’t apply here, not only because I’m WAY uglier than Winona Ruder, but because YOU, BEN, ARE A DUMBASS. I honestly wish I had just gone with it and hung out with him, so I could figure out his story and then RUIN his entire life. Instead, I just stared at him like this:

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Am I overreacting here? Okay, obviously he didn’t mean to hit me with his bike. And maybe he was just being friendly. But no, I’m not over reacting. I’m definitely right. I don’t know the typical protocol, because I don’t have shit for brains and have therefore never run into anyone on a bike, but I’m about 98% positive that hitting on them is not the proper response. I’m pretty sure all you can do is completely remove yourself from that person’s space/life, just to spare them any more time in your intolerable presence. There a few morals to this story. First, if you are a freshman- go home, and kill yourself. Second, if you ride a bike, ride it on the street to piss off those people instead, and kill yourself. And third, if you are Ben, kill yourself.

In conclusion: Dear Ben,
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Hello friends.

As I sit here on my bunk, pondering the inevitably shambly events of the night ahead of me, I can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. This is because tonight, I will be fropping. For those of you who don’t know, that means frat-hopping; the art of drunkenly stumbling from one fraternity to another, acquiring a higher blood alcohol content as the night goes on.

Last year, I did my fair share of fropping. I did some really weird shit, actually. One time I stole an office chair- No, like a huge, black leather, rolling office chair. I just rolled it out of the fraternity house, up the street, into my residence hall, up the elevator, into my dorm room. I can’t begin to explain the bizarre thoughts running through my head when I woke up. Last time I saw it, it was in the office of the President of the hall. Another time I spoke in an Irish accent and convinced everyone that my name was Lucille. I said I was from Dublin and my family had a potato farm. I don’t know.

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But this year, I’ve severely cut down my fraternity intake, opting for the bars or house parties. I still go, but usually after other said debaucheries. I find it easier to stomach when I’m too drunk to actually comprehend what’s going on. Don’t get me wrong, frat parties rock. But one can’t help notice a few negative aspects of these ragers. Allow me to point out a few.

First off, and probably the most obvious, WHO LIKES CONGRESS? Nobody. I love frat guys for spending their hard asked-for money on alcohol for bitches like us, but I just cannot continue to stomach polls of Dierberg’s brand vodka followed by larger-than-liter bottles with the title “ORANGE” on them. Like, that’s not vodka, and that’s not soda. I’ll pretty much drink anything, but sometimes I feel like I’m just chugging nail polish remover. It’s gotten to the point where when I find a room with slightly less shitty alcohol like Burnett’s, I consider it a gift from God. No, like seriously I man that room like it’s my fucking job. And when it gets to me I take more than my fair share. I’m not even  sorry that I’m not sorry.

ImageNOT REAL SODA.

Second, I am a terrible dancer. Sure, If I get a few drinks I think I can throw down like Beyonce, but what I actually look like is the girl with braces who dances in the back of the convertible in Rebecca Black’s “Friday” Music video. I usually just think moving my butt will do the trick, but then I forget that I have arms and hands. There’s just a whole lot of flailing and it’s not pretty. You’d think I was having a seizure if I weren’t standing upright(ish) and somewhat coherently asking for more alcohol. But at least I KNOW that I dance with the sex appeal of a cereal box. There are always those twig bitches that are dancing in a circle, thinking they’re the fucking pussy cat dolls. Like no, you have never looked more white. You’re tacky and I hate you. This is me last year, grinding on a pole trying to be sexy:

Image Maybe my dancing would be better if they didn’t have a loop of songs by the same shitty artists. How much Mac Miller and Sammy Adams can a person stand? I get it, though. Might as well listen to white boys who think they’re hard while surrounded by other white boys who think they’re hard. It’s either shitty white boy rap or techno that could give people epilepsy. I just really hate it when the speakers blast noises that resemble a robot farting.

Sidenote- there’s always that one drunk guy who asks if I’m a natural redhead. Would you ask a blonde that? Yes, I was born a ginger and thus I have no soul, rendering me completely unsympathetic when I murder you and your family. Here’s an incredibly attractive childhood picture to prove it. Try not to be seduced.

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Then you have to pee. So you grab a friend (don’t go alone, you will die) and run out of the blacklit room you’re in. It then takes about forty five minute for your eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lights of the frat hallways. You wander around looking for the bathroom, meanwhile looking about ten times worse than you did walking into the house. I don’t even know how it happens. When are they going to invent drunk-proof makeup? Like ok, I can swim for three hours and my makeup will look fine but two shots and a minute of dancing later I look like Janice from mean girls. So you find the bathroom. THERES LIQUID EVERYWHERE. You don’t even know WHAT it is, but you’re smart/drunk enough not to ask questions. Also, there’s also ALWAYS a drunk guy peeing in there, and he doesn’t care what you see. So you take a few pics. Just to be safe.

