A talk on the phone with Mom inevitably begins with asking for money. It’s not that I’m short on money, quite the opposite in fact for a college student, I just didn’t have enough money on my debit card in this instant to buy an online textbook. Plus, I need that money for weed. After the exchange of financial information, the conversation turns to more motherly things, because mine is the stereotypical Jewish mother, and we’re not even Jewish.
I recently posted about this here. I love Tinder. It gives me license to judge people on face value, which, unfortunately, societal norms don’t allow me to do face to face. Anonymity is a beautiful thing. I’m going on my first Tinder date on Friday. I fully expect to feel as awkward as Mitt Romney at a reggae concert. Yet I look forward to it, because for lonely college students everywhere, the Tinder logo represents the possibility of sex and regret.
I think women start accepting their bodies when they start shaving their bikini area. Because that takes fucking upkeep. If you’re going to get a Brazilian wax, the prickles that occur a week later just aren’t worth it. At least for me, short painful hairs poking at my nether regions were enough to realize that my body, particularly my vaginal area, is attractive just the way it is, even if that means its covered in Bigfoot’s winter coat. Plus, some people are into that. I have yet to find someone who admits it, but hey, they do exist. I’m a fucking hippy. I should know. Continue reading
Option 1: Steal Food
This is by far the best option.
Maybe it’s the expensive tuition and board, maybe it’s my college scholar attitude, but this school is making me an entitled little prick. Yes, I’m talking about all the food I steal from the dining hall.
Oh, perhaps you thought I was talking about something else–the way I’ve abandoned my family and only send them monthly updates on my life via email newsletter, or the way I spit on homeless people now that my two weeks of a college education makes me better than them. Continue reading
Communal bathrooms suck. Being an only child, I’m not used to have other people’s problems inhabiting my living space. Finding someone else’s triple strength acne cream half squeezed out in the sink isn’t a great start to a morning. People leave their hair stuck to the shower walls and curled up in the drain like a dead muppet. Communal bathrooms are a disgusting place.
One of our stalls is by the window, which is conveniently stuck open. If you use that toilet, mooning the third floor of the neighboring building is inevitable. I pity the girls who haven’t yet figured this out.
I like music that makes me think. This can come in two forms: it can be stylistically complex or the lyrics can tell me a story. For this reason, I have an aversion to overtly simplistic pop music. However, sometimes, it is simply a small sound or technique within a song that causes me to hate it.
- Such is the case with Lana del Rey. At face value, I would expect to love her music. The beats and instruments are interesting and keep my attention, but her voice immediately turns me off. Someone once described her to me as pop alternative opera, but her voice sounds entirely average to me. Sometimes, she chooses to make it raspy or to over-enunciate consonants. Each song as a whole strikes me as mediocre, and these bad stylistic choices, sometimes just a few bars, make me wince. Listening to her music feels like an incredible waste of time.
Being bisexual, some women’s fashion confuses me. Not in a tomboyish way, but more in a “I’m not sure if I want to have sex with this girl, or if I just envy her body”. For instance: piercings. I’ll admit it, I think piercings on a girl are hot. I’d like a nose piercing. Of course, there’s a limit. If you have more than 4 extraneous piercings, I begin to wonder if you have some elsewhere (specifically the nether regions).
What I don’t understand are “Prince Alberts”. If you don’t know what a Prince Albert is, you should definitely google image search it. Continue reading