You then repeat all of these steps until you either: A) Say “Hey, I’m pretty drunk, better go home!” (This never happens. Just thought I’d throw it in for shits and gigs). B) Your friend realizes you are too drunk to function and drags you home. C) You start hooking up with a weirdo and that voice in the back of your head screaming “herpes…” gets louder and louder until you are forced to deal with it. Or D) You want pizza. I should note that E (You don’t go home, you shack) Is also a valid option. More about shacking later.

ImageThis is one of my many glamorous morning-afters. the “D” stands for drunk (still).

Obviously other things happen. Like sometimes you hook up with that kid you went to grade school with, rendering your relationship awkward for all of eternity. Or sometimes you try and steal a composite (Those things are fucking heavy, I don’t recommend this. It’s also really awkward when you inevitable get caught). Or sometimes you do something cool and potentially life threatening like climb on the roof or drink moonshine. What’s cool about frat parties is that no one gives a fuck. It’s like you take a couple hours out from reality to do weird shit with weirder people. And it’s like Arby’s, you always meet the coolest kids. Like that guy who spoke fluent Chinese (granted, he might’ve been making it up, but A for effort). Or that one kid I met who had the tattoo of Mario on his ass.

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Point is, I may hate on frat parties, but they’re still the most fun I’ve ever had. In a few years I’ll probably be that weird senior that still goes, and I will have zero embarrassment about it. Where else can I demonstrate that I know every word to “Afroman” by Colt 45? Where else can I chug numerous natties and not want to die of shame? So keep doin’ you, frats; keep throwin down. If you throw it, sluts will come. They’ll come to Greektown for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won’t mind if you look around, you’ll say. Oh… sluts will come, Frats. Sluts will most definitely come.

ImageSo last night as I was preparing for a date, I was listening to some of Drake’s new album, which I highly recommend (coming from a privileged white sorority ginger, I totally understand if you ignore that advice). A few friends were in the room and we were discussing alcohol, sororities, penises and ejaculation, the usual stuff. Mackenzie went to change the song and declared that she was going to play Wrecking Ball. I immediately pulled a 180 and yelled at her not to. Here’s why.

[[I think it’s worth noting that Mackenzie continued to put on the outdated and obnoxious Pink Friday album by Nicki Minaj. I love you Kenze, but seriously, fuck you.]]

Here’s the deal. Everyone has an opinion on Miley Cyrus, and everyone feels the need to voice it. So, being totally unoriginal, I’ll do the same. Miley is awesome. Sure, she might have schizophrenic tendencies and I’d be willing to bet she has AIDs, but overall she’s cool. Everybody hated on her We Can’t Stop music video and I get it, she sort of looks like a lesbian crack head but COME ON.

First off, whatever happened to gay rights? I find it ironic that the same people who push for gay marriage are like APPALLED when she licks a doll’s face and spanks a large black lady’s donk. Seriously guys, we’re all a little bit gay. I grab my friend Jenny’s boobs on a regular basis. Not because I like boobs, But because ITS FUNNY. Also because I don’t think before speak/act. I cannot be held accountable for my actions, sorry about it. If Miley wants to make out with girls, more power to her. If you meet a college girl who claims to have never kissed another girl, even amongst her slutty high school years, she’s either lying or she’s probably not very much fun. Run away.
ImageSecond, who cares if Miley does drugs? I mean, its bound to happen. She has way too much money, way too much time, and she’s probably not very intelligent. If I had millions of dollars and no worries, I’d probably dabble in various chemical debauchery.  In the words of Rick Ross, cocaine “puts the hipsters with felons and thugs”. Drugs don’t discriminate, and neither should you. Lil’ Wayne sings about being hyped up on shit all the time and no one bats an eye. Is it because she’s white? Or because she’s a girl?

No, it’s because she used to be Hannah Montana. But she’s not anymore, so get the fuck over it. All those shitty parents out there are like “How am I supposed to explain to little Susie why Miley is licking construction equipment and humping things?”. I don’t know, its your fucking kid, figure it the hell out. And if you don’t want to have those talks, don’t reproduce. People like you should avoid procreating. Wrap it up next time, we have a population crisis anyway.

ImageMiley is growing up and everyone needs to get over it. There was a time when I wore nothing but  brightly colored polos (with the collar popped of course), jeans skirts, and Berkenstocks. Then there was a stage I went through where I sported entirely too much eyeliner for a girl of my skin tone and hair color, and wore all black, and owned vans with skulls on them. Shit happens, people change. Did you honestly expect Miley to wear limited too forever? Did you expect me to continue obsessing over the High School Musical soundtrack for all of eternity? I, for one, am happy that I overcame my unhealthy obsession with Corbin Bleu. His hair was too big- too many secrets. At least Miley’s blonde hair allows for thoughts of a simpler time.

And now Wrecking Ball. The only reason everyone hates it is because they know that they wouldn’t look that good riding a large metal ball wearing nothing but brown leather boots. Also, the tear in the beginning is real, as one of her five hundred and thirty seven dogs had just died. You go Glen Coco. Yes, her VMA performance was disturbing. It was like roadkill; you don’t want to look, but for some reason you have to. But that’s what makes her so cool- the fact that she’s SO FUCKING WEIRD. I am thrilled that they didn’t throw Taylor Swift up there to prance around in high wasted shorts and sing about how some guy once gave her the wrong look or didn’t thank her after she held the door open. More on that later. Fuck Taylor Swift.

I don’t know, maybe I’m biased because of my constant sex dreams involving Draco Malfoy, and they share a haircut. Maybe I think she’s chill because I’m so uncool that I think shit is cool AFTER everybody else starts hating it (reverse hipster status). Or maybe none of this matters because WHO GIVES A RATS ASS. The subject has been exhausted to the point where I can’t even listen to her songs without wanting rip off my ears just so I have something to throw at those who feel the need to condemn her. Pop a xanax and get over it, no body cares. I’ll leave you with the most insightful and inspiration words to ever leave the young pop singer’s herpes-infected lips:

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Well said, Miley.

 

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Hello, people that have nothing better to do than read my shitty blog. I hope your day has been wonderful.

I’m going to be honest here, I have no idea what to write about. My life is not that exciting and I’m actually just really mean, not funny. But people keep going off my tweets and telling me to make a blog so here you go.

Today I watched The Bling Ring. No, let me rephrase that. Today I wasted eighty two minutes and thirty seven seconds of my life. If I plan on maintaining my alcohol intake, which I fully intend to do, my life will not be long and is dwindling as we speak. Which is why I am furious. I seriously haven’t been this mad since I found out my grandmother has a line of gentleman callers and I fell asleep cradling my camelback water bottle last night.

For starters, what the fuck was up with that acting? And I’m talking to you, Emma Watson. Look, we all know you are flawless. Sometimes when I see pictures of you I just want to kill myself because I will never be that gorgeous or fabulously British (although I used to fake an English accent when I worked in customer services at the Zoo). Seriously, your face makes me want to grow a dick and wife you up. So why in the hell would you agree to star in that movie? I can’t imagine a worse role for Emma to play, except maybe Anastasia in 50 shades. That role was more annoying than century link prism tv ads before youtube videos. A few times, I actually had to look away from my screen because I was embarrassed for her. And I was watching the movie ALONE. I’m not trying to be an asshole here, and I also don’t expect her to play Hermoine forever but COME ON. The only thing worse than her attempt at an American accent was her terrible brown hair dye.

Another thing, the movie had absolutely zero plot. Its about a group of shitty teenagers with an unrealistic tendency to do cocaine and get into flashy clubs that Paris Hilton hangs out in (casual). This is the story: They steal shit, and then they get caught. No seriously, that’s it. Like, if I wanted to see that I’d trudge over to the bookstore and try and stroll through the front door with a laptop. Then I’d get a first hand experience AND have a cool story to tell the kiddos someday.

I think the best part of the movie was when they put Emma Watson in a pink Juicy sweatsuit and Uggs, and I had a fleeting moment of nostalgia for middle school before returning to the poorly-directed crap on my screen. God, I miss mixers.

The one cool part about the movie is that its based on a true story. And as it turns out, the true story is way better than the Hollywood version. Mainly because the group of teens targeted majority of the burglaries at Paris Hilton because the group “figured she was dumb enough to keep her doors unlocked”. AND THEY WERE RIGHT. Seriously, why did these kids even get jail time? Put them in public office, they’re fucking geniuses. In real life the leader of the group first got arrested for stealing a ton of shit from Sephora (understandable, how do they expect us to pay $50 for eyeliner) and then, after clearly NOT learning her lesson, organized all the burglaries when she “wanted new clothes”. Thats a direct quote. Like okay, next time I want a sweater I’m going to just go break in to Blake Lively’s house and snipe some shit. Maybe sneak a quickie with Ryan Renolds while I’m at it. But these kids didn’t just rob some of the biggest celebs like Rachel Bilson, Orlando Bloom, Miranda Kerr, Lindsay Lohan, Meghan Fox… they actually chilled a few times. As in, drank in the home bars and used the bathrooms of said celebrities. Apparently a bunch of the burglaries were done when they were drunk too. Remind me next time I’m hammered that I should NOT do a B&E, because now drunk Lucy is definitely going to think it’s an awesome idea.

So yeah the movie was crap but props to those badass kids. I’ll be sure to set up some hang time with them… when they get out of jail and they’re done with probation and all that shit. Hopefully they’ll still think I’m cool even though I’ve never stolen anything major and to be honest I wasn’t even sure how to spell cocaine. I think i’d still be a value addition to the Bling Ring. Everybody needs a token ginger in the group, right?